#emily prentiss fics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 4 months ago

Text

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name.

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?”

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened.

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible.

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal.

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment.

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU.

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened.

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.”

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort.

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years.

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him.

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile.

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38, and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness.

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number.

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind.

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding.

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered.

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared.

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back.

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him.

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment.

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself.

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together.

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back.

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness.

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours.

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness.

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity.

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality.

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time.

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed.

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room.

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried.

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect.

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby.

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words.

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion.

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you.

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next.

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace.

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go.

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine.

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you.

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive.

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes.

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile.

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp.

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile.

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise.

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical.

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin.

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart.

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite

1K notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 4 months ago

Text

MY BABY, HERE ON EARTH | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [BONUS]

Description: the NINE months of pregnancy

Word count: 10.9k

warnings: pregnancy duh, babies, giving birth, c-section, ummm body fluids? lots of emotions, nausea & sickness, talks of weight gain and stretch marks.

authors note: y'all... there you have it. I will be back to finish their story but until then this is my goodbye piece until I have finished my hiatus to write my own book and start uni (again). I can't wait to take these two (three) on the final lap they deserve but for now.. I hope you enjoy pookies being pookies.

previous chapter | series masterlist |next chapter

MONTH ONE. The one where she finds out.

She hadn’t meant to find out when she did. It had been just a routine implant swap that she’d had twice already in the last six years.

“Any blood clotting, any pain at all?” The nurse asked, jotting down a few notes on her form as she sat back on the bed and waiting for the numbing cream to take hold.

She shook her head. “It’s weird as hell to feel and when I think about it too long it freaks me out, but no, no pain,” She said and the nurse chuckled, nudging her glasses up her nose.

“And finally, is there any chance that you’re pregnant?” She asked, no doubt having rehearsed the same script about thirty times that day alone.

Bugsy gave her a flat smile, “Small chance, but I guess that’s what this is for, huh?”

The nurse looked at her then, as if mulling over the words before she said something, “Small chance?”

“I mean, nothing is a hundred percent effective,” Bugsy tried to weasel her way out of the awkward conversation, because she had absolutely no intention of letting the nurse know her and Spencer had been at it like bunnies since the Hotch had forced them to take medical leave. Who knew having so much time on her hands with her very handsome boyfriend would have that effect?

The nurse pursed her lips, and already the woman felt like she’d said too much.

“Alright, we’re going to do a routine test, just need a quick urine sample,” Bugsy felt her cheeks heat, though she was in no position to argue. Her discomfort must have been more obvious than she thought, however, as the nurse went on to explain, “If I give you this implant and there’s a fertilised egg, it can lead to ectopic pregnancy, in which case you’ll need surgery. Trust me, honey, peeing in a cup is your easy option,”

She gave the practitioner a small nod, wondering if she needed to message Spencer to say she’d be running a little late. She knew he was likely doing the sudoku in the waiting room magazine, since he’d refused to let her come alone. And even though she’d told him she would be fine on her own, he’d seen through it, had even offered to get her ice cream on the way home for putting on a brave face.

And yet her face was nothing short of horror struck not even half an hour later when the nurse showed her the stick with empathetic eyes.

“Congratulations,” The woman said cautiously, a fake smile plastered on her face as the girl stared at her, utterly gobsmacked.

“But, I thought…” Bugsy stammered, running a finger over where the nurse had removed her implant, “But I had everything ready, I never let it get late, I did what I was supposed to,”

“You said it yourself, honey, nothing is a hundred percent effective besides abstinence-”

“That’s just what parents say to make sure their kids aren’t banging every Tom, Dick and Harry out there!” Bugsy was near screeching, the worry in her tone clear as a bell and her chest hot with panic.

Pregnant. She was pregnant, there was no way she could be…

Except there was exactly a way she could be, seeing as she struggled even on a dry spell to keep her hands off Spencer longer than a few days at a time. And he was just as bad.

The nurse huffed, rifling through her drawers for a handful of pamphlets. She passed them to Bugsy whose mouth was still bobbing with more expletives she held herself back from saying, and it wasn’t until she saw the happy couple on the front of the first one, holding a very swollen and round bump that she thought she might be sick.

Comical timing, she hissed at herself.

“There are always options, sweetheart. Abortion is legal in Virginia, if that is what you decide, however there is always information and support that we recommend looking into before you make a solid decision,” Her response was professional even though her expression was compassionate, and Bugsy knew she must have looked scared because that was exactly how she felt and she had little to no room to hide it.

Abortion? Is that what she wanted? Except it wasn’t just about what she wanted, it was what Spencer wanted too. Even if he would argue against that being the case in a heartbeat, even if he would tell her she had every right to be the only one to make a decision, no matter what he thought. But maybe it wasn’t so much about needing his opinion for that reason, and more it was because she had absolutely no clue what to do and Spencer was always good at making sense of the things she didn’t know how to deal with.

She nodded silently, her mouth dry as sandpaper as she took the leaflets and stuffed them in the bottom of her purse where she hoped Spencer wouldn’t go looking.

She barely remembered standing on liquid legs, barely remembered the way her chest felt tight and her head spun as she thought of the fact her body had a baby growing inside it.

No, it wasn’t a baby. Not yet. It was likely the size of a grain of sand, miniscule. That wasn’t a baby, that was nothing.

But it would be. Eventually. It would be hers and Spencer’s baby.

And she wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him the second she saw him there in the waiting room, his head shooting up the second the door opened and she left looking a little ill and shaken.

“All done? Everything go as normal?” He preened, standing immediately as she neared him, his hand immediately weaving around her shoulder to pull her close by. Gently, ofcourse, because she had a big, fat bandage where her implant should have been.

“Y-yeah,” She stammered, hoping he didn’t hear the shake in her throat. Yet she knew immediately that he did. Because he leaned in to give her a delicate kiss to her forehead not even a moment later, “C-can we go straight home, I’m not feeling ice cream anymore,”

He looked worried, as anyone who knew her would because Bugsy turning down free pudding was a blaring red siren in his eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” He said, stroking a gentle hand over the side of her head and leading her where he’d parked the car.

And it was that worry, the same cloud that hung over him for months with Scratch and his mom and the Dirty Dozen and everything else that was put onto his shoulder that made her shut her mouth right then and there. He didn’t need one other thing to contend with, not when he was already carrying the weight of the world.

And so she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet at least.

MONTH TWO. The one with the scan.

“Spence, would you stop worrying, I’m sure everything will be fine,” She urged in the gentlest tone she could muster. Yet she was a hypocrite, because she felt her hands shaking as she sat in the chair, trying to adjust her sleeves for something to do and Spencer stopped his leg from bouncing.

Looking over at her, he sighed, holding out a large palm and weaving her fingers in between his and she flicked a look over at him, her own eyes nervous.

“I’m sorry,” He gave her a guilty smile, “If it helps, it’s half excitement too,”

And she smiled then, shaking her head as he squeezed her hand gently.

“Me too,” She confessed, looking down at her stomach that didn’t seem all too different than usual. She’d felt a few symptoms up until this point, a bit of nausea but that was nothing she couldn’t handle, headaches here and there. But it wasn’t anything exactly life changing that she’d expected when she’d always thought of pregnancy.

If anything, none of it felt real quite just yet. Having only been a few weeks since she’d told Spencer, they’d spent the majority of the time searching for houses and appointments and gynaecologists and neonatal care, and whenever they were free, they were trying to get used to the idea of the two of them as parents.

“Did you know they’re around half an inch long by now,” Spencer said, his hazel eyes falling to where her shirt hid her stomach that had yet to change no matter how many times he stared at it, “About a third of that is made up of their head,”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” She shrugged, stroking her thumb along the edge of his pinky finger, “It’s your kid, they’re going to have biggest brain out there,”

He snickered, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it softly, “If they have even half your brains, we’re going to be raising the next Galileo,”

“Mr and Mrs Reid,” Their heads shot up at the midwife, Bugsy fumbling for words to correct him as the two of them stood up to greet him with bashful smiles. She didn’t need to look at Spencer’s face to know he’d gone bright red.

“It’s uh, Prentiss-Reid,” Spencer spluttered as they entered and the nurse looked again at his chart with wide eyes, his cheeks a little pink himself and he ushered the two of them into his office with a smile.

“So it is, I do apologise,” He said earnestly, holding a hand out to gesture Bugsy to sit on the reclining bed, “I hate to stereotype, but usually when dad books the appointments, its because their wives are already doing a hundred other things,”

“It’s okay, it happens,” She said with an awkward chuckle, avoiding Spencer’s eyes because they still hadn’t had that talk. Even though she knew her mother would frown at her grandchild being born a bastard, she didn’t care much for Elizabeth’s opinion. It wasn’t like marriages had ever led to good things for her mother anyway.

She hopped up onto the examination cot, her heart quivering just the slightest in worry because the smell of bleach and rubber made the whole thing real. Until then, having a grain of rice growing inside her seemed like a fever dream since she’d only had a handful of side effects, throwing up could have easily been passed off as bad chicken, the head aches could have just been her eyes straining from using her computer too much.

“Okay, everything feels okay, Mom? Nothing concerning at all?” And then the midwife said things like that, mom, and the part of her that almost forgot she was pregnant came to a screeching halt.

She’d be a mom. Someone would call her mom. The thought of it made her suck in a breath.

“Uh, no.” She cleared her throat and felt Spencer grab her hand, “Morning sickness is kicking my ass, but nothing worrying,”

The nurse chuckled, and she felt Spencer rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm, his eyes burning into the side of her head.

“Well, if it’s alright, I need you to lift your shirt up a little so we can have a see what’s going on,” He said with a kind smile, and she realised then he’d slipped latex gloves over his hands, and brandished a bottle of gel.

She nodded absently, doing as he said and lifting her shirt to sit under her breasts, drawing the hem of her skirt down so he had a space to apply. And the second he did she sucked in breath through her nose, the cold of the air conditioning chilling her to her marrow, and she tried telling herself that’s why her hands were shaking.

She felt Spencer’s fingers curve through her hair, and she reminded herself to breathe, looking over at him with nervous eyes she hoped he didn’t see straight through. But judging by the way he scooted the chair forward and gave her an encouraging smile, she guessed he’d seen the flicker of doubt in an instant.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be fine,” He murmured, his own fear buried deep somewhere she couldn’t see anymore the second she had been the one to look to him for help. She knew she wanted this, knew she’d always dreamed of Spencer and her having their happily ever after. She knew whenever she’d let herself think of a little boy with chocolate curls and hazel eyes that she wanted all of that and more.

But it was all so… real. Like seeing a movie come to life, and she was starring centre stage. Her body wasn’t a disposable shell that held thirty plus years of stupid mistakes and regrets and tattoos she’d decided she hated now. Her body had a whole other human inside it.

The midwife clicked the machine on, the transducer wand ready in his hand as he gently put it on her lower stomach, barely a few centimetres from her panties, and she wondered why they showed the wand roaming over the woman’s belly button on tv shows since that was entirely wrong and not nearly as embarrassing. She let out a shaky breath, and Spencer stroked her head again, forcing her to give him an unsure look, like she was trying to calm herself for his sake but couldn’t.

His eyes were anxious though he squeezed her again with a smile and she saw it immediately, like he too was trying to be brave for her.

She had never loved him so much.

“Apologies for the shock, I know the gel can be a little cold,” The nurse said with a grin, and it was only then she realised the screen had lit up with a black and white image, one she’d seen a thousand times when she’d studied neonatal procedures for her degree.

She knew that was her womb lining, and that was the amniotic fluid and that right there-

Bugsy froze, and judging by the way Spencer’s hand tightened around her own, he had too. She felt her mouth drop with a laugh of shock, and she sat up slightly to take a closer look at the monitor.

“And there is baby,” The midwife said, his expression warming as he watched Spencer’s stand up to lean over the bed, not once letting go of the woman’s hand, the two of them utterly enraptured in the screen, “Probably about the size of a raspberry,”

And Bugsy laughed, her eyes lined with tears as she looked up at Spencer’s equally wetted hues. He was grinning from ear to ear when he looked down at her, and it wasn’t long before he brought his lips to her forehead, his nose and throat burning with a held cry.

“Do you hear that? A whole raspberry already?” She said, her voice wobbling and he giggled, sitting back in his seat and rubbing his cheeks with his sleeve. “I am good at this cooking thing, might as well call me an easy bake oven,”

Spencer shook his head with another chuckle, his eyes trailing back to the little blob on the screen that looked more like a toy alien than anything else, and held her hand between both of his like he was in prayer.

Because Spencer never believed in anything sacred and divine until he met Bugsy.

MONTH THREE. The one where they tell everyone.

“What are you doing?” Bugsy jumped out of her skin as JJ all but materialised behind her. She looked over her shoulder guiltily, her hand still half way through pouring out her mug of coffee Derek had handed her before he left to get lunch.

She turned to see the blonde with her own steaming mug of decaf in her hands. She’d been taking the lack of caffeine much better this time around since having a second baby to breastfeed, considering she was nothing short of evil when she’d had Henry, which had been Spencer’s words not Bugsy’s. And it wasn’t as if the woman could blame her. She was grouchy when she didn’t get her regular dose even before being pregnancy, Derek had once gotten a kick to the shin when he’d disturbed her on a day she’d been too busy to grab one on her way to the office.

She was a fiend for the bitter god. And everyone knew it. Which was exactly why JJ’s eyebrows were all but raised into her hairline seeing the girl who would usually be in the stages of withdrawal by now tipping the drink away.

“Uh, the milk tasted funky,” She excused, though the way JJ narrowed her eyes at the poor excuse told her it hadn’t passed by a mile.

“Right, the milk that Hotch picked up this morning?” JJ pursed her lips, sliding her own mug onto the side and jutting her hip.

And as if he were summoned, Hotch sidled up to the kitchenette, Rossi and Tara hot on his heels as they flicked through some paperwork, and his head shot up the minute he heard his name.

His eyes trailed to where the girl flipped her mug upside on the drying rack, and his brow furrowed.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, and she huffed in response, wiping her hands on her jeans.

“Yes, I’m fine,” She grumbled, shaking her head, “I don’t know what you’re all so wound up about, it’s not like I’m dying, I just don’t feel like coffee today-”

“Oh my god,” Penelope gasped where she crept behind Hotch with her very favourite octopus mug in tow, one that was nearly thrown to the floor when she heard the words pour from the girl’s mouth, “Are you sick? Like in the body or in the head? Rossi, check her pulse, I’m going to get a thermometer-”

“Pen, I’m fine,” She said unconvincingly and she tried to skirt past the group that seemed to have her surrounded. Seeing Spencer pulling up the rear in search of lunch she felt herself sigh in relief, because he would think of a much better excuse than she ever could.

She had barely been able to keep her mouth shut for the months they had been secretly dating, and had relished in the peace it brought her when everyone knew. But the midwife had said it was common to keep things under wraps at least until the first trimester was over. Apparently the million of questions that were sure to be heading their way would cause her unnecessary stress, though she’d argue having to sneak to the sink every morning and dispose of a delicious looking coffee was torture enough.

“What’s up?” Spencer asked as she ducked towards him, his hand consciously wrapping around her waist, and she huffed again, looking to him with a silent plea.

“They’re profiling me,” Bugsy said, and he felt his gut knot because he should have known it wouldn’t be long before they caught on. It was their job to pick apart out of the ordinary behaviour, and Bugsy going teetotal on caffeine was definitely something of a head turner.

“I told you that diet would cause a stir,” He joked, hoping they bought his pathetic attempt of an excuse, as he gave her side a gentle squeeze, and hoped that he could lead her back to her desk like she was a lost little lamb being prowled upon by nosy wolves that rarely took no for an answer.

And it almost worked, almost, until JJ snapped her fingers and pointed at his wandering hand.

“See that, that is the fourth time you’ve been all touchy and weird this week,” The blonde surprised, her brows furrowing, “Bugsy hates PDA, usually by now she would have whacked you over the head and called you a perv,”

Bugsy smashed her lips together because she couldn’t exactly disagree with her. That’s exactly what she usually did. Usually would tell Spencer to stop being so horny in a place of work even if she felt her cheeks heat at the delicate grabs of her stomach fat.

But whether it was the little bean now around the size of a small lemon that had made her mellow and affectionate, or whether the lack of caffeine really was making her feel vulnerable, she wasn’t sure. And the whole thing was only made worse by Hotch’s eyes burning into the side of her, and she felt the trail of his gaze head straight for her stomach.

“Come to think of it, I only saw you with a lime and soda at Savannah’s birthday last week,” Rossi pointed out, wagging his finger in her direction, his brown hues widening in thought, “When Penelope asked if you wanted tequila you said-”

“I’m all tequila-ed out,” Penelope chimed in with the same frown, “But that can’t be, when have you ever been tequila-ed out, that’s like impossible, even that night we had to help Spencer get you in the shower because you’d thrown up everywhere you were demanding more,”

She felt her cheeks heat thinking about her twenty ninth birthday, or atleast the parts of it she could remember of it before the rest of the gaps were filled with black spaces of time that she guessed had been robbed from her by the shots she piled on.

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like tequila, can a girl not live in the moment?” She tried to rebuttal, only Penelope gave her a blank look that told her to try again because the Bugsy she knew would slap her for saying something so dumb. She opened her mouth to correct her again, but Hotch beat her to it.

“You know Hayley got really affectionate a couple months into being pregnant,” The man said, his eyes swirling with something proud and warm when he saw Bugsy’s head flick to him like she’d been caught red handed, which they had. “Though, if you ask me I think she was just a little sorry for herself that I took the coffee away,”

There was a beat of silence, and the room held its breath. Even Tara, who had only known them the best part of a few months raised her hand to her mouth in shock, and Bugsy shot a look at Spencer in utter defeat.

“We tried,” She said with her shoulders shrugging, and it was then that the office was filled with a piercing scream that turned a fair few heads and the infamous octopus mug was thrown clear across the kitchen floor, one of his tentacles snapping clean off.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE? YOU’RE PREGNANT?” Penelope wailed like a banshee, and Bugsy couldn’t help but break into a smile, nodding at the woman who screeched again and yanked her in for a tight hug, “Oh my god, there's going to be three of you, three geniuses, three little einsteins that I want to smush together and kiss all over-”

“Garcia, I think she needs air if she’s going to make another little genius,” Rossi said, and the tech analyst pulled away aghast, cupping Bugsy’s face that was still grinning ear to ear with a chuckle.

“Oh my god, I didn’t hurt you did I? Or the baby- Oh my god there’s a baby in there!”

Hotch wrapped a rare yet tender arm around Spencer’s shoulder, giving him a little pat and a “Congratulations” while Rossi smiled knowingly between the couple and JJ had her turn smothering Bugsy in a tearful hug.

And by the time Derek had walked into the office with his everything bagel hanging between his teeth and a tea in his hands, his onyx hues fell to Penelope, JJ and Bugsy exchanging weepy words while Tara handed them tissues with her own sparkling eyes.

“What fresh hell did I miss?”

MONTH FOUR. The one where she starts looking different.

She huffed, her fingers gripping the edge of her jeans and yanking them up her thighs as far as they would go. She felt like everything had shrunk in the wash, or like she was trying on a doll’s wardrobe. Surely she hadn’t gained that much weight in just a few months, but then again she’d been all but living off chocolate pudding cups since the Bean decided it wanted sugar, sugar and more sugar.

She grunted in annoyance, her arms and back aching where she was leaning over to pull at the infernal things. She barely had a second to pout childishly, before kind hands were wrapping around her stomach and a mouth kissed at her neck tenderly.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” His voice was honey sweet, thick and goopy with love overflowing as he pulled her to his chest, his hand caressed the bump that seemed to be getting in the way of her and her favourite jeans. Spencer knew she tried to ignore the symptoms that almost every woman felt during pregnancy, he knew she compared herself to how JJ had handled both pregnancies gracefully and looked better than ever even as a mother of two. He knew she hated complaining because she didn’t want him to think she was miserable carrying their kid, but god was she getting sick of her clothes pinching her in.

“I’m getting fatter,” Bugsy grumbled, her eyes darting to the vivid lines that had deepened into the crease of her hips within a few weeks and she winced, “I’m not even halfway, how does this kid want to eat pudding all the time?”

Spencer frowned, shaking his head slightly because he refrained from telling her what a silly statement it was, knowing it would only make her feel worse, and instead pressed delicate kisses to her jaw, squeezing her closer. He’d noticed the stretch marks, just as he’d noticed her face and hips gathering weight a bit more than usual, and was just grateful there was even more Bugsy to love.

“You’re eating for two, you’re literally growing a whole life inside of you. I think that is more than enough grounds to eat whatever you want,” He murmured, biting the inside of his cheek when she sighed as though she didn’t believe him, “Honey, clothes are replaceable. What your body’s trying to do is create a little bubble around you and this little pudding fiend so you can feed them when they’re out here,”

Bugsy knew he was right. She’d spent well over a hundred hours researching hormone levels and how pregnant bodies are changing all hours of the day to accommodate the foetus, she knew it was normal for things to look different. Had it been on anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye. But it didn’t make the sting of seeing her body morph into one she didn’t recognise any less harsh.

“I know,” She hummed somewhat defeated, turning in his arms to press her face in his neck, “I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast is all,”

Spencer smiled warmly, because every day he thought she had gotten impossibly prettier. He hadn’t believed in ‘pregnancy glow’, in fact he’d chalked it down to some sort of innate scientific survival tactic that associated a vulnerable woman with looking angelic, at least not until he’d woken up to see her stomach protruding from her pyjama top in a clear curve shape and he thought her face looked like she should be in some Monet painting, dozing in a field like a wide eyed doe.

“I know, it’s a lot for anyone to go through. But you know I’m so grateful for you,” Spencer said, and he felt her smile without even seeing it. Her fingers wove into his hair at the nape of his neck, kissing a trail up his chest because he suspected she looked somewhat embarrassed. “Besides, I’m not complaining. It means I get to do this,”

She felt two large hands grab at the fat of her bum cheeks and she squeaked in surprise, even though she heard him laugh in her ear at her reaction. That had been another thing she’d noticed, and how could she not. Penelope said just the other day that she was ‘baking a bun in the oven and cake in the trunk’ with a little wink, and she’d had to excuse herself quickly for lack of a response.

And Spencer wasn’t lying. He wasn’t complaining with any of it, not by a long shot.

MONTH FIVE. The one with the mood swings.

“So you guys really don’t want to know the sex?” JJ asked, sipping on her tea as she chatted with Bugsy who was balancing biscuits on top of her now protruding stomach. It was as if overnight the baby had stretched out enough to make themselves a damn penthouse suite in Bugsy’s tummy.

“We want it to be a surprise, either way we’re going to love the little bean, even if they do keep kicking my bladder at four am,” She said, balancing the tenth cookie on the tower she’d made, reaching over carefully for another one, “I swear if the bean kicks my cookie tower I’m giving them a hideous name,”

“It’s good to feel the baby kicking at this stage, it helps develop their joints and bones so they’re stronger when they’re born.” Spencer inputted helpfully as he slid a fresh mug of decaf tea over to her desk.

“Next time the baby kicks your uterus walls, Spence, gimme a shout and we’ll discuss how great it is,” Bugsy said with a small smile and he paused, looking at JJ as if he was caught in a trap, suddenly well aware of his mistake.

“Point taken,” He conceded quietly, and JJ chuckled because she’d seen Will just as hesitant to piss her off in both of her pregnancies. And she knew Bugsy would never hold it against him, that Spencer’s head just ran away from him sometimes.

She halted her little game and carefully leaned over to draw the mug to her lips, too impatient to wait for it to cool down fully and she barely spotted Derek swooping around the corner of the desk.

“Good morning, Mommies and Daddy Genius,” He greeted in that chirpy tone, his hand snatching up the top cookie and scarfing it down before she could protest.

Bugsy shared her snacks all the time, it was a no brainer that they took a bite here and there out of each other's goodies before they could get a smack to the wrist. And Derek had certainly noticed a few of his Rolos missing the last time he bought a pack, and a particularly cheerful Bugsy smirking at him over her desk.

It wasn’t a huge deal, and yet Bugsy sat up in a gasp, and the entire biscuit tower fell to a crumbling mess on the floor.

“Well done, princess, Hotch is going to-” Derek stopped mid sentence when he saw her sniffle, and his eyes widened at the sight of her eyes glistening with tears, “Bugsy- are you okay-”

“My cookies! Derek!” She whined pitifully, and she buried her face in her hands, “My cookies, I was so going to eat the shit out of those, they were gonna be so good, Derek,”

Morgan looked gobsmacked, his head whipping between the woman leaning against the desk with an understanding smile and Spencer who was already rubbing her shoulders with his lips smashed together, trying not to laugh.

“Honey, it’s okay, he didn’t mean to,” Her partner tried to coo, though he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the way Derek scrambled to draw out his wallet.

“I’ll get you more, Bug, I swear, they sell them by the deli down the street, right?” He asked, jittering in his bones because he’d never made her cry before. He worried or a moment Hotch might just put him on sabbatical leave for such an offense. Emily would probably fly to Virginia just to cave his skull in, “I’m sorry, I’ll go get more, I’ll even get you strawberry milk-”

“Chocolate milk,” She wailed, and JJ slid a box of tissues over to the pitiful girl with a silent snicker. She remembered all too well the feeling of unexplained emotion crashing over her, and she didn’t doubt that the tough faced Bugsy would be back to normal any moment soon.

“Chocolate milk, got it,” Derek said, with a nod, and he all but darted for the elevators, in a hurry Spencer somewhat suspected was down to the fact he feared for his life if Penelope got a whiff of what happened.

Bugsy sniffled for a moment, drawing a tissue out the box and dabbing her eyes sullenly, her feelings slightly worse for wear even if she had a small inkling of doubt that she was really so torn up about the cookies as her body made it seem.

But she had been thinking about them all morning; made herself promise she would only eat them once she got the stack fifteen high at least.

“Are you okay, baby?” Spencer asked, his gaze empathetic as she snuffled her sobs into the palm of her hands. He wasn’t too worried, even if he hated seeing her cry just as much as anyone else did. And it wasn’t that he didn’t take her seriously. But when she’d been crying just that morning because her shower gel spilled on the floor and tipped almost all the way out, or even when she’d stepped on a snail walking into the building and smushed it into the ground, effectively killing it, he seemed to be getting used to her mood swings.

She sniffed woefully, “I was really looking forward to those, and now I think I was too mean to Derek and…” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, and the sight of it made Spencer sigh, leaning forward to kiss the side of her head because it must be difficult being so out of your usual self for nine months.

“And what?” He prompted softly. Only she burst out crying again, reaching forward to drag him into a hug that told him she was feeling extra sorry for herself.

He wouldn’t blame her. Would sit through every weep and sob and tantrum if it meant he got to show her even more times over that he loved her endlessly.

However he did have to hold in the giggle when she wailed; “I think I really do want strawberry milk,”

MONTH SIX. The one with the false labour.

She had been in Hotch’s office when she felt it.

Embarrassingly so, her first thought was trapped gas. She’d gotten a lot of that considering the baby had decided it craved spice, and had been planning to excuse herself when it felt like her whole abdomen seized as if she’d been hit with a particularly nasty period cramp.

Her hand flew to her stomach where she sat with Hotch reviewing her latest reports, the same quarterly check the whole team was mandated to have with their boss since Cruz became section chief. Hotch didn’t miss a beat, the folder in his hand hitting the desk in an instant as he tensed, looking at her with caution.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and she held her breath for a moment. Spencer was out with Rossi giving a lecture in Washington DC, JJ had the day off for her mom’s birthday, Penelope and Morgan were taking Tara to lunch to show her a few more of their regular spots. It was just them and Anderson in the office for the next few hours, possibly the worst time out of any to have an empty floor.

“Yeah- I just, woah,” Her stomach gave another lurch of a painful twist and her hand slapped on the table to keep herself steady. She breathed through the pain, because she’d had much worse only that wasn’t what was making her heart race. It was fear. Because she wasn’t due for another twelve weeks at least, and while she’d heard of baby’s being born as premature as six months, she knew premy babies suffered major complications later on, let alone the stress their body goes under during the actual birth.

Bean, as the team had affectionately named the baby since the couple had firmly decided they didn’t want to know the sex, was about the size of red cabbage, tiny in the scheme of things even though it felt like just a few minutes ago they were a grain of rice.

“Okay, it’s okay, stay calm,” Hotch said in a smooth voice, gentle yet reassuring as he rounded his desk in a flash and put his hand on her shoulder, “Do you feel like you need to use the toilet? Any back ache or irritability?”

Bugsy breathed out through her nose as her lungs jittered with nerves, “N-no, I don’t need the bathroom, why would that matter?”

Aaron stroked a large kind hand down her spine, watching her face scrunch in pain for a second time, and he slowly began directing her towards the door, taking small steps so she wasn’t rushing. “Needing to use the bathroom is an early sign of labour, it’s your body's way of helping expand your pelvis to accommodate the head. Any back ache or frustration at all?”

He didn’t care that he’d had to repeat himself, not even when he was usually so against it, because he could feel the own unease rising in his throat like bile even if he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible.

He would be damned if he let her see how worried he was, and so he swallowed heavily, holding his other hand out for her to take when they approached the stairs. Anderson was on his feet in seconds when he saw his unit chief leading the woman with a tightly concealed frown, fumbling around for his phone.

“Agent Prentiss?” He exclaimed, darting around the mess of chairs and paper and desks to approach them, “Would you like me to call Dr Reid? An ambulance, perhaps?”

“She's alright, I’m driving her to the ER, thank you Anderson,” Aaron responded politely, his hand still resting on her back, and the agent nodded, digging around for his keys.

“I can drive, if you’d like to ride in the back with her,” Grant offered with worried eyes as Bugsy’s face crumpled in agony again, and Hotch’s head whipped to her, and his composure crumbled for a moment.

“Bugsy, hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay, honey,” He cooed, and Anderson was quick to open the glass doors, “Did you pack a bag at all-”

“No, Spencer told me I should but I said it was too early, why is that man always right,” She grumbled, her footsteps weary and jittery as the three of them got into the elevator.

Hotch fought a smile, trying to remember everything he’d memorised before Hailey had Jack. The 5-1-1 rule blared through his head, and he glanced at his watch for a fraction of a second, and he wondered for a moment if he was going to have to write off a company vehicle for the fact his youngest agent gave birth in the back seat.

“I’m afraid that’s just how Reid operates,” Hotch said, pulling his phone out to dial the man in question and let him know where they were headed, “It’s probably nothing, Hailey was getting cramps all the time once she reached her third trimester, but we’ll get you checked out to be safe,”

“Really?” She looked at him with pitiful eyes and he nodded with a tight smile, committing to his illusion of calmness even if he swore he hadn’t felt so scared in months.

Because it wasn’t just Bugsy anymore, it was Bugsy and her baby. Her and Reid’s baby. The two people who deserved their happy ending more so than anyone else he knew.

And he felt her hand slip into his then as she accepted his answer, in fact she didn’t let go the entire time she waited on Spencer and Aaron was in no rush to leave her side. Even when she lay back on the table and had the midwife checking everything over, he stayed by her head (no doubt to avoid a very awkward conversation), stroked her hair when she fretted through a few more cramps, even when Spencer burst in through the door with Morgan at his heels looking like the two of them had just ran a marathon.

“Is everything okay- what’s wrong- do you need fluids- do you need ice-” Spencer rushed on his odd breath, his chest puffing with inhales, and he pretended he wasn’t seeing stars floating across his vision.

“I’m assuming by your reaction you’re dad,” The nurse said, pulling off the blue gloves and dropping her mask from her mouth.

“Yes, he is, he’s dad,” Morgan filled in for him as Spencer all but fell back against the wall, because he really should have drank something other than soda and coffee this morning. He was close to swaying on his feet when he stepped over to his girlfriend, and she took his hand in the her own, or atleast the one that wasn’t occupied by Hotch’s tight hold.

“Don’t worry, everything is alright with mom and baby,” She said, noting down a few things on her chart and the four of them took an audible sigh of relief, “Braxton Hicks contractions are very common in your final trimester, it probably felt like a lot because your baby is moving to into the anterior position ready for birth,”

Bugsy’s head flopped back against the pillow in comfort and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths, willing her heart rate to go back to normal. Braxton Hicks, she should have known. Her head had been fuzzy the past few weeks as it was, but she supposed the moment she’d thought there might be something wrong with the Bean, all of her logic had flown out the window.

But at least she’d had Hotch to keep her level headed, and-

“Oh my god, Anderson,” She jolted up, her legs stuck in the stirrups the midwife had place her into while she examined everything, “We need to tell Anderson, the poor guy was so worried,”

Hotch chose not to tell her he’d seen Anderson go as white as a ghost the second she’d turned her back, and instead patted her leg as Spencer went to speak to the midwife a little more, no doubt picking apart every single symptom she’d presented in that huge, worried head of his.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Anderson is fine, honey,” He said earnestly, and she looked at him like a kicked puppy, entirely sorry for the panic she’d caused, “Let’s just get you your underwear back, huh?”

MONTH SEVEN. The one where they decorate the nursery.

“What about Elias,”

“Veto,”

Bugsy pulled a shunned expression as she carefully rolled the wallpaper up the wall.

“Mason? Niko, stop,” She proposed, one hand on the wall while using the other to push the nosey feline away from the wet paste she’d been brushing on the wall.

He sat politely at her chide, blinking at her with those big eyes as he watched her work with a twitching tail, almost entertained at the woman who had ballooned up in just a few weeks struggling to do a relatively easy task.

“Hmm, Mason can go on the bench,” Spencer responded where he was sitting at the other end of the wall doing the same thing only much faster, though she’d argue it was a little easier since he wasn't carrying a large coconut strapped to his stomach.

They’d left the apartment just two weeks ago. Derek had been the one to help them cart their small amount of furniture into the modest house on the outskirts of West Springfield. It was large by Spencer’s standards, even if Bugsy had seen what grandeur looked like in her own childhood homes, but it didn’t matter. Because walls and floors and fancy grand pianos had never bought her love. Yet the first evening they’d spent in their new home they had slept on a mattress on the floor, the list of things to do the following day rattling around their heads. But they had a home. They had the picket fence with the nice school down the road and the bus stop within eyesight of the kitchen where their kid would one day walk to their door with a book bag and glasses like Spencer’s.

She had never felt like she belonged somewhere until she had a home with him.

“What about Ada for a girl?” Spencer called over his shoulder, where he had almost caught up to where she was still working on the small patch of wall. The paper was proving frustrating for her swollen fingers, considering the entire thing, when put together, made up a mural of little woodland creatures amidst a forest and left zero room for error, “Named after Ada Lovelace, the woman who pioneered computers,”

Considering it for a moment, she nodded, “That’s pretty. Ada makes top ten,”

Flipping the last part up to stick against the thick glue, she ran her hands over the seams to be sure it aligned perfectly with the rest of the picture. Satisfied when it matched and a little fox stared down at her, she smiled, tilting her head up where Spencer was standing over her, watching her concentrate.

“All done!” She chirped, and he bent down to give her a kiss to her puckered lips, sliding a hand beneath her arm to help her up.

“Looks perfect, you’re really carrying the team honey,” He mused as she got to her feet with a little whine, wrapping her arms around his middle in a proud hug.

“I know, what would you ever do without me?”

He laughed, looking at her with an adoring gaze.

The light cracked through the open window, laying over her face delicately. The house was still bare, still in need of carpets and a good dusting, still had leaky pipes and ants in the pantry. Yes, they had a pantry now. But it was a start. It was a home.

“I say we leave the cradle for another day, baby is calling for frozen grapes again,” She said, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly button and he smiled. Spencer could have sworn he was the luckiest guy in the world when he called her his friend. He thought maybe he should have bought a lottery ticket the same day she told him she loved him. The day she became his girlfriend he thinks he may have died and the past three years have been purely a dream.

But watching the breeze kiss her cheeks and stroke her hair, watching her eyes rove over the room that would keep their baby safe and warm in just a few weeks, even seeing her smile at him like he had handed her the whole universe in a box when she was the one growing a whole human inside her; Spencer felt like his life was so much better than he ever hoped it would be.

“Frozen grapes, coming right up,” He said, slipping his fingers in between his to help her down the winding staircase which had been a winner for her immediately. It’s like we have a castle, Spence. “You or the baby could ask for a whole damn ox and I’d give it to you.”

She laughed, holding onto the bannister as they headed downstairs to the kitchen that was in dire need of fresh paint.

“What if I said baby wants a holiday to Cancun and another cat,”

“I’d say baby is onto something there,” Spencer said, sweeping her from the final step and giving her a wet kiss to her head, “But first, grapes.”

MONTH EIGHT. The one where she gets cranky.

“Oh my god,” She groaned as she threw herself into her wheely chair, her button up shirt barely accommodating her stomach that was well and truly ready to pop.

Derek Morgan loved her, he truly loved her like she was one of his sisters, dare say he had loved her since that day he’d carried her out of the church she was held hostage in by Cyrus. He had seen her at her rock bottom, had seen her graduate with flying colours, had even put his job on the line for her; covered her back from a stupid mistake at a bar when she popped a little molly on government pay.

Derek loved her. He did. But the moment he saw her slump into her chair, her face scrunched up in frustration, he was collecting his mug of coffee and all but bolting for the door and heading straight for Penelope’s lair.

“Back pain again?” JJ asked, flitting past a very frantic Morgan and heading towards Rossi’s office with a stack of papers in her arms. Bugsy let out something close to a growl in return, and JJ took it as a yes.

“I swear I have been pregnant for years,” She huffed, barely reaching over to where her keyboard sat at her desk. Tara nudged it forward for her to grab, because it seemed like she was on her breaking point enough as it was, and received a brief nod of thanks “I can’t remember a time when my back didn’t hurt, or my boobs were aching or my head wasn’t all fuzzy and weird and- OH for the love of god SWITCH ON YOU PIECE OF SHIT,”

JJ’s brows raised as the keyboard mouse went flying off the side of her desk in protest, rolling straight past where Hotch and Spencer were strolling through the office, her boyfriend carrying the biggest Strawberry Milkshake he could find on this side of town.

If Hotch wanted to say anything about her damaging property, he thought it smarter to keep his mouth shut as she swivelled to face the two of them, her expression already irritated by the worried stare they shot her way.

“What?” She said with a bite, and Spencer raised his hands in surrender, which left her gaze to slide to Hotch.

And Hotch loved her too, loved her more than he would ever admit. But he swore he the second her eyes clamped on his, Aaron Hotchner considered an exorcism might be necessary.

“What, what are you staring at me for?” She snapped, throwing her hands out like a bratty teenager, and Hotch cleared his throat before he spoke, something embarrassingly close to fear shaking his vocal chords.

“Have you given any more thought to maternity leave, yet?” He asked and her eye twitched, and it was as if he saw the stapler was next on her list of things to send flying off the table, preferably straight at his head. “I would be more than happy to pull some strings so you take longer off after the baby is born, maybe even Spencer could start his paternity early-”

“What?” She said for a third time, like she was a broken record. And she knew she was being unfair, perhaps even cruelly so. But she would make it up to them later, when she was in a better frame of mind. Her underwear rode up and pinched where her uterus had begun to drop, her trousers itched for whatever reason, her face was hot from just walking from the elevator to her chair and that was just since she’d entered the office. She hadn’t got much energy for showers anymore and so washing her hair became some ugly affair where Spencer got in with her and did it for her, only last time he put a little too much product on and got the suds in her eyes and they had spent twenty minutes rinsing her face, naked and dripping wet, over the sink. She felt awful, awful for how she was being so irrationally rude, but it was like every inch of her being was uncomfortable. And there was still another month to go.

“Good god, man, don’t poke the bear,” Tara hummed as she passed, taking her own half full mug to the kitchen to escape whatever was rumbling in that hot head of hers.

Hotch swallowed heavily, noticing how Spencer stayed deadly quiet no doubt because he’d learned his lesson in trying to force Bugsy into doing something when she was like this, “I’m saying I think it would be good for you to take some time off, you’ve both worked hard enough as it is and with the baby being so close, it would be good to take it easy for a few weeks-”

She pressed her lips together, because she knew he was probably trying to help, probably trying to be considerate, and yet the heat of annoyance bubbled up inside her all the same like a kettle on the precipice of boiling.

“If you want the big scary pregnant lady out of your way just spit it out, Hotch,” She snapped, scowling at him in a way he remembered Hailey doing when he so much as sneezed too loud.

And he couldn’t find it in him to be mad at her. Because anyone with eyes saw she was uncomfortable, he knew if she was anything like his own ex-wife then she wouldn’t be sleeping nearly as much as she should, that more than likely their kid would be already kicking with long, scrawny legs to get out and show the world what they were made of.

Hotch was saved from the firing line when his guess was proved almost immediately, and she groaned with a hand to her abdomen.

“Spencer, would you tell your kid they’re not a linebacker and that my kidneys aren’t the damn ball,” She complained, and her partner flashed her a brave smile, leaning over her to rub where she was caressing her battered organs.

“Actually, right about here will be your spleen since the baby has pushed everything around at this stage-” And with that Hotch darted towards his office because Bugsy looked ready to clip someone around the ear, and he didn’t have the heart to write her up for it.

Although for the sanctity of his team, he rushed her documents through the same afternoon and gave her an extra four weeks pay in lieu of a truce.

MONTH NINE. The one with the birth.

It had been fourteen hours already when the doctor mentioned the word caesarean.

“Caesarean? We never planned for a C-section,” Bugsy’s eyes widened where she was intermittently sucking down gas and air, Spencer patting her forehead down with an ice wet cloth.

But then again she supposed she had never planned to go into labour when getting the laundry off the washing line while Spence painted the porch.

He looked at her with nervous hazel hues where her face sparkled with sweat and water, her hand squeezing him tightly as another contraction hit.

“I’m afraid we have few options left, Miss Prentiss,” The midwife said, a woman around her age that was already masked up after prodding around her cervix for a few hours, “Fourteen hours is rough on anyone and we’re not seeing any movement past your pelvis. Any longer and you or your baby might be at risk,”

And it was the truth, but it was a harsh one, and tears sprung to her eyes hearing those last few words. She had never had any delusions it would be easy giving birth, it was revered as the most painful thing anyone could go through, but she had assumed on a hope and a prayer that things would go smoothly.

“I know it’s scary,” Spencer found his voice after a second, their hands clasped tightly together because there was more chance of snow in hell than there was he was letting her do this alone, “But, baby, you’re doing so well, and you’re almost there,” He said in a watery sweet tone, dabbing at her brow once more and the two of them exchanged a teary look, “It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, they’re going to numb you for the whole thing and when it’s over we’re going to have our baby, huh?”

She smiled ruefully because he was trying desperately to cheer her up, even though it sounded like he was reassuring himself just as much as he was her.

And she nodded, because she knew he was right, and more than anything she wanted their baby to be safe, even if it meant having her insides scooped out like she was some russian nesting doll.

“O-okay, yeah, c-can Spencer stay with me?” She asked nervously, and the midwife smiled, pressing a button to call for the anesthesiologist.

“Ofcourse, honey. Just try to relax, we’re going to arrange an epidural for you,” She said in a voice that told Bugsy she’d practised staying calm in an emergency a thousand times.

Bugsy breathed through her nose, feeling Spencer swoop in to wipe the lone few tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay,” He said, his voice bustling with nerves and she wanted to tell him the same, wanted to tell him she loved him more than ever for trying to put a brave face on for her sake. But she couldn’t, so she nodded frantically, leaning her forehead against his cheek and taking a few more deep breaths.

–

“You’re doing great, honey, you’re being so brave,” Spencer reassured in his biggest voice, his hand carding over the side of her hot face gently. There was blood, there was so much blood, and the sound of her monitor was the only sound that was constant and not at all worrying with its steady heart beat.

The midwives were flitting around the room, the lead obstetrician making careful incisions and handing various things Spencer didn’t want to see over to his co-workers. Because he loved their baby already, couldn’t wait to meet the mini him he’d been dreaming about since he was a boy himself, but Bugsy needed him first. She was his everything, his whole life, his whole universe fading between clear consciousness and a slightly loopy gaze as she relaxed on the table.

“Is it over? Are they here, are they okay?” She slurred, looking over at him where his hair was covered in a blue scrub cap, his entire body wrapped in protective uniform to minimise the risk of infection on her body.

He cradled her face again, shaking his head, “Not yet honey, you’re doing so good, it’s nearly over,” Spencer said, pressing his brow against hers because he had a mask over his mouth and couldn’t kiss her properly, “I love you so much, I swear I’ll try every day of my life to repay you,”

“You’re being mushy, you’re freaking me out,” She joked as if she was her regular self, because the midwives had all warned him that the sedatives would take the edge off her nerves. And he chuckled, even if he was worrying enough for the two of them, sniffling behind the stuffy mask he had to keep on until she was in recovery.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just want you to be okay,” Spencer said earnestly, and he pressed a kiss to her head anyway even if she wouldn’t feel it with his mask, “I’m gonna get you so many milkshakes when this is-”

There was a wail behind the curtain they had draped over her stomach, and both their breaths stopped in their chests.

“Is that…” Bugsy started, her eyes wide and alert even if seconds ago she had been almost drunk, “Is that it- is that them?”

And another scream resounded around the room as if to answer her.

Spencer swore he had never felt tears well in his eyes so fast until one of the midwives brought a wriggling, wrinkly bundle around the curtain, and within seconds he felt his cheeks sodden with tears.

“Oh my god,” He said his smile reaching his eyes as the little creature was put on Bugsy’s chest, and it was only then he realised she was weeping too and he resumed his position stroking her head, “It’s a-”

“It’s a girl! Spencer, we have a girl!” Bugsy’s grin went from ear to ear, her eyes round and adoring at the ugly, scrunched face still screaming at them, her eyes closed and her skin covered in a white goop, “Oh my god, she’s so beautiful,”

“I told you she’d take after you,” Spencer said, not minding the nurses sewing Bugsy up as they stared at their little girl, Bugsy’s arms holding her body weight delicately though she didn’t quite know what she was doing.

Spencer was quick to remove the mask once they cleared him to, and the second he was freed he pushed his lips to his girlfriend’s, their mouths equally as salty and sodden as one another with the way their cheeks washed with tears. Pulling away, he looked at her in the eyes, the same eyes he’d always loved, the same eyes he’d know in any life, in any world, in any fog, and their smiles were damn near blinding.

“I love you so much, I swear I’m going to make it up to you, anything you want,” Spencer said, kissing her again, his hand resting over hers where she held their baby girl on her bare chest.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she already had everything she’d ever wanted right there with her.

“I love you so much more, Spencer,” She said quietly, the two of them pulling away when the little girl squealed again and they chuckled, quickly rushing to calm her cries as they looked at her as if they had yet to realise she was real and she was theirs, “Oh my god Spencer, you’re a daddy,”

“Bugsy, you’re a mommy,” He said with raised brows and she gasped, giggling with glee as her free hand flew to grab his face and pull him in to kiss her again, “We’re a mommy and daddy,”

The two of them burst out laughing even though overjoyed tears lined their eyes again, and Spencer trailed a large finger down her chubby cheek softly, her skin shrivelled and pruney like she’d been submerged in a bath for too long.

“Spencer, she’s perfect,” She said after a moment, her breath completely stolen when she took her in, the small head completely covered in dark hair, which she had already suspected would be there from the amount of times she found herself itching at her stomach. Her tiny fists waved in the air as her sobs subsided, beginning to warm up to the skin on Bugsy’s chest, and Spencer audibly choked in a cry of his own when her eyelids slowly blinked open and revealed forest hues damn near identical to his own. He pushed his temple to Bugsy’s again as she carefully swayed her from side to side.

“I’m never going to let anything hurt you,” He murmured, his breath warm on her collarbone and his baby girl stared back at him like she understood, even though he knew that was pretty much impossible, “Either of you,”

Bugsy sniffled with a wobbly smile, her hands shaking as she held her daughter up, “Do you want to hold her?”

Spencer looked ready to wail all over again, not that she would ever hold it against him. The two of them had been weeping all day, and their kid was a real tear jerker to look at with her thick lashes and wide eyes.

He was quick to pop open his shirt, holding his hands out nervously as she placed the baby in his arms, his fingers supporting under her head the whole time he brought her to his chest.

Bugsy smiled, the midwife checking in with her for a moment before they were ready to wheel her into the other room to rest up, while Spencer looked entirely enamoured with the little bundle in his arms.

He was a dad. He had made this beautiful, perfect little girl with the woman he loved more than anything in the world, and somehow she had given him even more reasons to feel so lucky.

“Hello, you,” He said through bleary eyes, smiling through a chuckle when he saw just how tiny she looked in his arms, and he had never seen anything look so fragile, “I’m going to try be the best dad you could ever have, okay? I’m gonna be there for all the lame parties, and the sleepovers and the big games and every single time you need help on your homework, I’m gonna be right there with you.”

“What name are we putting on the chart?” The midwife asked as Bugsy watched Spencer murmur to the sweet face that looked up at him in wonder, “Or is it just Baby Girl Prentiss for the moment?”

“It’s Reid,” Bugsy said with a smile, as Spencer poured even more of his gentle heart out in promises she knew he would keep until the day he died. And she knew without checking with him the name they chose weeks ago was perfect; the one they’d decided on just a few days after the nursery was finished and she had yet another bowl of frozen grapes to chow down on while they admired their work.

One for his mother, one for Emily.

“Ana Emilia Reid,”

–

taglists:

TROUBLE

@littlemadamred @stainedpomegranatelips @mcntsee @release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @alyeskathewave @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @busy-buzzing

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss x sister!reader #prentiss!reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #bugspence

1K notes · View notes

bloodrvvvsh · 5 months ago

Text

Needs Me When He’s All Alone. | Post-Prison!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer had broken up long ago — his work kept him too busy for a relationship, is what he told you. Now, several years later, when your paths cross again because you take a job as his boss's assistant, the feelings you both had buried seem to be rekindled.

Pairing: Ex-Boyfriend!Post-prison!Spencer Reid x Fem!Assistant!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), p in v sex, rough hate sex, dom!Spencer, sub!brat!Reader, afab + fem!Reader, hints at some sort of rivarly (kinda) between Spencer and Emily, face fucking, spit/drool, spanking, face slapping, very sloppy and messy fingering, hair pulling, hand around the throat (no choking), dacryphilia, lots and lots of biting, back scratching, marking, orgasm denial, praise, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, prick, asshole) + pet names (princess, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, good girl), creampie

Word count: 4.4K

Notes: Another PWP from me, who’s surprised. Anyways enjoy and stream Starfucker by Slayyyter ✨

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t thought about Spencer Reid since your breakup.

You tried not to think about him, but it was impossible to when you were still so hopelessly hung up on him. It was almost pathetic with the way you were always mentally comparing your dates to him, or spending the day dreaming about him and his big hands and big.. other things.

It was even worse when you considered the way he decided to dump you, too. Some excuse about his work keeping him too busy to maintain a relationship. What kind of a reason is that? It’s not like you ever minded when he was away on long cases, it just made the reunion all the more sweeter in your opinion.

But it wasn’t good enough for Spencer, apparently. You were not good enough Dr. Spencer Reid.

Or, at least, that's what you told yourself when your mind wandered a little too far a little too late at night. It was the same thought that had been cycling through your mind for the past five years. Why else would he dump you for some lame ass reason after nearly three years of dating?

That was the past, though. You were moving on and moving forward. There were more things in life than an ex-boyfriend who happened to be really great at the time. The world didn’t end five years like you might have thought, the earth continued to turn and you continued to wake up every morning.

Today was a day you actually woke up with a sense of excitement bubbling inside your chest. Today was the first day of your new job. You had always preferred the quiet hustle of office jobs and this job was exactly that.

While some might be intimidated by the idea of working for the FBI, you really didn’t mind it. It wasn’t like you were going out on the field every day. You were just an assistant, and you were fine with that. Living in DC, it was a little hard to escape all things governmental and the like, so really it was just another Monday for you.

You watched as the numbers on the elevator ticked by as you rose up. Tucked in the crook of your elbow was a manila envelope and a coffee in your hand. Your free hand fell to the hem of your skirt, tugging on it slightly to hopefully provide some more coverage to your body. The skirt was a little short, but you had paired it with some black pantyhoses to - quite literally - cover your ass. You weren’t sure how well it was actually working, though.

The elevator dinged with the arrival of you to your floor. You let a deep breath out through your mouth before you stepped out. Your heels clicked on the floor, hurriedly trying to make your way across the bullpen and to your new boss’s office like requested.

You had crossed the bullpen with seemingly no problem and you were just about to step onto the stairs when a familiar call of your name had your blood running cold.

“Y/N?” A pit settled in your stomach, dark and cold and full of horrible feelings when Spencer’s voice hit your ears. You swallowed. You turned your head slowly, like you were expecting him to disappear before you looked fully behind you.

But no luck. There he was, in all his glory. Although, he looked very different to the last time you had seen him. He seemed to have ditched his old cardigans and sweaters for tailored suits. His hair was longer, messier, and stubble grew across his face.

Unfortunately for you, he looked even hotter than before.

And even though he looked so different, so unlike the sweet and dorky Spencer you used to date, now looking more like the gruff FBI agent he truly was, there was still a softness to his deep brown eyes that told you this was the same old Spencer Reid you couldn’t get your mind off of.

“Spencer,” you sighed. God, why did he have to be so beautiful still? “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” he said with a raise of his eyebrow. Mentally you cursed yourself. How could you possibly forget? You were too starstruck to even think properly in that moment. “What are you doing here?”

“I also work here.” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. You watched his gaze flit up and down your body and suddenly you were too well aware of your outfit choices when he lingered on your thighs. You should have just worn pants, but no, you wanted to look cute for your first day.

For a moment, the two of you could only stare at each other in silence. What could you possibly say after your last interaction being a shitty breakup? And just as you were about to say something, another voice cut in.

“Y/N!” Emily called out cheerfully. A sense of relief washed over you at the sight of her, your whole body relaxing. You nodded your head at her, bending slightly at the knees to give a half-assed bow.

“Emily,” you murmured. You held out the envelope and cup of coffee to her, giving a little smile when she took them into her own hands.

Emily’s attention turned to Spencer and you were almost certain there was some hint of smugness in her eyes. “I see you’ve met my new assistant,” she said with a hand falling to your back, giving it a soft pat. Spencer’s eyes narrowed.

His fingers curled tighter around the satchel slung across his body and you noticed a flicker of something - anger? jealousy? - in his eyes. “I have met her,” was all he said, his tone suddenly turning very curt.

You didn’t know what they were doing, what sort of mind games they were playing, and you weren’t sure how to feel about being a pawn caught in between it all. The air was thick, tense, nearly electric. Like they were two live wires waiting for a spark. You could feel the prickle of the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

You cleared your throat, running your hand down the front of your skirt to rid yourself of your sweaty palms. “I, uh. I’m gonna.. go get some more case files that need to be sorted.” The minute the words left your mouth, you were already making a beeline to simply get out of there.

The rest of the day seemed to move by fairly smoothly. No more incidents between Spencer and Emily (to your knowledge) and you didn’t have to see Spencer again. A perfect day in your book.

You were actually almost finished with the day. You only had a few cases to be printed and sorted away, and then you were free to leave. Most had already left for the day, leaving the office vacant and eerily quiet. You didn’t mind it, though. Sometimes that was better, no distractions from finishing up the last few things before you clocked out.

You stood at the coping machine, your back to the door, when you heard it creak open. You didn’t think much of it, it was a busy office, after all, and plenty of people used the copier room. You didn’t even think to look behind you to see who it was. Your mind was one track at this point, just looking to finish your tasks and go home.

You should have known better.

You knew it was too late when you felt a broad chest being pressed to your back. A warm breath fanned over your ear as large hands that you knew too well roamed your sides. It was pure instinct the way your body melted into his touch, a sigh full of wanton desires wafting from your lips.

You felt weak. You were weak. In that moment, you were nothing more than a mammal with the primal need to procreate.

Your head fell to the side, leaning back to rest on Spencer’s shoulder, baring your neck to him, submitting to him like the weak little thing you both knew you were. God, you were really going to hate yourself when this was all over. You were already starting to feel that bubble of anger and hatred forming in your chest, creeping up your throat and burning like bile in your mouth.

Your hands snapped over his, stilling his movements. His lips hovered over your neck, mere inches from your pulse point. “You are such a prick,” you bit out. You sounded breathless, needy.

You tugged at his fingers, trying to pry them off your body. You spun in his arms, turning to face him. His pupils were dilated, swallowing his irises whole and making them more akin to black holes than the warm brown eyes you used to love. His hair was a mess, like he had been running his fingers through it too many times, his tie askew. Your eyes narrowed.

“You must have something wrong with you if you think I’m going to sleep with you after what you put through,” you hissed at him. You pressed yourself against the copier machine, trying to create some semblance of distance between the two of you, and crossed your arms tight over your chest.

“After what I put you through?” Spencer echoed almost incredulously. He had to be playing dumb, because you knew he was the farthest thing from stupid.

You scoffed. “You broke up with me with some lame ass excuse, and then you never bothered to talk to me again!” You could not believe him in that moment. It was like he was purposefully trying to piss you off.

“Y/N-”

“Do not “Y/N” me,” you spit out like the words were venom in your mouth. “I am not your girlfriend, and just because I now work at the BAU too doesn’t mea-”

Spencer’s lips were crashing against yours before you could even finish your sentence. He always kissed like a man starved, like he was trying to consume you whole. You whimpered against his mouth, hands flying to grasp onto his wrists while his hands cradled your face.

The kiss grew even more passionate, somehow, becoming a mashing of lips and teeth and breathless moans and animalistic growls. You missed this - missed the intense fire Spencer lit in you, the passion that he brought into everything he did.

His hands flew down to the hem of your skirt, quickly hitching it up as you both stumbled around the room, barely breaking your kissing to catch your breaths. He hooked his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up onto a nearby table. You instantly spread your legs, inviting him in without so much another thought. He quickly shed his suit jacket, tossing it aside to some random part of the room.

Then you heard a distinct rip of fabric. You pulled away from Spencer’s addictive lips, pressing your hands on his chest and forcing him to let in some room between the two of you. You glanced down to see a huge tear on your tights and you gasped.

“You ripped my tights?!” you shrieked, landing a smack to his chest.

“Keep it up, and I’ll rip your panties, too,” he growled and you hated that the deep timbre of his voice sent flashes of arousal straight to your core. He didn’t miss the way you clenched your thighs together. He weaved a hand into your hair and curled his fingers around the strands of your hair, giving it a good tug to force you to bear your neck to him once more.

He pressed wet and sloppy kisses to the junctions of your neck, nipping at the neck, making you gasp and squirm. He pushed your panties to the side, not bothering to even pull them halfway. He plunged two fingers in, knowing you could handle it. You gasped even louder when he filled you so suddenly, your back arching into the feeling.

“You’re so wet for me,” Spencer murmured against your sweaty skin. The thrust of his fingers were hard, fast, making your head spin with arousal. You couldn’t remember the last time you had sex, let alone sex this hedonistic, but god, were you loving it. His fingers were so long, hitting all the right places in you without even trying. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

You hated profilers, and you especially hated Spencer Reid. “Screw you,” you hissed. You didn’t even notice when his hand seemed to have fallen to your ass, but you definitely felt the hard smack of it connecting with your flesh.

“What do you think I’m trying to do, princess?” He punctuated his words with another hard swat to your ass and a nip to the neck. You moaned at both sensations, grinding into the fingers deep inside you. “I don’t remember you being such a brat when we dated..”

“I don’t remember you being such an asshole,” you retorted. Another smack, another gasp from you. You glared at him.

Spencer’s fingers picked up pace, moving in and out of you in an almost messy and uncoordinated fashion, his thumb rubbing fast circles on your clit. The sloppy sounds of his fingers thrusting and your moans filled the air, creating a dizzying erotic symphony.

“You never answered my question,” he breathed out. He moved his lips to your ear, teeth grazing along the shell. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” you lied right through your teeth and you both knew it. He delivered another spank to your ass, making you squeak at how sensitive you apparently becoming with his spankings.

“There’s no need to lie.” He bit down on your earlobe and you keened right as his fingers angled perfectly to hit your G-spot. He pulled back to look you in the eye, smirking at the sight of you unraveling under his fingers. “You missed me, and you missed my dick, like the stupid little slut you are.”

The Spencer you used to know, the man you loved, would have never called you any sort of name, not even bed. Hearing that word tumbling out of his lips had you clenching hard around his fingers and whining loud, eyes squeezing shut as your stomach twisted into knots.

“Admit it, Y/N,” he whispered in a husky voice, “Admit you missed me fucking you.”

“Fuck you.” More smacks to the ass. Three in the row this time, not even giving you time to recover. Each was harder than the less, leaving your skin tingling.

Spencer retracted his fingers from your messy cunt, making you whine at the loss of feeling full for the first time in far too long. “Open,” he commanded and you obeyed, much to your own disgust. His finger plunged into your mouth and you wrapped your lips around them without another word.

You licked them clean, tasting yourself, all the while maintaining eye contact with his intense stare. He pulled his fingers out from your mouth as fast as he did with your cunt. He cupped your cheek in his palm, gently caressing your supple skin. Then he delivered a hard smack to your cheek.

Your head snapped to the right and you gasped, hand automatically flying to your stinging cheek. You couldn’t believe him. And you couldn’t believe yourself for getting even wetter from it all.

Before you could react any further, his hand was tangling back in your hair, pulling harshly to drag you to your knees. He made quick work of his belt and unbuttoned his pants, fishing his hard dick out of its confines. Your mouth watered at the sight. It was so big, so pretty with its pale pink head and veins trailing along the sides.

Spencer chuckled at the hungry look in your eyes. “You missed this, didn’t you, baby?” he cooed at you. You found yourself nodding your head. He wrapped a hand around his cock, giving it a few lazy tugs. His thumb swiped at the tip, smearing the pre-cum gathering with a soft hiss.

He hovered it over your lips, teasing you. And in that moment, you weren’t above whining, which is exactly what you did. “Poor baby missed choking on my big dick, didn’t she?” Fake sympathy dripped from his words, making you feel oh-so dizzy and small. You nodded your head again, more frantically and desperate this time.

“Go ahead,” he urged, reaching a hand to the back of your head and pushing you forward, “Suck it, pretty girl.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You braced your palms on his thighs as you stuck your tongue out, flickering it over the tip of Spencer’s cock. His fingers carded through your hair and you nearly melted.

You licked a broad stride along the underside of his dick and you shivered at the groan you earned in response. You took the tip into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around him as you made your way down his cock.

“Fuck,” Spencer breathed out. His eyes fluttered shut, hips involuntarily rocking into your throat. He’d never admit it himself, but nothing could compare to your sweet mouth. He had spent more than a few countless nights dreaming about it wrapped around him once more.

You took his little curse and movements as encouragement, swallowing even more of him. You could never quite fit the entirety of him in your mouth, but it never stopped you from trying.

Spencer took a fistful of your locks in his hand, tugging hard at the strands, and you winced at the pain radiating from your scalp. Lust flared down your spine, electrifying your body as he forced his cock all the way in your mouth. You choked around the intruding object in your throat, contracting around him and making him moan.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he crooned. His other hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek as your eyes watered. He brushed away a tear that spilled down with a grin full of sadistic glee. “You look so pretty like this.. Your mouth has better uses than being a brat, don’t you think, pretty girl?”

He pulled you off his cock, leaving you to gag and heave heavy breaths. He clicked his tongue, faux pouting down at you. “Can’t handle it?” He didn’t give you any time to respond before he was pulling back down on his dick, pushing your head down until his pubes tickled your nose. “That’s too fucking bad.”

He repeated his motions, thrusting into your mouth violently until you got that dazed look in your eyes. Drool spilled from the corners of your lips and all over his cock. Praises from his lips, creating a chorus between his groans and moans of pure pleasure.

When you felt like you were seriously going to lose your mind from lack of oxygen, Spencer pulled out finally. You panted, dizzy and delirious, but so fucking horny. You whimpered when he guided you away from his dick, your bottom lip sticking out in a genuine pout.

He spun you around before you bending over the same table from earlier. You gasped, a sense of excitement bubbling in your stomach when you realized what was to come. His hands fell to your hips and you pushed your ass back against him, wiggling it with a pitiful whine. You glanced back at him over your shoulder and you were sure that you looked like some sort of pathetic slut, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

“Someone’s eager,” Spencer remarked with a chuckle. But he was just as ready to screw your brains out.

He guided his cock to your soaking wet folds, taking a moment to smear your wetness around with his tip, up until you started whining again. He chuckled once more before finally entering you.

Your jaw fell slack as his cock entered you, stretching you to your limits. He was so fucking big, stretching you so deliciously and filling you up in a ways that couldn’t possibly be replicated.

“There you go,” Spencer murmured. He leaned forward, pressing his chest to your back firmly. “That’s what you’ve been craving, haven’t you, princess? Just needed some dick to turn your pretty little brain off.”

His hand snaked around to wrap his fingers around your throat. Not squeezing, rather just resting there, reminding you of your place, of his power over you. He continued to push until he bottomed out inside you and you both keened. How could you have ever broken up when you fit together so perfectly?

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he hissed right into your ear. “Your pretty pussy definitely missed me, didn’t it?” His other hand landed on your ass once more and he delivered a hard smack on the available skin. ��Squeezing me so good, sweetheart, such a good fuckin’ girl..”

He pulled back slightly, roughly halfway, before slamming into you hard enough to make the table slam against the wall. Then he repeated himself, one rough thrust after the other. You felt so braindead in that moment, gone in your own head with pleasure, that you could moan and babble.

“Feels so good, Spence,” you whined, trying to grind your hips back against him. “Fuck, it’s so good, so good, please don’t stop, please, please-” You cut yourself with a heady moan when he slammed into you with force.

“Cockdrunk whore,” Spencer hissed into your ear and you could only nod. His hand moved from your ass to tracing your labia before finding his target - your throbbing and neglected clit. He rubbed hard and fast circles around the swollen nub and you nearly sobbed.

His lips drifted to your neck and began peppering every inch of your skin in kisses. Some light, some sloppy and messy, nearly bruising with the force of them. Your head fell forward, hair falling all over your face and sticking to your sweaty skin. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill down your flushed cheeks.

Then came Spencer’s teeth, grazing along your neck before biting down, hard. You squeaked, hands curling around the edge of the table until your knuckles turned white. Your cunt clenched, sucking him in even deeper. His groan rumbled deep in your chest.

“Taking me so fucking good, baby, such a good girl for me,” he mumbled against your skin. He picked up his thrusts, hips slamming hard against yours. The circles on your clit increased in their pace, as well, the coil in your stomach burning hot and heavy.

“Spencer,” you nearly shrieked. “Spencer, I’m gonna- Shit! I’m gonna cum, Spencer!”

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” His words were nearly a growl, deep and low and so fucking sexy. “You gonna cum?” He landed a harsh slap against your pussy and you almost screamed once more.

Spencer pulled out suddenly, leaving just as empty as you were earlier. Your eyes shot wide open, whines tumbling from your lips, distraught at being denied your precious orgasm. He was spinning around you once more, crashing your lips together.

You moaned into the kiss, arms hurried wrapping around his broad shoulders. His hands fell to your thighs, lifting you up and into his arms, making you squeak. When did he get so.. strong?

You didn’t have much time to ponder over Spencer’s sudden display of strength because your back was practically tossed against a nearby wall. He pulled apart from the kiss to take his cock into his hand again, guiding it towards your dripping cunt again.

Your nails dug into his back as he stretched you open on his cock again, head falling back and hitting the wall. His lips were attached to your lips again, suckling and biting to leave behind millions of different marks.

“So big,” you slurred. Your voice sounded almost foreign to yourself - high-pitched and whiny. “Filling me so good, Spence, it’s so good.” Tears had begun to cascade down your face, streaking your mascara and leaving thick tracks of black on your cheeks. Spencer had never seen you look more beautiful than in that moment.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he praised between heavy pants. “Taking me so good, so good, like the stupid fucking slut you are.” His hand made contact with your face again, leaving a red mark in its wake and leaving your skin feeling electric. Your walls squeezed around him.

“You like that, huh?” he did again and you moaned loudly, unashamed now. “You like being smacked around, huh? Like being treated like the filthy lil’ whore you are? Is that right, princess?” He repeated himself, smacking you once, twice, three times and each you clenched around him.

Your orgasmed barreled over you before you could have possibly processed it. Your eyes squeezed shut, stars popping in your vision, legs shaking. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as pleasure washed over you in waves near akin to a tsunami in your body.

Spencer fell right over the edge right after you, teeth sinking down into your shoulder with a heavy groan. Sprouts of hot cum flooded your insides and you whined at the feeling of overstimulation washing over you.

You both stilled for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, panting heavily together. Slowly, Spencer pulled out his softening cock out of you, and you whined for the final time at being so empty. Your cunt clenched around nothing for a few seconds before beginning to seep Spencer’s seed, dripping down your thigh and onto the carpet.

You felt a bit bad for the janitor who would have to clean up your messes.

Spencer grasped your chin between his forefinger and thumb, turning your head to look back at him. His lips met yours in another kiss, this time much softer and full of something you might describe as affection.

When you pulled apart, he smiled at you. “So good for me.” He was breathless, and you couldn’t blame him.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you again. Spencer cleared his throat before adding, “Did you, uh.. want a ride back to my place? I still have some of your clothes at my apartment, you could shower and change..” he trailed off, teeth catching his bottom lip. There was a hint of a pleading look in his eyes and your heart clenched at the sight. You could never say no to his puppy eyes.

“Only if you take me out to dinner after.”

“Deal.”

2K notes · View notes

cxrrodedcoffin · 6 months ago

Text

Oh Make Me Over - Emily Prentiss

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

Summary: Reader and Emily agreeing to do each other’s makeup devolves into lewd activities.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: saw a tiktok that made me so insanely feral so here we are.

TW: dom!emily, lap sitting, cockwarming + penetration (w/ a strap), slight fingering, degradation kink, slight praise, playful thigh slapping, fem + afab reader

Rating: R (mostly smut again, oops)

——

“Emily, will you do my makeup?” You approached her from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“Only if you’ll do mine.” She replied, setting the hot tool in her hand on the counter. She looked at you through the mirror, admiring the way your chin sat so perfectly on her shoulder.

“Let me finish my hair and we can start, go get everything together and I’ll be right in.” She smiled, turning to kiss your cheek.

You padded out of the bathroom, collecting both of your makeup bags and setting them on the nightstand while you relaxed on the bed. You pulled out the book you were reading, scanning through a chapter until Emily walked in.

“You first babe, I have an idea for mine.” She hinted, peaking your curiosity. She joined you on the bed, grabbing your makeup bag and moving to straddle your lap. She laid out the contents of the bag on the bed next to you, asking you to hold certain things as she went to work making you over.

Having her on top of you made your body temperature rise, your heart rate increasing every time she bit her lip in concentration and held your chin to move your face whichever way she needed you to face.

“Look down.” She commanded, ready to apply the smokey eye you had requested for your first proper date night in months. Your gaze dropped, giving you an eyeful of her ample cleavage in the low-cut top she had chosen. Something told you she was doing this on purpose but you weren’t complaining. The next thing you knew she was gripping your chin, holding you firmly in place.

“I’m doing your eyeliner, don’t move.” She was a little extra firm this time and you could tell she was in one of her dominant moods today. That thought had you clenching your thighs together, wondering what she would do to you when you got home from your date.

“Lashes?” She asked, holding up your favorite pair of falsies. You nodded, wanting to look extra pretty for her. She applied the lashes, blowing softly against your eyelids to help the glue completely dry. The new sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you almost whined when she leaned away from you to grab a mirror.

“Thoughts?” She watched your expression, loving the way your eyes lit up when you took the look in.

“You always make me look so pretty.” You praised her handiwork.

“You’re always gorgeous.” She sighed, a little disappointed in your backdoor self-depreciation but always loving to hear that she’s made you happy. You blushed, still not fully sure how to feel comfortable receiving compliments, even from your girlfriend of 2 years.

“So what is your idea for yours?” The curiosity was driving you wild, Emily always has the best ideas.

She got off the bed, going over to the dresser and opening the drawer the two of you kept your toys in. You watched her carefully, trying to see what she was grabbing until she turned around, strap in hand. You gulped, cheeks flushing.

“We have to leave soon or we’ll miss our reservation, I don’t think we have time to do your makeup and do that.” You reminded her, trying to remain rational.

“Not if we do both at the same time.” She smirked, stepping into the harness and tightening it around her hips. You remained silent, still a bit confused until she climbed on the bed, settling with her back against the headboard, strap resting erect in her lap.

“Come here.” She beckoned you toward her, her hands resting on your hips as you hovered only inches from the toy between you.

“Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” This line of questioning was not what you were expecting when you imagined your first date night in months. You shook your head, the name giving you an idea but not 100% sure on the definition.

“I want you to sit on my lap with this inside you and do my makeup. You can do whatever you want on it, as long as you stay focused and get my makeup done in time to make our reservation.” Her eyes sparkled and even though you were a little unsure, the ache between your thighs was growing by the second and the concept of getting some relief was more than enough to convince you.

“Okay, I think I can do that.” You finally answer after a moment, reaching for her makeup bag and splaying the contents on the bed like Emily had done with yours. When you were ready you draped your hand over her shoulder, lifting your hips and holding your skirt up so you should position yourself above the fake cock. You reached down, pumping your fingers into your entrance to double check that your desperation had aroused you enough to safely sink onto it before positioning the head in place of your fingers, the stretch drawing a gasp of air from your lungs. You sank down completely, pausing for a moment to adjust to the feeling before reaching for Emily’s primer, ready to start your task.

You got to work, applying her base products as you slowly swiveled your hips, allowing yourself just enough stimulation to keep you satisfied but still focused on what you were doing. An issue began to arise when you reached for her eyeshadow palette, ready to start getting into the more tedious details. The slight friction wasn’t enough anymore, the carnal desire inside of you beginning to overwhelm.

You started bouncing your hips, starting out slower as you laid down a transition shade on Emily’s eyelids, pausing briefly to grab a different brush to put the dark shade of brown on her outer corners. You tried your best to blend the two shades seamlessly, but your hips seemed to have a mind of their own as you continued to increase your pace. You were chasing a slowly approaching orgasm and your focus was quickly slipping, pausing your work a little too long for Emily’s taste.

“Stop.” She commanded, her hands gripping your hips to pull you down to a stop.

“If you don’t focus we’re going to miss our reservation, is that what you want?” She chided, holding you still.

“No, I’m sorry.” You mumbled, grabbing a new brush to add the final eyeshadow shade. You held her still this time, your free hand gripping her chin as you did her eyeliner. When you grabbed her mascara, instructing her to blink as you applied the dark coating to her lashes, she let go of your hips, silently telling you to start moving again.

You reached for her setting spray, bouncing your hips once again as you shook the bottle, finally spraying the last step over her face. She took the mirror, inspecting your work as you continued attempting to get yourself off.

“You did a pretty good job for a selfish brat.” You didn’t want to admit it but hearing her demean you like that had you chasing your orgasm even harder, too turned on to question why. You were too lost in pleasure to realize that Emily had packed up her makeup, clearing the bed to make space for her to flip you onto your back, driving her hips into you as hard as she could.

“You want to cum, slut? You better hurry up, we only have a few minutes.” She taunted, her thumb finding your clit as you cried out underneath her, each thrust of her hips into your aching cunt rubbing perfectly against that soft spot inside you.

“Do you like when I make you fuck yourself for my entertainment?” You barely registered her question as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, so close to release.

“Answer me.” She demanded, slapping your thigh.

“Yes!” You cried out, euphoria washing over you as your orgasm finally hit, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets beneath you. As you came down Emily pulled out of you, planting kisses across your collarbone.

“Are you okay, love?” She asked, slight concern in her voice.

“More than okay.” You panted, still catching your breath.

“We really do need to leave in a couple minutes, what panties do you want?” She looked to you, opening your underwear drawer.

“Pink flowers.” The words had barely left your lips when she was already at your feet with the pair, helping pull them up your legs.

“I love you.” You smiled down at her, loving the dynamic the two of you share.

“I love you too babydoll.” She replied, taking your hand to help you to your feet to finally leave for your date.

——

Tag List: DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or Emily Prentiss taglist :)

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss x reader #wlw fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mine #my writing #1k

1K notes · View notes

rainydayathogwarts · 4 months ago

Text

Have a taste - Emily Prentiss

Summary: when you explain to emily how one of your exes loved giving you head, she decided that she needs to have a taste warnings: SMUT, oral (r!receiving), face sitting, fwb(?) 1.5k+ wc

Girl's night was missing two crucial members this week, leaving you alone with Emily in her vast living room, staring out her window wall and peering into the night skyline with twin glasses of wine. You were perched on her cloud white sofa, a comfortable silence between you as you delved into each other's personal lives. Clad in soft hello kitty shorts and a mismatching graphic tee, you glanced at Emily, who wore a similarly styled outfit to you, as you asked her the next question.

Somehow, girl's night always found a path towards sex-related conversations, whether is be the dimmed lights in Emily's apartment or your chronic nosiness. Tonight was no different. "Do you prefer sex with men or women?" You inquired, leaning closer to her. To nobody's surprise, Emily had dabbled with both, and would continue to do so for as long as she liked. "Depends on the mood I'm in. Sometimes I want a masculine man to pound into me until sunrise-" She paused at your tipsy giggle, grinning widely before continuing "But otherwise I think I mostly gravitate towards women. They're hot." Another laugh bubbled in your chest at her statement, muttering a joking "Thank you" with a shrug of your shoulders.

Emily downed the rest of her glass of wine before reaching for the bottle again. "Okay, best head you ever got?" She asked blatantly. You hummed, leaning down to put your glass of wine on her coffee table, clapping your hands together. "I dated a guy who was in a band for a while." Emily 'Ooh'ed, tucking her legs under her to make herself more comfortable. "He had this whole look with the messy hair, like nose ring and tattoos going up arms and on the back of his neck. He had an obsession, I think. Could literally wake up on his days off, roll over, and spend hours between my legs. Cooking dinner? Put me on the counter and spread my legs wide open. Checking myself out in the mirror? Got down on his knees behind me and got to work."

"You're lying to me." Emily's reaction was priceless, with her jaw slack, hand frozen around the bottle of wine as she listened to you talk about your ex. When you shook your head with a smile, eyes glinting with mischief, she added

"Well I've got to have me a taste of that pussy."

"Go for it honestly."

She'd meant it as a joke, she really did. A 'oh watch out I like women' type of thing, referring to the straight girls deathly afraid of their queer friends. But now, watching as you shrugged your shoulders carelessly with a chuckle, offering for her to get between your legs and taste what you had to offer, she completely froze.

"I thought you were straight."

"I don't really discriminate between men and women."

"I thought you've never gotten with a girl before."

"I haven't. Doesn't mean I won't."

"So... you'd let me eat you out?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

"Are you fucking with me?"

At the shake of your head, Emily put the bottle of wine on the table alongside your glass, crawling over to where you sat on the end of the couch. Emily only stopped when your knees were touching, watching as you consciously straightened up, eyes staring into hers as you worriedly bit down on your bottom lip. "Can I kiss you first?" You nodded, hands falling to Emily's waist as hers went to cup your jaw, leaning in until her lips were grazing yours. She finally pulled you closer so her lips pressed against yours, your mouth falling open to let her slither her tongue in, meeting yours in a passionate dance. Emily expertly took over the kiss, her tongue dominating yours so she could explore your mouth, one hand moving to the nape of your neck to keep you close to her.

Both your hands came up to Emily's chest, pushing her away softly so you could catch your breath, panting softly. If Emily wanted to ease into the act by kissing you, you didn't have a problem with it. You just weren't expecting that. "Okay, let me have a taste then." She spoke again, eyes running over your body. Your nipples were hard, harder than they had been mere moments ago, but she assumed that she just hadn't noticed it before, her senses heightened by her arousal. She had to resist the urge to reach out to pinch them, instead helping you pull your shorts and panties off when you lifted your hips up for her.

"It's probably nothing special." You mumbled, letting Emily guide you so you were leaning back against some pillows, still allowing you a clear view of the woman's movements. Emily scoffed in amusement, laying down in front of you before shuffling forwards until she was close enough to lick your awaiting cunt. She couldn't believe how one question had led to this. The dim lights of her penthouse almost hid the shine of arousal against your skin, but she ran a finger up your slit, collecting your juices before cockily saying "I'll be the judge of that." Emily inhaled deeply, taking in your scent before finally delving into your pussy, arms hooking around your thighs to control their movement.

A moan was immediately heard when Emily ran her tongue up your slit, pushing your puffy lips apart from each other due to the pressure she was applying. You think the moan came from the both of you. "Fuck me." You heard Emily whisper, the movement of her lips against your skin tickling you slightly. Then, she was back to licking, tasting your juices and pressing hard against your clit with her tongue. Your toes curled slightly, hips bucking when your clit sent little shocks of pleasure up your body. Emily grunted, pushing your thighs apart to get more space between them, separating from you slightly so she could spit directly onto your pussy, emitting a loud gasp from you.

Her fingers were on you then, massaging her saliva onto your clit before she latched on again, this time sucking on the sensitive nub. You keened loudly, hands instantly securing in her brown hair as your thighs instinctively tried shutting around her head. Emily allowed it this time, nails making little crescents on the skin at the top of your thighs as she tried getting impossibly closer to your cunt, messily making out with it as she alternated between sucking on your clit and thrusting her tongue into your entrance.

You were convinced she would suffocate just then.

Alas, Emily suddenly pulled away from you, her mouth and chin wet from your arousal as she begged. "I need more. Sit on my face." Your eyes widened at her suggestion, beginning to shake your head as you mutter "I've never-" But she was already frantically tugging your t-shirt off and laying down on her back, hands on your thighs guiding you to mount her. You found yourself letting her direct you over her face, grabbing at the arm of the couch as you tried slowly lowering yourself onto her. Emily wasn't having any of that though, hands on your hips aggressively pulling you down on her face so her nose instantly hit your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

Changing her technique, Emily thrusted her tongue into your hole repeatedly, hands dragging you back and forth on her face, encouraging you to grind down on her. That's what you did, letting the woman sloppily tongue at your cunt while she reached up for your tits, immediately tweaking your nipples between your fingers. She groped your tits with purpose, alternating between massaging the fat of your breasts and pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples until you were panting, eyebrows scrunching up while telling her "'M so close. So close Em." Your words encouraged her to go faster, one hand falling from your breast to your hip so she could drag you where she wanted you, lips immediately closing around your clit to suck harshly.

Emily's hand immediately returned to groping your tit, and paired with the aggressive pleasure on your clit, she immediately had you coming, legs closing around her head while you came down from your high. Emily continued lapping at your pussy, hands dropping to rest on your ass where she rubbed your skin gently until you were bucking your hips away from her, whispering "Em, 's too much."

The girl finally stopped, slowly helping you un-straddle her face. She sat up next to you on the couch, arm wrapping around your waist while she leaned in close to you, asking delicately "Was that okay for you?" You nodded, turning your head before leaning into her slightly, staring at her lips. Emily grinned, pecking your lips gingerly before stating "I am a whole mess over here." You chuckled, grabbing tissues from the table to start wiping your juices off her face when she stopped you, adding playfully "And by the way, sweetest pussy I've ever tasted."

#rainydayathogwarts #criminal minds fanfic #criminalminds #criminal minds fics #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #wlw smut

998 notes · View notes

ladycaramelswirl · 6 months ago

Text

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors.

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh.

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious.

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time.

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into.

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks.

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”.

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you.

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it.

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs.

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job.

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan.

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch.

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room.

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks.

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you.

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room.

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor.

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise.

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you.

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close.

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw.

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs.

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus:

Still in the conference room:

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans.

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him.

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway.

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

#criminal minds #bau team #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #crack fic

930 notes · View notes

ghosts-to-reid · 2 months ago

Text

Red Herrings

~SPENCER REID REQUESTS OPEN~

Request: Heyyy, so I don’t know if you even like Taylor Swift, but I NEED a smutty Spencer fic inspired by Guilty as Sin x So Highschool…I‘m talking build up and idk after a case the team all go to Rossi‘s house and the next thing they know is they‘re drunkenly playing spin the bottle…maybe Spence getting jealous or something? And once reader spins again and it lands on him he can’t hold back anymore, so they make the best of the time they have going at it like horny teenagers. She‘s been waiting for that since she first met him. Imagining how it would feel to finally touch him. @mariechristine00

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, Unprotected sex, dom!spencer, sub!reader, kinda emily x reader??? not really, spin the bottle, Fingering, teasing, jealousy, orgasm denial, creampie, rough sex, cockwarming

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I have had very bad writers block, i hope this is ok!

Four women had died before the team had arrived in Arkansas. All of them had been sex workers, murdered in the same fashion as Jack The Ripper's victims. It wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to replicate Jack the Ripper, but this Unsub had paid incredibly close attention to the habits of the original Jack, which should’ve made him easy to find, right? Predict his next move based on the timeline of the original crimes. Except- This unsub had adapted Jack the Rippers techniques to the modern day, even sending red herrings, making him harder to catch. After 8 days though, the team had finally done just that, leaving everyone to finally feel the full effect of exhaustion.

The jet journey back had been fairly quiet, you and Spencer had fallen asleep on the couch together, your head leaning against his shoulder, his head resting on top of yours. The team had shared a look after spotting the pair of you in such a position.

They had noticed shared glances between you both, how Reid would always bring you cups of coffee, how you’d bring enough lunch for two- knowing he wouldn’t eat if you didn’t. They’d heard all about your weekend hangouts, nights at the movies, dinners at each of your apartments. More often than not, you’d find both of you at one of your apartments, having stayed too late from a movie marathon, or even simply just wanting to stay in each other's company.

Any outsider who saw you both would think you were together, but you weren’t. Not like it want something either of you wanted, no it was quite the opposite. There were definite feelings between you both, and neither of you denied it. Both of you were just afraid to ruin what you had, so instead of facing them, you both lived in willful ignorance. Something the team were becoming exceedingly frustrated to watch, but neither of you would take their advice either. Leaving them stewing in frustration as the pair of you willfully ignored your feelings.

So, seeing you both sleeping on one another? Not as exciting as it used to be, but still made them happy to see.

Rossi is the one who woke the two of you up after the jet had landed. The rest of the team were gathering their things as the two of you stirred, sitting up straight at the sight of the older man before you, making him chuckle.

“Just wanted to let the pair of you know that we're having a dinner party at my house tomorrow night. 6pm Sharp, okay?” Spencer glanced over to you, whilst you rubbed your eyes, sleepily muttering an agreement. Following your lead, he smiled at Rossi, accepting the invitation on his own behalf.

Spencer helped you gather your things before guiding you out to his car, you often carpooled together and when you were at work the day of the case was no exception. You were still half asleep as he sat you down in the passenger seat of his beat up car, before sitting himself in the driver's seat.

“Can I stay at your house tonight, please?” You quietly asked, head leaning on the window, gazing at him through half lidded eyes “I feel bad for you driving all the way to my house, and doubling back to your apartment.”

The man driving smiled and muttered a small ‘Of course’, keeping his eyes on the nearly empty road. This wasn’t uncommon, ever since a mix up with hotel rooms a few months back, sleepovers had been added to your roster of ‘totally platonic’ activities you did together. Cuddling, sharing space, even beds, was now normal for you two. The rest of the team, if privy to this information, would point out how this was a manifestation of your feelings for each other; pushing the boundaries between friendship and romance, to try and fulfil your longing for each other subconsciously. Damn profilers.

The fact that this aspect of your relationship was secret from the team was also further proof that you both understood the implications. But you were just friends, right?

The car journey was quiet and quick, Spencer passed your go bag to you, mirroring you when he slung his own over his shoulder before grabbing your hand and leading you inside of his building.

Once inside, the pair of you set about your bedtime routines, changing in the same room, backs to each other. Brushing your teeth together, and slowly sliding into the warmth of Spencer’s Dark green covers. Small good nights are bid as Spencer pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, leg habitually landing over your him, effectively caging you as close to his chest as he could. Though, you were no different, lacing your arms around his middle, crossing your leg over his, if you could get any closer you could. It was just natural to the pair of you, being as close as possible to one another just made you both feel better, but you both would never mention that to anyone.

After a few minutes, when Spencer is sure you have fallen asleep, he places a small kiss to the crown of your head. Gently stroking the back of your head till he soon follows suit.

The next day, the two of you wake up entangled in each other's arms still. The mid morning light streamed through the curtains, gently rousing you both from your slumber.

Spencer lazily rubbed his fingers along your arm, up and down, until you finally roused fully. Sleepily smiling up at him, you hum as you bring your hand to meet his, intertwining your fingers together. Nudging yourself closer into his chest, he lets out a small chuckle.

“Morning, sleepy head.” He smiled as he squeezed your hand, he could hear a muffled “g'morning’” from you. Slowly, and hesitantly, he pulls his hand from yours, moving your head from his shoulder so he can look at you. He loved how you looked when you just woke up. Lips in a pout, eyes still half lidded, a slightly confused look on your face; he thought it was the cutest thing. As your eyes met his, his smile grew at the sight of your slightly messy hair. The hand holding your face slowly smoothes it down as he speaks.

“Do you want to shower and I'll go make breakfast?” He asked quietly, you nodded, still half asleep. Neither of you wanted to move yet, content in each other's arms. If you were lovers, it would be acceptable to say ‘no, I want to stay in bed with you’- But you are only best friends, nothing more. The realisation dawns on you both simultaneously as you both finally break from each other's hold. Though now feeling empty, you both move to perform your respective routines for the morning. It was around three that afternoon that you finally left Spencer’s house. After breakfast, the two of you had settled on his couch watching TV all morning, until you realised that you should probably go home to get ready for Rossi’s party tonight, Spencer offered to come to your house instead and sit with you as you got ready. He showered quickly, grabbing a change of clothes, before driving you both to your apartment around four.

Sitting with you was exactly what he did as you got ready, he sat in your room reading through your bookshelf as he waited, occasionally watching you as you put on your makeup and did your hair. When you were ready, he had changed as well, the pair of you dressed smart but not too fancy. Your idea, of course.

“I’m sorry but there is no way I was going to a Rossi party in a tight dress, I want to comfortably eat as much pasta as I want without feeling like I can’t move” Was what you had said.He laughed, and you both climbed into your car. You had worn a long summer dress, it flowed loosely around your frame, landing just below your knees. The dress was a a darker lilac, with dark purple flowers haphazardly splashed around the fabric. He had picked it for you when you had asked him to choose between two, unsure which you wanted to wear. Obviously, he chose his favourite colour. The thin straps accentuated the curve of your shoulders, he found his gaze landing on your neck for a moment too long before he reminded himself that you were just friends.

Pulling up to Rossi’s house, you parked the car. As you learnt into the back seat to grab your purse, he quickly hopped out of the car to open your door for you. He took your hand, closing the car door with the other. You smile at how much of a gentleman he is, intertwining your fingers with his before he has a chance to pull away. Hands staying intertwined the entirety of the walk into Rossi’s living room, breaking only to greet the rest of the team.

As the night flowed on, so did the wine. Dinner had been eaten, Spencer was amused at your gleeful motions as you reached for seconds, having your fill without worry. The team imbibed hard, bottles of Rossi’s expensive wine collection had been emptied before he had shooed the team away. Penelope, always the party animal, invited the team to continue the party at her place. Hotch was the only one who refused, wanting to get home to Jack. JJ and Will had agreed without hesitation, JJ’s mother being in town they had the whole night off, Emily followed suit of JJ, Derek agreeing without hesitation of course. The team glanced at you, Spencer and yourself sharing a look, silently communicating before you both agreed. Ordering a taxi to Penelope's house, you all piled into the minibus they sent.

One quick trip to the 24/7 liquor store around the corner, the team minus Rossi and Hoth were gathered in Penelope’s living room. Spencer sat behind you on the sofa whilst you sat on the floor, between his legs. The team were thoroughly drunk now, enjoying their time off as best they could. Derek, ever the party animal, finished his beer with a loud ‘Ahhh’, grabbing everyone's attention. He held the now empty bottle into the air with a triumphant grin.

“Do you know what time it is, ladies and gentleman?” He smirked, an evil glint in his eye as he scanned the room. Confusion painting the faces of everyone around you. “Spin the bottle!” He laughed, moving to sit on the floor in line with you. Penelope squealed in glee, clapping her hands as she moved from her position to sit across from Derek. JJ shrugged to Will, who chuckled and joined the rest of the team on the carpet. Emily sat beside you soon after, and Spencer, albeit reluctantly, slinked from his place on the sofa behind you to sit. Once the team had gathered, Derek explained the rules as he moved the bottle into the middle of the newly formed circle.

“Ok, we’ve all played before. You spin, and whoever it lands on you give them a big old kiss” He paused to wiggle his eyebrows at Penelope, who giggled at him “If it lands on yourself, spin again”

The man looked around, seeing the team ready, before starting the game. He gave the bottle a quick spin, and leant back as he watched the bottle spin. After a few moments, the bottle lands on JJ, who he respectfully pecs quickly on the corner of the mouth, like she was his grandmother, Obviously slightly disappointed to land on the one married woman in the circle.

“My turn?” JJ asked with a small slur, she held a glass of white wine in her hand carefully, leaning to spin the bottle. Landing on Emily, There is a small pause between them before they share a longer peck, Emily quickly moving on.

“Please, God, do not make me kiss Reid.” She joked, making the team laugh as she spun the bottle. Whilst the team watched the bottle spin, You nudged Spencer’s shoulder comfortingly. You knew Emily wasn't being mean, and so did he.

The bottle did, however, land on you. Raising your eyebrows in surprise, Emily clapped her hands

“That was close!” She laughed, JJ smirking and shaking her head amused. Penelope sighed

“I want a go” She pouted “I want a chance to kiss the one and only Derek Morgan.” She complained loudly. Everyone laughed at her fake tantrum, before Emily quickly moved in before you, softly grabbing the sides of your face, and bringing you in for a big closed mouthed kiss. It took you by surprise, and after a few seconds she pulled away, patting you on the shoulder.

“You’re welcome.” She deadpanned, making the rest of the team laugh once more. Still taken aback, you didn’t notice how Spencer had tensed up beside you after he saw your bewilderment from Emily’s short kiss. He watched silently as you leant forward to take your turn, eyes shooting up in surprise when he realised the bottle had landed on him.

A chorus of ‘OOO’s’ rang through the living room, Red painted both his face and yours as you turned to each other. He blinked slowly at you and, after a second, the wine he had been drinking flushed him with confidence, he softly grabbed the side of your face, kissing you deeply, tongue running lightly over your bottom lip before he pulled away.

Another chorus of cheers were heard from around you, the team celebrating seeing one of you finally make a move. Spencer smirked as he pulled away, seeing your shocked face from Emily’s kiss change. You were staring at him, pupils blown and doe eyed, panting lightly through parted lips, cheeks flushed. He didn’t have a moment to enjoy it, as a knock ripped through Penelope’s apartment. She jumped quickly, answering to find her elderly neighbour, complaining about the noise.

That was your cue to go. Spencer called a taxi for you both, you had already planned for him to stay the night. Both of you had shared a few bottles of wine between Rossi’s and Penelope’s, but that kiss seemed to have sober the two of you up. The taxi ride wasn’t awkward, more so quiet. Neither of you knew what to say after the kiss, just sharing the occasional joke about the night.

Walking up to your house, you opened the door silently. After you both take your shoes off, he takes your hand once more, leading you to your bedroom- Once more setting off into your night time routine. Once you are changed, you sit on the edge of your bed, busying yourself by putting on hand lotion, you hardly register that Spencer has finished in the bathroom until you feel the bed dip behind you. Without thinking much of it, you continue slowly rubbing your hands together when you feel Spencers hands grab your hips. A jolt of electricity shot up your spine before Spencer’s lips connected to your neck.

The surprise caused you to let out a gasp, your hand shooting up to hold his curls.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped the question as his grip tightened, continuing to kiss and nip at your exposed neck. It felt amazing, his lips against your skin, tender yet hungry. His desperation for you translated through every touch of his lips to flesh. Eventually, his lips assault reached your jawline, You heard him moan as you lightly tugged at his hair, an involuntary action after he lightly nipped at your earlobe, eliciting a low gasp of pleasure from you. One of his hands let your hip go, moving your head to face him. He stared at you with such hunger, such adoration, his eyes were full of so much love, but painted with a dark lust. His eyes flickered between your eyes and lips, he was just inches away. Both of you panted as you looked at one another, Spencer leaned in first, crashing his lips to yours. He kissed you with such fervour, it caught you off guard. Eventually, you melted into his kiss, moving from his grip to face him head on. His arms found their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Snaking your arms around his neck, he sighed into the kiss. After a moment he pulls away and begins to plaster kisses all over your face

“I don't…” he kisses your forehead “want you” he kisses your cheek “ Kissing anyone” He kisses your nose “But me.” He locks eyes with you for an intense moment before placing another kiss to your lips.

When he pulls away, he's still got one hand on your hip. You are both out of breath after his massacre of kisses.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He meets your eyes, searching for any regret of what you just did. He finds none, but he needs to hear you tell him. He watches as you bite your swollen lip, he stops himself from letting out a small groan at the sight of you like this. Your face is flushed, hair messy, giving him that wide doe eyed look once more. He can’t help the rush of heat that travels through him at the sight of you, shifting himself in hopes you do not notice.

“Don’t stop…” You spoke quietly, and before you knew it, Spencer had you pinned on your back to the bed. His mouth was on yours, a feverish pace as he kissed you, hands now exploring every inch of you he could. He slotted himself between your legs as you opened them, wanting him closer. You had become a moaning mess at this point, muffled only by his lips on yours. He explored your mouth with his tongue, hand dipping to the hemline of your pyjama shorts. His fingers played with them for a moment before you pulled them down, along with your underwear. Spencer smirked at your action, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“You’re so eager…” He purrs, eyes moving slowly down to see you, his words suddenly make you self conscious. Making a move to close your legs the best you could with him between them, he quickly stopped you, prying your knees wide. He lets out a low moan as he looks down at the state of you, already wet for him. The way he looks at you makes you squirm, never had you seen someone so excited to see you, all of you. The look in his eyes was dark as one of his hands grazed slowly down your thigh. His eyes move to meet yours in question as his fingers inched closer and closer to your throbbing core. Nodding feverishly, he smirked once more.

“Use your words. Tell me what you want.” His voice was harsher than the Spencer you knew, his tone was authoritative, nothing like the timid man you knew.

“I want you, Spencer.” Was all you could whisper out, overwhelmed by how he was making you feel. Without any further hesitation, his lips caught yours in another fervent kiss. One hand held your cheek, whilst the other was making its way down between your legs.

Smirking at you squirm under him, his hand finally reaches its destination. Long fingers begin to explore your folds, occasionally bumping your clit as he gathers your slik. From his position over you, you can see how much he's enjoying this. How he knows he has power over you, the look on his face says it all. He’s almost observing you, brows furrowed as his eyes are glued to your face. He smirks at every pleasured moan, every twisted expression as you grind against his palm involuntarily.

“You like that?” He asks you, smugly. A long finger now teasing your entrance, you can’t help but whine in response. He lets a low chuckle out, finger dipping into you, only slightly. His grin widens when he hears the strangled moan, disrupted by disappointment.

“More…” You gasp, he has sat up straight now, one hand still teasing your entrance, whilst the other moves to hold down your hips.

“You want more? I’ll give you more.” He bites his bottom lip as he pushes his finger knuckle deep, he doesn’t let you adjust as he begins to fuck you steadily. Absent-mindedly, you grind down once more, only to be stopped by Spencer’s grip. “No, not yet, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He cooed, sounding entirely unsympathetic as he slid another finger in.

This was a side of Spencer that you’d never thought to exist. The look in his eyes, the way he moved, the way he spoke to you- It was primal. The sweet, innocent nerdy bookworm was currently ruthlessly finger fucking you. You never thought a day like this would happen, but with the way he was making you feel, it was almost electric.

As he continued, he brought his other hand down to your clit, massaging small circles into the sensitive nub. Gasping his name, you can’t help but grind your hips against his hand, seeking any kind of relief you could.

“I-I’m so close-” You manage to choke out “Im gonna cum-”

Spencer quickly removed his fingers from their place inside of you, causing you to let out a frustrated cry “No! Sp-encer… WHy” You pant, it was embarrassing how needy your best friend had managed to make you. As you slowly managed to recollect yourself, you managed to meet his gaze. A smirk was still present as he brought his fingers to his mouth, popping them into his mouth. Biting back a whimper, you watch him suck your slick clean from his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn't help but watch him, lips a part, eyes doe like, a dumbfounded expression that he loved. The same expression you gave him after he kissed you. Letting out a low groan, he began to remove his sweatpants, keeping his eyes trained to yours as you watched him release himself.

He made quick work of aligning himself with your aching entrance, looking up to give you one last mischievous smirk before leaning in to whisper to your ear

“When I do this, you're gonna promise to be just mine?” His breath is hot against your skin, you eagerly agree. HHe stays leaning over you as he slides in, slowly. A groan is muffled in your shoulder as he bottoms out, staying still for a moment. You can't help but dig your nails into his back, the way he felt filling you up was just too good.

Without warning, Spencer began to move, sluggish at first, but he quickly began to gain speed. A loud moan escaped you as he sped up, lewd sounds filling the room as he began to fuck you relentlessly.

“Spencer!” YOu cry, he leans up, pulling you down the bed by your hips, he pulls your legs around his shoulders as he finds a new purchase. The new position makes him hit your core in a way you’ve never experienced. “Dont stop”

He doesn't reply,distracted by the feeling of your pussy around him. A tight knot began to wind in your stomach, once more threatening to snap.

“I'm gonna cum, please can i cum?” You begged through tears of pleasure. Spencer let out a malicious laugh, loving the mess you had become. He didn’t reply, simply speeding up his hips, answering your question. All you could do was grab the bedsheets as he brought you to your climax, a loud groan filling the space as he continued to fuck you, cooing praises as he rides you through it.

As your orgasm winds down, you feel his hips begin to stutter irregularly. He grunts with effort, hair sweatily covering his face. “Where can i cum, baby?” He gasps, hips tense as he tries to hold on. Involuntarily, the sight of him now struggling turned you on, making you clench around him. A loud gasp interrupts him “Fuck, let me cum inside, please?” He begs

“Yes!” You moan, without a second thought, you felt the man release, filling you up completely. He lets a loud strangled groan as he bottoms himself out once more, collapsing on top of your body.

There is a moment of silence as you both lie there. It seems to dawn on you that you have just been fucked by your bestfriend, making you panic momentarily. The panic subsides when you notice the tickle of his fingers on your bare side, tracing small patterns as he nuzzles closer into your neck. Bringing a hand up to play with his hair, you let yourself melt into his touch. His weight on top of you was a comfort, his warmth radiated from his skin to yours, and all you could do was feel safe.

After a moment, your clarity comes back. Curiosity takes over, you weren’t complaining about what had happened between you both, in fact, you wanted this for years. But why now?

“Baby?” You hum out, testing the waters of your new predicament. Though, it seems silly to be hesitant in a pet name when he was still currently inside of you. His head perks up nonetheless, the usual sweet and smiley Spencer seemingly coming back as he gives you a soft smil;e at the nickname.

“Yes, baby?” He hummed back, a dopey smile on his face as he emphasised the pet name, Making your heart flutter.

“Not that i'm complaining about this… but what brought this on?” You asked, quaking a brow in question. A blush creeps across Spencer’s face, shifting slightly in his place on top of you.

“I… Well. I was jealous…” He mutters, now exceedingly shy compared to the side of him he has just shown you. The surprise made your brows shoot up, giving him a questioning look, spurring him to continue “When Emily kissed you… I just got jealous, the look on your face… I’d never seen it before. I didn’t want anyone else to look at you like that, but after your turn…” He trailed off, eyes trailing your naked body underneath him. The sight of you seemed to re awaken his dominant side as he caught sight of where you were both still connected. He lets a huff of a laugh out as he drags his hips out slowly, before slamming himself back into you, happy at the moan he managed to take from you. That cocky grin found his lips once more as he continued his motions, slowly dragging his hips out and slamming himself back in, all the way to the base.

He didn’t need to say anything else, as soon you were both too preoccupied in the feeling of one another once more.

When the two of you return to the office together on Monday, Hand in hand, Spencer still in the same suit the team had seen him in Friday, the team all but threw a parade. Derek dejectedly passed Emily a twenty as they watched the man, not so secretly, kiss you in the kitchenette.

504 notes · View notes

foxy-eva · 2 months ago

Text

Full of Wonders

Summary: Dressing up as Catwoman for Halloween gives you the confidence to switch things up in the bedroom

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) nicknames, power dynamics, heavy kissing, nipple play, oral, use of strap-on (Emily receiving)

Word count: 2.6k

Author’s note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Autumn Air Writing Challenge!

Masterlist

“Damn Emily, I think you’re in trouble,” Luke teased when he saw you walking through the door to join the Halloween party Penelope was hosting.

Emily’s eyes found you in the crowd and she couldn’t believe what she saw. You had dared to dress up as Catwoman – certainly a reference to Emily confessing how sexy she thought the actress was when you watched the movie a few weeks ago.

Your outfit was flawless – a skin-tight black bodysuit, a full face of make-up with perfectly done eyeliner and a hairband with cat ears. It took Emily a second to realize you even brought a black leather whip as an accessory.

“Wonder Woman,” you giggled once you saw Emily in her costume. “Nice seeing you here.”

“I wonder who’s gonna win that fight tonight,” Tara quipped while scanning the both of you.

Spencer chimed into the conversation, “Considering that Wonder Woman has superhuman powers, including extraordinary strength and speed and the ability to fly, I don’t think that Catwoman would stand a chance. Did you know that–”

Luke placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder to interrupt him from starting infodumping. “Reid, trust me when I say that’s not what she meant.”

You watched as an oblivious Spencer walked away with Luke to get some snacks before you turned to your girlfriend.

“You look great,” Emily cooed before placing a brief kiss on your lips. “I knew that dressing up as superheroes was a good idea.”

“Are you surprised I chose Catwoman?” You teased as you swung your arm around her waist.

“A little, yeah. It’s not like you to wear something so daring,” Emily confessed.

“You’re right but seeing your face was worth it. Hulk would have been my second choice, by the way,” You joked.

Emily took your hand to walk a few steps away from the crowd. When she was sure that nobody else was close enough to hear her, she leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “So, will you be a good kitten for me tonight?”

A smirk spread over your face. “You wish.”

“Huh,” Emily breathed. “I feel like this will be a very interesting night.”

After leaving a featherlight kiss on Emily’s lips, you joined the rest of your friends to enjoy the party. Your girlfriend seemed especially affectionate tonight, holding you by your waist and kissing you whenever the others were busy talking to each other.

It was unlike Emily to show so much physical affection in public. There was something in the way she looked at you, her eyes dark and filled with desire. It became obvious that your girlfriend wanted you and had a hard time keeping her composure.

You wondered if it had something to do with seeing you in such a daring outfit. After Emily placed her lips on yours for the umpteenth time that night, you decided that you couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

Even though the night was still young, you whispered into her ear, “I think it’s time to go home.”

The grin that spread over her face could only be described as mischievous. She nodded and grabbed your hand, wasting no time to lead you away from the party and towards her car. Before you could get inside, she shoved you against the side of the car to capture your lips with hers.

This kiss was different from the ones before. There was no more holding back, no more need to act all demure in front of your friends. She didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss, her tongue finding yours in an instant. Emily kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs.

You felt like you could get drunk just from tasting her lips. The urgency in her actions made your heart jump. She held you against the car, hindering you from moving away as she got lost in this kiss. When she let out a muffled moan there was no more denying how much Emily needed you.

She pressed her hips against yours and you could feel the heat radiating from her body. A similar warmth had already begun spreading over your own skin, too. In that moment you wished that you weren’t in public. Your fingers twitched against her waist, becoming curious what a mess they would find if they dared dipping beneath her skirt.

“Let’s go home,” you mumbled against her lips. “I want to be alone with you.”

There was no more time to be wasted to get to your destination. You felt like your entire body was on fire as you waited patiently on the passenger seat to finally be alone with your girlfriend. The tension between the two of you only grew the longer the drive took.

Once you finally stepped inside her apartment, it was as if something inside you snapped. Usually it was Emily taking the lead in your encounters but you decided you wanted to switch things up this time. When she kissed you, it was as if you two began fighting a battle of who had the upper hand.

Emily smirked against your lips when she realized what you were doing. She moved with you as you attempted to push her against a wall, breathing out a quiet laugh when you began kissing her neck.

“You’re cute when you think you’re in charge,” she chuckled.

Instead of responding, you bit down on her pulse point and Emily hissed a curse.

“Careful,” she warned you, a playful tone laced over her voice.

You found her eyes once more and almost got lost in their darkness. “You’re the needy one tonight,” you teased her as you pressed your thigh between her legs. “There’s no denying that.”

“I can’t help it when you look so sinful,” she groaned.

Your tone was soft and loving when you breathed, “Let me take care of you, Emily.”

And just like that she gave in. With a nod she signaled her approval to follow your lead. A rosy shade had spread over her cheeks, making it obvious how turned on she already was. Seeing Emily like that almost drove you insane.

She always looked incredibly beautiful when you were with her. But the way she almost seemed desperate tonight was something entirely new to you. She would have never admitted it but you were certain that she wanted you to take the lead all along. And you were eager to give her what she desired.

You led her into the bedroom and slowly began ridding her of her costume. Each piece of clothing fell to the floor, revealing her skin to you. When she stood completely bare in front of you, you took a moment to take in her beauty.

Your eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, noticing how her nipples had already hardened. Reaching out your hand, you gently brushed your fingertips over her chest, paying close attention to the way her skin broke out in goosebumps.

Emily reached out her hand to take off your hair band, letting the cat ears fall to the floor. You had long abandoned your whip and heels at the door but your tight bodysuit was still in place. Her hands began brushing over the smooth fabric until they found a zipper to pull down. You moved with her until you were only left in your black lace underwear.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Emily groaned before she found your lips in a hasty kiss.

With a firm push against her shoulders, you had her lying on the bed in an instant. A playful smirk was written over her face when you crawled on top of her. “Good kitten,” she cooed right before kissing you again.

You remembered that you were the one in charge tonight. So you quickly grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head, a gasp falling from her lips. She could have easily overpowered you but had no desire to do that. Emily seemed curious about what exactly you had in mind for her.

Your lips brushed over her cheeks before leaving kisses along her neck, gently biting down on her sensitive skin. Moving further down, you took one nipple into your mouth while your hand found the other one, taking it between your fingers and playing with it until moans began falling from her lips.

Emily began rocking her hips against yours, desperate to find some friction. Descending further down, you kissed along her stomach, her sides, her hips before settling between her legs. You had seen her many times before but each time she opened her thighs for you, you were mesmerized by her beauty.

It was as if you watched the prettiest flower go in full bloom, each pedal layered perfectly over the other. She was glistening, as if morning dew had kissed her folds, leaving her honeyed wetness for you to enjoy. You took your time as you tasted her folds, relishing her heady scent and imprinting her uniqueness onto your tongue.

What you were doing was more teasing than actually pleasuring her and you were both aware of that. It only aroused her more. When she began squirming underneath you, you stopped what you were doing and sat up between her legs. Emily whined in protest, a confused look on her face when she found your eyes.

“You’re so fucking wet,” you purred as you leaned over her.

She only sighed in response and it became obvious that she was starting to get impatient with you. You had no intention of teasing her any further, there was just something specific you had in mind. Something you had only done with reversed roles before.

When you found her ear, you whispered, “I want to fuck you.”

Emily’s eyes widened at your words. She understood what you meant but needed a second to process. Then, without a second thought, she groaned, “Do it.”

Her words took you by surprise. A part of you thought that she would decline your offer and instead flip you over to take back control. You had not expected for her to submit to you to the fullest.

Emily watched as you sat up to reach for the nightstand, opening the drawer to take out the strap. Your fingers shook with excitement as you slipped into the harness, adjusting the straps until it sat securely over your underwear. It was then that you noticed how wet you were, the soaked lace of your panties sticking onto your skin.

Your girlfriend reached for the bottle of lube and squeezed a fair amount of it into her palm. She grabbed your strap to coat it with the liquid. The sight of her hand caressing this new extension of your body was captivating. For a second you thought about asking her to take it into her mouth but decided against it. That would have been a sight your poor heart probably couldn’t handle. Your heart was already beating uncomfortably fast inside your chest.

It was as if Emily sensed your nervousness when she looked at you with a reassuring expression.

“You look amazing,” she praised you. “I can’t wait to feel your cock inside me.”

“Then lay back and relax,” you whispered as you positioned yourself between her legs.

Before she did as you told her, she reached for the clasp of your bra to undo it. “Better,” she snickered as she tossed the piece of clothing aside and leaned back against the pillows. “Now I can enjoy the show.”

Holding the strap at the base, you slowly let it glide through her slick folds. When you brushed over her bundle of nerves, she bucked her hips against you. You repeated the motion a few more times before positioning the tip at her entrance. Before you began pushing into her, you looked at her one more time for reassurance.

When she nodded at you, you leaned over her and began pressing your hips against hers, carefully sliding into her body. You watched as the strap disappeared inside her one inch at a time, slowly stretching her open. Moans escaped Emily’s throat at the intrusion and she hooked her legs around your hip to bring you even closer.

Your lips found hers in a desperate kiss once you were fully inside her. With your bodies connected like that and your tongues meeting one another, it became impossible to tell where your body ended and hers began. Then, you started tentatively rocking your hips to thrust into her but you found some resistance from her body.

“Everything okay?” You wanted to make sure.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Feels good. Just take it slow.”

You paid close attention to her reaction as you moved, so much so that it took you several moments to realize how sensitive your own cunt felt with all the pressure of the strap against it. As you rocked your hips against her, the friction you created almost became addictive.

You hadn’t expected to find it so physically pleasurable to fuck your girlfriend like that. She had been in that position many times before and you had never noticed it having such an intense effect on her.

But you could not deny the fact that the longer you thrusted into her, the close you got to your own breaking point. Emily noticed that, too. When you moaned against her lips, you felt her smiling into the kiss.

She reached out her hands to find your breasts, gently kneading them before focussing on your nipples. The added stimulation only brought you further to your downfall. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. You really tried to focus on her pleasure, really wanted her to fall apart this way but you hadn’t expected how good it would make you feel.

Your motions became erratic when your body started quivering. “Fuck, Emily… I–,” you whimpered as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Do it,” she sighed as she pinched your nipples. “Come for me, kitten.”

That was what pushed you over the edge. You ground your hips against hers, your strap buried deep inside her as you came undone. When you collapsed inside her arms, you realized that no matter how hard you tried, Emily would always be the one in charge. And you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

As you caught your breath, your girlfriend kissed your cheek. “My poor baby,” she purred. “So sensitive you can’t even fuck me without getting yourself off, hm?”

“I can’t help it,” you admitted. “You make me feel so good.”

Emily pushed on your shoulders until you were hovering over her again. Then, before you even realized what she was doing, she turned the two of you over with one swift motion. It took you a moment to realize you were the one lying on your back now.

“You make me feel good, too,” she moaned as she ground her hips against you.

The sight of her straddling your strap made you dizzy. Your hands flew to her hips, moving with her as she rocked back and forth on top of you. The sounds of her pleasure filled the room as she brought herself to closer to euphoria. One of your hands moved to where your bodies were joined to let your thumb draw circles around her most sensitive spot.

The sudden stimulation made her motions falter and it took her a moment to get back her rhythm. Your name fell from her lips when she finally entered the sensation of pure bliss, her walls clenching around the strap as she rode out her high on top of you. When she collapsed into your embrace, you were ready to catch her and hold her tightly against your body.

“That was fun,” she chuckled before kissing your cheek. “But I won.”

And she was right.

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @grumpyy-bearr @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @sapphicprentiss @lovelyy-moonlight @storiesofsvu @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @lover-of-books-and-tea

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

516 notes · View notes

mrs-kmikaelson · 5 months ago

Text

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately.

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time.

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner."

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided.

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her.

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back.

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain.

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random.

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?"

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist.

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away.

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned.

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV.

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?"

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside.

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty.

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off.

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor.

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off.

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong."

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change.

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?"

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?"

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret.

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?"

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek.

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word.

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this."

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking.

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were.

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so."

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?"

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911."

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!"

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are."

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?"

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way.

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?"

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here.

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary."

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand.

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed.

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where.

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time.

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop.

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man.

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it.

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending."

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!"

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer.

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar.

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing.

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to.

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner."

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more.

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it.

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?"

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed.

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face.

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding.

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun.

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

722 notes · View notes

emilys-bangs · 3 months ago

Note

Mom!Emily with a baby girl who’s a little older… maybe 2 or 3, and is entering that stage where she hates when mom leaves for work.

Maybe all 3 of you are at the front door seeing Emily off. Baby girl is just pouting and whining and gripping onto Emily’s pant legs ❤️‍🩹

tearful goodbyes | e.p

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames

Word count: 1.8k

This broke my heart...but I also loved it <3

This used to be easier.

When Emily wasn’t part of a whole, when she didn’t have a ring around her finger and a piece of her heart walking around on little legs and clutching her calves at the door. Leaving used to be a matter of throwing a bag over her shoulder and piling food for Sergio in his bowl. Now it’s tears at the front door, her heart splitting in two as she fights an internal battle she already knows she’s going to lose.

Having a family changed everything. Having you changed everything; Emily’s life shifted, turned on its head when you came into it, and Eloise only added to the light in both of your lives. Two became three, a lonely apartment became a lively one. She wouldn’t change it for the world, but sometimes she wishes it didn’t have to be this hard.

“Eloise,” she says softly over the sound of sobs, “Mommy has to go.”

Emily has to speak past the lump in her throat. It was quick to appear when her daughter wrapped her small hands around her knee, pressing her face into it and soaking Emily’s slacks with her tears. Now Eloise whines, looking up at her mother with tearful eyes that make Emily’s heart twist.

“Mommy stay.” Her lip wobbles.

She’s growing tired of saying I can’t, so Emily bends down and picks her up. Eloise scrambles into her arms, hugging her neck and dampening her skin with her tears. The three-year-old clings to her tightly, arms around her neck and legs around her waist, as if her mother is going off into the trenches rather than the BAU.

Help me, Emily begs you with her eyes, the taste of tears thick in the back of her throat. She rubs absent circles on Eloise’s back as you step closer to them, your hand joining hers.

“Ellie,” you say, catching your daughter’s attention. She turns to you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Mommy has to leave for work now, you gotta let her go.” You gently wipe her damp cheek.

“No.” Eloise whines. “Want Mommy to stay.”

“I’ll stay for five minutes,” Emily says, her voice scratchy as she combs through Eloise’s messy hair with her fingers, “and then I have to go, okay? And you have to go to preschool.”

Eloise dissolves into sobs again. “No,” she hiccups, burying her face in Emily’s neck and scorching her skin with her hot tears. You chew on your lip and Emily blows out a breath, shaky as she rocks her flailing daughter.

“Honey, you’ll have fun at preschool. You always do. You’ll get to play with Lily and see Miss Emma.” She desperately tries to soothe. Her voice is on the edge of cracking, frayed and thready from being the reason for Eloise’s meltdown.

This used to be easier.

“Don’t wanna go! Wanna go with you.” Her daughter whimpers. Emily’s heart cracks.

“Baby…”

It would be so easy. To call Hotch, tell him she’s down with the flu. There’s no case, only a mind numbing day of paperwork ahead, and she can just have JJ swing her case files by after work—

“Okay,” you announce, suddenly waving around a sheet of red heart stickers. “I’ve got an idea.”

Emily frowns. When did you get those? Probably when she’d involuntarily closed her eyes against the sound of her daughter’s tears.

“Hey, Eloise,” you gently smooth some of her hair behind her ear. “Listen to me, baby. Can you give me your hand?” You ask softly, reaching for the hand she has fisted in Emily’s collar.

Eloise blinks at you with damp eyes. “Mommy will be right here, just give me your hand, honey,” you reassure. Emily nudges her lips against Eloise’s forehead in a kiss, and when you hold your hand out this time, she places hers in your palm.

“Thank you,” you quickly kiss the back of her tiny hand before showing her the pack of stickers you’d gotten. “See these?”

Eloise nods. You peel one of the hearts from the sheet and gently place it on the back of her hand. Both Emily and Eloise peer down at it, their foreheads pressed together as you smooth your thumb over the sticker to make sure it sticks.

You look to Emily when you’re done. “Mommy, can I have your hand, please?” A small smile pulls at your lips.

Emily matches it with a soft one of her own as she shifts Eloise to her other hip and frees her right hand. You take it and place a matching red heart on the back of her hand, right in the middle; it stands out against her pale skin. Again you rub your thumb over it to make it stick, both the action and Eloise’s quieting sniffles making her relax.

With her hand still in yours, you take Eloise’s too. “See these hearts you and Mommy have?” You ask, holding their hands side by side. Eloise nods into Emily’s neck; your wife smiles, starting to see where this is going. “Whenever you miss her, you can just touch the heart. And when Mommy misses you, she touches her heart. Like this,” you touch your thumb to the heart on Eloise’s hand, smiling at her gently.

Eloise sniffles. “Mommy’s in the heart?” She looks up at Emily.

“I’m in the heart,” Emily agrees softly, wiping a wayward tear from the corner of her eye. “And you’re in my heart, too, see?” She turns her hand.

Eloise presses her thumb to the sticker. Her pout gives and she smiles, one of Emily’s dimples digging into her cheek. “You’re in the heart!” She giggles, throwing her arms around Emily’s neck again.

“That’s right.” Emily kisses her forehead, the tightness in her chest loosening. Her eyes meet yours and you wink. She blows out a sigh, squeezing her daughter before preparing herself to let go. “I’ll pick you up from preschool today, okay Eloise?”

“Okay Mommy.”

“I’ll see you soon. Be a good girl, sweetheart.” She says as she leans over to you and eases her into your arms. Eloise doesn’t protest this time, settling into your chest quietly as she looks down at the heart.

Emily knows she’s late, but since she already is, she takes a moment to bend down a little, curling her finger gently under her daughter’s chin to tip it up. “I love you, baby,” she murmurs and kisses her cheek as Eloise mumbles a response.

Straightening, Emily reaches for you. “Love you, sweetheart,” she gives you a quick kiss, her hand gratefully squeezing your waist. “You’re a lifesaver.” She breathes; quietly, just for you.

“I know I am,” you wink. Taking her hand off your waist, you gently kiss her ring—your own version of a sticker heart. “Now go, you’re late.”

This time, when Emily reaches for the door, there’s no one there to hold her back.

“Bye Mommy!” Eloise waves from your arms. You stifle a smile into her hair, your hand lifting in a small wave of your own.

“Bye Eloise.” Emily waves back, her chest squeezing again as she forces herself to step out of the comfort of her home.

She walks into work eight minutes late with a scowl on her face, a damp patch on her clothes, and a red heart on the back of her hand.

“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbles to Hotch when she walks into the round table room. His eyes fall to the heart on her hand and he nods, not giving her any usual reprimand as she takes her seat. Emily’s grateful for that, but while he gets the hint, Morgan doesn’t.

He nudges her when they’re back at their desks. “Hotch didn’t even tell you off today. I think he’s going sweet on you, princess—”

“Not today, Morgan.” She snaps, his teasing tone grating against her nerves. Her mouth sets into a firm line when she catches the picture of you and Eloise on her desk.

He leaves her alone after that.

It’s a paperwork day, and for the first time in ever, she’s glad for it as she sinks into her thoughts. Her pen taps against her file as she replays the morning, rethinks her job, reiterates to herself—or tries to—that it’s just a phase, more to do with her daughter’s clinginess than her work hours. Still, the thoughts don’t leave her. It’s a miracle she manages to get anything done by the time Eloise’s preschool lets out and she’s getting up from her desk, tossing her purse over her shoulder and catching sight of the heart in her hand.

All the tension in her loosens when Eloise skips into her arms, beaming as her pigtails bounce.

“Mommy!”

Emily scoops her up into her chest. “Hi, baby.” She kisses her forehead, hot from the sun, and shifts her more securely on her hip. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh,” Eloise says. Her fingers hook in the chain of Emily’s necklace. “Lily got me cookies!”

“Oh, she did? That’s nice, did they taste good?” She asks. Eloise nods happily and Emily tugs gently on a pigtail, “We’ll have to make some and share with her tomorrow, what do you think?”

“With chocolate chips?” Eloise turns her wide eyes to her mother.

“Of course with chocolate chips,” Emily agrees, every muscle unwinding at the sound of her daughter’s sweet voice. “We can’t have cookies without chocolate chips.” They reach the car and she opens the door, settling Eloise into her car seat.

As she buckles her in, Emily catches sight of the heart sticker on the back of her small hand. “So, did you miss me today?” She asks playfully.

“No,” Eloise says.

“Oh.” Emily’s brows furrow. As sweet as her daughter is, she is a toddler, something Emily is reminded of every time she forgets. A chuckle slips past her lips as she shakes her head, “Well, I did—”

“You were here,” Eloise interrupts, pointing to the heart on the back of her hand.

Emily smiles softly. “That’s right,” she laughs. “I was with you the whole time. But you know what, Ellie Bellie?” Her fingers skate over Eloise’s stomach, gently tickling her until her girl starts laughing, “I still missed you anyway. Even though you were with me.”

Eloise looks up at her as she kisses her forehead. “Missed ’gio,” she says.

“Oh you missed him did you? I can never win when it comes to him.” Emily mock tsks, but she’s smiling as she shuts the back door closed. She slides into the driver’s seat and flicks her eyes up to the rearview mirror, instinctively checking on Eloise as she buckles her seatbelt. She turns on the car and drives off, any remaining tension melting off her body when she catches sight of the ring on her finger, the reminder of you and home just a few minutes away.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #fic #momily #mom!emily #divider by saradika

561 notes · View notes

venusbyline · 2 months ago

Text

Reddish ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 11, oct.

— pairing: Emily Prentiss x girlfriend!reader x Jennifer "JJ" Jareau

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: threesome FFF

— summary: You and JJ accidentally woke up Emily during the night and both of you have to apologize to her properly.

— word count: 2.1k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 11th day, female!reader, Jemily!married couple, threesome (female/female/female), throuple, scissoring/tribadism, fingering, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, face-sitting, praise kink, light degradation, squirting, hair-pulling, finger sucking, nipple play, breast worship, butt worship, curse words, argument, safeword (no use), age gap (older women/younger woman), mommy kink, voyeurism, grumpy x sunshine x sunshine, canon divergence, Mistress!Prentiss, Mommy!JJ, dom!Prentiss, switch!JJ, sub!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

Emily was sleeping soundly after a stressful case. Her body tense under the covers, her sleep disturbed with random nightmares. Random victims. Random Unsubs. Anything that was bizarre enough for a BAU agent.

She was trying to hold on to her sleep despite the macabre dreams. Bad sleep was still better than nothing. A peaceful night was a gift she had not felt in a long time, and she did not plan on letting it go.

At least not until she heard the soft moans that sounded from the other bed in the hotel room.

Emily huffed, turning to her side and placing the pillow over her face with a failed attempt to remain focused on simply lying down and sleeping. She was not in the mood to listen to you and JJ having fun when she was so tense, when her body was disturbing her due so much stress.

As selfish as it was, Emily wanted the two of you to just shut up so she could go back to sleep, which was impossible when she started hearing the slick sounds of your pussy rubbing together with JJ's. "You guys are so fucking annoying, you know that?" The older agent grunted, gripping the pillow tighter, finding it increasingly impossible to muffle the sounds when the other two women seemed so focused on climaxing.

"S-sorry, Mistress..." You managed to whimper, feeling a little bad for waking Emily, but your hands remained on JJ's hips as the blonde spread her legs a little wider to have more flexibility to move herself.

Taking a deep breath, Emily removed the pillow from her face and turned to look at both of you, having a perfect view of JJ smirking to her while holding your leg open, her breasts bouncing as she moved. Emily could not observe you very clearly in that position, but she knew you were lying down and also naked, your hands grabbing JJ's hips and encouraging her to go faster. "You're being too soft on her. I bet she was the one who woke you up just because she couldn't sleep." Emily declared to JJ, who let out a little chuckle, knowing that her wife was right.

"Oh, you know our little girl... always so needy." JJ purred, stopping moving and watching your eyes widen at the break in expectation. You were so close to cum and she just denied you that out of nowhere.

"NO!" You sobbed, trying to rub against her but not being able to get it right underneath her. "Please, Mommy! Please!"

JJ reassured you, stroking the top of your head as she got off of you, your swollen and soaked pussy being quite a sight. She knew how much you needed that orgasm, but she also knew that annoying Emily was not very smart. "You already came once this night, little girl."

Emily rolled her eyes when you whimpered at JJ's argument. "A greedy whore." She grumbled, sitting on the bed and crossing her arms. "You're spoiling her too much. That's why she's like that. Always like a bitch in heat." She did not seem to mind when you lifted your head back, a sad pout on your reddened lips. "Don't give me that look. I was trying to sleep and you woke me up with your pathetic moans."

JJ watched the slight argument between his wife and their girlfriend with some amusement. The blonde stroked your hair for a moment longer before looking at Emily. "You're tense." She argued and Emily snorted, but remained silent, looking away at the room windows. "Now that you're awake, maybe we both should apologize to you for disturbing your sleep."

An excited look appeared on your face as Emily raised an eyebrow, considering the situation for a few seconds before sighing, patting the bed. "Okay, come here."

You got up from JJ's bed quickly, making the blonde laugh as you approached Emily's bed, your body naked, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled. Not even Emily could hide her smile as she caressed your face when you sat down in front of her.

You leaned closer to her hand, pouting sadly when she let go of your face and gestured for JJ to come closer, which her wife did without blinking. When the two of you were already sitting in front of Emily. She pulled JJ by her long hair, grabbing the blonde strands tightly and bringing her wife's lips to hers. You watched it all, rubbing your thighs together as Emily used her other hand to press JJ's breast, the soft skin squeezing and leaving a brief palm-shaped rosy mark.

When Emily left the blonde to look at her again, you let out a sigh when you saw the thread of saliva that connected their lips. "You ate her out." Emily tsked at JJ when she noticed your pussy's taste during the kiss, then turned to you. "Is that how you came the first time, little girl? With Jennifer's pretty lips on that greedy little pussy of yours?"

She said with a mocking tone and you nodded pathetically, opening your legs so the two women could get a view of your pussy, your own fingers beginning to trace circles on your clit to tease Emily further.

"Spoiled cunt..." She growled, hearing your giggle as she grabbed you by the hair too, before ordering. "I want you to eat me out while I taste Jennifer." She warned beforehand and you nodded in anticipation. You do not worry about the possibility of not cumming for the second time that night. You knew Emily too well to know that even if she was annoyed that you had disturbed her sleep, she was not going to deny you an extra orgasm. Emily Prentiss was not as heartless as she pretended to be.

You settled between her legs, pulling her pajama down, smirking at both the lack of panties and the sight of her dark pubic hair glistening with her arousal. Emily lay down and straightened up better, spreading her legs so you could be more comfortable, while JJ stayed next to her for a while, taking off Emily's shirt and kissing her lips for the second time.

You smiled when JJ's fingers connected with Emily's nipples, her breasts fuller than JJ's but with less pointed nipples. When Emily moaned as soon as JJ started caressing her soft mounds, you took that as good encouragement to begin your task. You left soft kisses on Emily's thighs, her skin shivering due the contrast of your mouth on her thigh and the rougher way JJ caressed her.

"Be a good girl and don't tease me..." Emily scolded you with a sigh, grabbing your hair once again so you could get closer to her already wet pussy.

"Did you get horny like that just listening to us scissoring?" You teased, earning a low growl from Emily and a giggle from JJ.

"Don't tease our Mistress." The blonde said, leaning down enough so she could take Emily's pink nipple into her mouth, licking it and looking at her with amused eyes as the older woman sighed with pleasure.

Your tongue teased Emily's wet folds, savoring the sweet taste of her juices that were dripping while JJ sucked Emily's breasts, her face buried there like a starving woman. You ran your lips through the dark hairs, licking up the drippings there before returning to the folds, now focusing on her clit. The little bud was already so swollen that Emily moaned loudly when your lips closed around it, sucking lightly. "Holy shit..." She arched her back upwards, growling when JJ took the opportunity to nibble on her sensitive breast. “You fucking whore.” Emily gripped JJ's long blonde hair, and you watched JJ's teasing actions weaken while you sucked Emily's clit.

"Sorry, Mistress." She whispered hushedly, her mouth now kissing Emily's collarbone apologetically, a more submissive version that only Emily could get out of her.

Instead of answer to her first, Emily turned to you, stroking your hair as you batted your eyelashes, your little mouth now reddish from sucking her clit. "Use your fingers, princess."

The soft pet name made you smile and nodded, resting your lips for a few moments and using your thumb to apply gentle circles there. Emily bit her lip, and played with your hair as if you were her loyal puppy. "Good girl..." She whispered, sticking her fingers inside your mouth so you could close your eyes and suck them for a few minutes, but without losing focus on your goal. With your thumb still rubbing her clit, you stuck two fingers inside Emily's hole, not daring to go gently, because you knew how much she liked rough sex.

"Damn, little girl... You're so good for me..." Emily moaned, looking at JJ with a little smirk. "Come here..."

JJ returned the smirk and adjusted herself into the necessary position, each of her legs on one side of Emily's head before slowly lowering herself down, a loud sigh escaping when Emily wasted no time and began licking her pink pussy, the nails painted red squeezing and scratching the blonde's breasts.

Unlike you, JJ had not cum yet, but her core was already wet and sensitive from rubbing against yours before Emily woke up. Despite not having reached any orgasm, JJ was stimulated enough that Emily's licks made her start to moan loudly, her hips riding faster, the tip of her wife's nose causing a delightful friction on her clit.

Without stopping the moves of two fingers inside Emily, you lowered yourself to taste her again, enjoying her moans muffled by JJ's pussy. It was quite a sight. From where you were positioned, you could see JJ sitting on Emily's face, her beautiful ass wiggling on top of the brunette.

You held yourself back from squeezing JJ's buttocks, and instead you chose to increase the speed of your hand, the fingering becoming so fast that Emily had to take her mouth off her wife's clit for a few seconds to moan loudly, her walls tightening your fingers before she cums hard while you sucked her bud too.

Not waiting for Emily to recover from her orgasm, you continued tasting her juices, just as JJ pulled her hair to bring her face back between her legs. Emily was a little bewildered by the situation. An orgasm by itself would not make her so exhausted, but she had only recently woken up, so her view was still blurry when she let you and JJ use her practically like a sex doll, the blonde rubbing her own pussy on Emily's face without much care and you fingerfucking her pussy and licked up her release that continued to flow.

Emily would definitely think about a severe punishment for you two later, but at that moment she allowed her girls to do whatever you want. When she noticed that JJ's moans were starting to get louder and her ride started to lose rhythm, Emily gently slapped you on the head, which left you a little confused at the moment, worried that she was trying to signal the safeword, but your fear went away when she raised one knee, the habitual position made you sigh in relief and you placed a soft kiss on her leg before fitting yourself there, your wet pussy meeting hers sensitive and almost sore.

You knew Emily was already very overstimulated, so your movements were gentler, rubbing against her gently and whining, one of your hands holding her hip and the other squeezing your own breasts. It did not take long for JJ to moan Emily's name and cum, squirting on her wife's face and making you cum right away after that view.

Just as you scissoring your clit against Emily's again to prolong your new recently reached orgasm, JJ also pushed her luck, rubbing her soaked pussy all over the brunette's face, panting and laying down next to her right after.

You sighed by the overstimulation and got off of Emily, seeing her cheeks flushed and wet from JJ's squirt and also seeing how reddish her pussy was now. You placed a soft kiss there that made her shiver. "That's enough, princess." JJ scolded you and stroked Emily's damp hair, making you pouted sadly, but nodding and lying down on Emily's other side.

"Thanks, Mommy. Thanks, Mistress." You whispered to both of them, placing a soft kiss on Emily's lips, which she responded with a weak tired smile. "You want me to draw us a bath?"

Emily slowly shook her head, stroking your hair. "Don't. Right now I just wanna rest and sleep next to my two favorite girls." She smiled at you and then at JJ, letting each of you settle in next to her, the smell of sex filling the hotel room, even though neither of you cared. JJ placed Emily's head on her own chest, caressing her black hair and you hugged the brunette's waist, head resting on her shoulder until the three of you fell asleep.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

432 notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

masterlist ♡

my requests are open! i'm comfortable writing for any sexuality, gender, and/or specified reader preference! my basic model is a fem!reader x male!character because that is how i myself identify and who i am attracted to -- so if you want something else just lmk!! <33

click here for my taglist :)

꩜ -- angst ♡ -- fluff ꕥ -- smut

Spencer Reid

Series

★ Bridges to Belonging ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six (18+) Part Seven (18+)

★ Finding Home Again ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two (18+)

-- -- -- Extras -- Jeans ♡ ꕥ Migraines ꩜ ♡ Bar ♡ Stood Up ꩜

★ i love you ꩜ ♡ ꕥ— Part One Part Two

★ Short Shorts & Long Hair ꩜ ♡— Part One Part Two

★ Too Sweet ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two Part Three

★ Make You Feel My Love ꩜ — Part One Part Two Part Three

★ Something Better ꩜ — Part One Part Two

★ Breaking Point ꩜ ♡ — Part One Part Two

★ Too Damn Young ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two

★ Red ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Part One Part Two

★ Lost in Translation ꩜ ♡ ꕥ — Prologue Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

One Shots

Whispers in the Dark ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Set 'Em Up, and Knock 'Em Down ꩜ ꕥ

Needy ♡ ꕥ

Capturing the Queen ♡ ꕥ

Sweet & Sour Motivation ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Moving Forward ꩜ ♡

Love in the Club ♡ ꕥ

Lost & Found ꩜ ♡

Strawberry Lemonade ♡

Not Her ꩜ ♡

Ghost of You ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Textual Tension ♡ ꕥ

Hookups & Holdouts ꩜ ♡

Better Late Than Never ♡

Illicit Affairs ꩜ ♡

No More Misunderstandings ♡

Forever & Always ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Depollute Me ♡

Say Don't Go ꩜ ♡

Oops: Wrong Person ♡ ꕥ

Blurbs

Silent Echos ꩜

Second Chances and Serendipity ♡

Ink Impressions ♡

Love in the Details ♡

The Hardest Goodbye ꩜

Ride 'Em Cowgirl ♡

Home in Jeans ♡ ꕥ

Car Wash ♡

They Were Never You ꩜ ♡

Rewritten Plans ꩜ ♡

Dare Ya ♡

Cream Cardigan ♡

Picture You ♡

Tummy ꩜ ♡

Home with Migraines ꩜ ♡

Matchmaker ♡

Always You ꩜ ♡

Home From The Bar ♡

Bedroom Eyes ♡

Federal Beach Investigation ♡

Stood Up & Home ꩜

Good Boy ꕥ

The Profile of Attraction ♡

A Reid Christmas ♡

Call Me Dad ♡

Asks

A Gentle Embrace ♡

Southern Charm ♡

Cinephile ♡

Where We Were Meant To Be ꩜ ♡

Love Doctor ♡

Not Strong Enough ꩜ ♡

Birthday Surprise ♡ ꕥ

Technicalities ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Lucky ꩜ ♡

I Love You, I'm Sorry ꩜ ♡

Languages of Love ♡

Wounds: Physical & Emotional ꩜

Sadly Ever After ꩜

Chip Taylor

Something's Gotta Give ꩜ ♡ ꕥ

Juno(OH) ♡

Hometown Glory ꩜ ♡

Matthew Gray Gubler

Unauthorized Documentary 0.5

1K notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 8 months ago

Text

THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart.

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all.

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar.

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night.

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her.

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down.

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit.

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy.

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil.

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,”

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow.

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye.

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,”

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.”

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff.

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat.

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him.

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close.

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges.

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,”

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire.

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,”

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,”

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?”

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,”

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers.

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway.

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself.

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,”

And he believed her with everything in him.

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself.

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right?

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on.

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass.

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it.

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge.

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either.

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first.

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour.

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt.

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue.

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days.

They had found Doyle.

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips.

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in.

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor.

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck.

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice.

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours.

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours.

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open.

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,”

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle.

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even.

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded.

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment.

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup.

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away.

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself.

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach.

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure.

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye.

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed.

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had.

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,”

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution.

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt.

“Don’t do this, kid,”

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand.

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him.

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor.

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell.

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight.

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run.

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way.

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her.

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth.

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,”

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief.

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her.

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror.

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying.

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all.

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark.

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock.

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly.

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth.

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her.

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong.

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself.

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well.

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze.

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her.

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself.

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her.

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder.

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy.

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time.

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod.

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest.

Bugsy was laughing.

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged.

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in.

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called.

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle.

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her.

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step.

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat.

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp.

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust.

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell.

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice.

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?”

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

“No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,”

“She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them.

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either.

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,”

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that.

She wouldn’t tell her anything.

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown.

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive.

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for.

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors.

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him.

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash.

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them.

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her.

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity.

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back.

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word.

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place.

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness.

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either.

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods.

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine.

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on.

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,”

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips.

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close.

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever.

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too.

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her.

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush.

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off.

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’.

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way.

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face.

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought.

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day.

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful.

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years.

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of.

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy.

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,”

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,”

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone.

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard.

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer.

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do.

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene.

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government.

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another.

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily.

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed.

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo.

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment.

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face.

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag.

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in.

“Why not?”

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas.

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay.

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face.

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members.

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze.

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds.

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,”

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her.

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did.

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands.

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly.

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else.

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund.

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out.

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness.

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that.

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him.

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket.

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress.

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight.

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off.

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends.

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills.

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did.

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection.

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket.

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,”

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief.

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips.

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done.

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike.

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively.

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room.

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed.

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw.

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,”

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there.

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,”

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba.

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him.

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else.

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time.

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win.

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub.

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway.

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt.

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple.

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture.

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door.

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,”

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age.

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him.

They moved in tandem, just like they always had.

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance.

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,”

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,”

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team.

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product.

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter.

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up.

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile.

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in.

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more.

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,”

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then.

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision.

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards. Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door.

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him.

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house.

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening.

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run.

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better.

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling.

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks.

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart.

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold.

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat.

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over.

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact.

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure.

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.”

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice.

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight.

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning.

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later.

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,”

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door.

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress.

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night.

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t.

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen.

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face.

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,”

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless.

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her.

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,”

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay.

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her.

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,”

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest.

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts.

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest.

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head.

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?”

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next.

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes.

If Emily hadn’t been there.

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move.

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer.

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred.

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,”

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together.

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot.

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice.

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?”

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform.

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it.

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women.

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,”

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip.

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry.

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules.

He hated girl rules. He never understood them.

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows.

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone.

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes.

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart.

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?”

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words.

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot.

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her.

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up.

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?”

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning.

He sighed, hard.

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face.

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today.

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?”

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second.

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance.

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye.

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,”

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene.

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest.

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach.

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby.

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building.

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,”

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement.

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready.

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units.

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away.

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse.

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily.

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well.

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together.

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?”

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers.

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows.

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life.

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer.

This was going to be a long day.

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest.

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage.

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre.

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all.

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?”

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information.

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite.

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen.

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty.

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-”

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her.

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves.

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were.

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken.

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together.

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit.

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never.

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance.

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her.

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves.

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up.

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies.

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest.

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too.

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,”

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together.

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore.

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?”

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her.

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug.

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another.

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again.

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death.

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed.

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street.

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation.

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources.

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.”

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless.

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did.

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it.

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side.

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers.

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter.

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?”

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was.

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere.

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing.

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now.

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears.

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?”

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers.

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them.

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!”

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover.

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would.

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him.

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards.

And Bugsy went down with it.

Taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist t @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Emily Prentiss x Sister!reader

1K notes · View notes

forhappysake · 3 months ago

Text

Never Forget a Face

A/N - Why is titling fics so hard? I used a Hunger Games quote because it fit so well so lmk if you can pick it out. Nearly 5K words, not proofread.

Summary - After the end of a bloody case, Emily tasks a begrudging Spencer with checking in on the newbie. Warnings - Spencer x fem!reader, typical BAU-level violence, murder, kn!ves, season 12/13 spoilers, extensive handwashing (?), a bitter post-prison reid with a grumpy x sunshine plot

My hands are stained red.

That was your first coherent thought as you stared in the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent lighting cast a pale glow over your face, making you look more ghostly than you already did. Your once blue shirt was covered in splotches. Your hands, dangling over the sink, were the color of burnt rust.

As you turned on the faucet and applied soap to your hands, your brain replayed the events that brought you here.

This was only your second case with the team. Hell, it was only your fourth case with the bureau. All you wanted to do was fit in. You’d heard great things about the BAU: the highly decorated Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, the face of the FBI - Jennifer Jareau, and the sought-after genius of Dr. Spencer Reid.

The first case with the BAU had gone well. You’d done a lot of the grunt work, putting in an intense number of hours in a dingy police precinct pouring over paperwork with Dr. Reid, who kept telling you to call him Spencer. Despite this faux friendliness, you couldn’t help but get the feeling he was tired of working with you.

Not that you could blame him. You were, by all definitions, a newbie. He had over a decade of experience and a serious reputation. A genius to boot, his sighs and looks often made you feel like you were in his way more than you were actually helping. Hence why, when Emily had asked for two volunteers to tail a suspect for the day, you’d quickly volunteered to go with the charming Luke Alvez.

Six hours later, Luke, along with yourself, had tracked an unsub while he was taking his latest victim back to his home in a rural area. Back-up, which was supposed to be on the way, wouldn’t be there for at least twenty minutes. When the first blood-curdling scream rang out from the house, the two of you knew you had no choice but to act alone.

Luke went in through the front door, making his presence known as you tiptoed around the side of the house to enter undetected. When you found a cracked window, you were able to slip inside without much issue.

In that moment, you remembered hearing Luke attempting to talk down the unsub. You approached their voices, careful not to let anyone know you were inside.

“How do you think this is going to end?” Luke asked the unsub, his voice firm.

The unsub had laughed and the muffled cries of his victim could be heard from your spot. You tucked yourself quietly behind a hallway entrance into the room Luke was in. You peeked around the corner to let him know you were there. His only acknowledgment of you was a brief glance, but that was all you needed to know that he wanted you to stay in place.

“I think,” the unsub started, with more cries coming from his captive, “that she’ll probably die before this is all over.”

You tried to recall the profile. Emily’s voice replayed in your mind.

“He kills with a knife and dumps the body in a secondary location, meaning he gets the women alone and gets close to them before he kills them. Based on the demographics of this region, he’s probably a white man. Likely in his 30s. Attractive but single, most definitely living alone. That’s his selling point. That’s how he’s managed to lure all these women into his vehicle.”

Nothing stuck out to you about him. There was nothing you could think to do to help in this situation besides hide behind the wall. You were waiting for a signal from Luke or the sound of backup approaching.

Luke cleared his throat and you could picture him shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, man. Let her go and I can help you.”

The unsub laughed again and you cringed. There was something so unsettling about his voice and his laughter.

The unsub started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. This was your moment.

You whirled around the corner, gun drawn. “FBI, don’t move,” you warned. The unsub turned to look at you. His cold blue eyes bore a hole in your head. A shiver ran through your spine. “Drop the knife.”

He appeared irritated, rolling his neck as if trying to work out a kink. He glanced down at his victim. Her eyes were wide and frantic, tears streaming down her face. She was bound and a piece of cloth was tied around her face as a makeshift gag. He pulled her up to his height by her hair, eliciting more cries.

“Well sweetheart, this isn’t how I pictured this ending for us. I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said as he raised the knife to her throat.

“Wait!” Luke shouted.

It was too late. What followed next was nothing short of chaos.

Luke let off two shots, both of which connected with the unsub. His body cascaded to the floor. You lunged forward at the poor victim. Her throat, now cut, was bleeding at an alarming rate. However, her eyes remained open and the gasps coming from her mouth told you she was still breathing.

You threw yourself on the floor next to her, removing the gag from her mouth and placing it over her neck as a makeshift tourniquet.

“Do you hear that?” you asked, the sirens were right outside the house. “Help is almost here, okay? You have to keep your eyes on me.” Her glassy eyes were locked on yours, but the panic was fading from them with the little life she had left. The cloth in your hands was soaked with blood and your hands were turning a deep shade of crimson.

You shook your head. “No, no. Come on. Look at me,” you tried to encourage her to hold on just for another moment.

In the midst of your mumbling, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Luke crouched behind you.

“She’s gone, Y/N,” he said gently. His eyes were locked on her lifeless body. You furrowed your brow, denial coursing through your veins.

Just as you were about to protest, the EMTs burst through the door with Emily and Dr. Reid in tow. Luke pulled you out of the way as they tended to both the victim and the unsub.

The four of you watched helplessly from the corner of the room. You felt your body shake gently, adrenaline getting the best of you. You could feel Reid’s eyes on you. His judgement making you more anxious.

You watched as one of the EMTs working on the victim turned to look at you. He shook his head gently, a sign that she really was gone.

You'd never forget her face.

A sigh of defeat left your lips and tears welled up in your eyes. In a moment driven by pure emotion, you shot out of the house and back towards the SUV.

Luke sprinted out the front door after you. “Where are you going?” he shouted, clearly confused by your sudden burst of determination.

“Back to the hotel,” you said matter-of-factly, sliding into the driver’s seat of the car. He rushed over to the driver’s door, holding it open so you couldn’t slam it shut.

He looked incredulous. “And who am I supposed to ride with?”

You rolled your eyes. “Luke, two people just died and you’re worried about who your chauffeur is going to be.”

Luke seemed to get the message he pulled back from the door, allowing you to shut it. You started the SUV, cracking the window just enough to shout, “Catch a ride with Reid and Emily.”

You pulled out onto the highway, foot heavy on the pedal as adrenaline still run through you.

Nearly half an hour later and still covered in blood, you stumbled into the hotel lobby. The desk lady, panicked, quickly rushed in front of you. The lady, presumably Linda based on her nametag, asked you if she needed to call the police. You’d shown her your badge with a bitter laugh, explaining that you were the police. The smell of her floral perfume was making your head spin more than it already was. Thankfully, with a sympathetic smile, she’d moved out of your way and allowed you to proceed to your room.

Which was how you ended up here, trying to scrub blood off of your still-shaky hands. You weren’t sure how long you’d been at this, but you couldn’t quit now. The dark evidence was still embedded deep beneath your fingernails.

-SPENCER’S POV-

Walking into the house behind Emily, I could already see the mess that had unraveled. There was blood on the wall, where the unsub lay propped up but clearly dead as if he’d landed sitting up. There was blood on the floor, covering the lifeless body of the last victim.

And there was blood all over her, the new girl, who was standing in the corner. Her eyes stared off into the distance, and she looked like she could faint at any moment.

She was nice. Too innocent for the job, clearly. If I hadn’t been sure about that from the other case we worked together, it was evident now.

Emily and I walked over to the corner, standing beside Y/N and Luke as the EMTs worked on both the unsub and the victim on the other side of the room. Despite the gory scene before us, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off Y/N yet. Thoughts laced with sympathy crept into my mind and I resisted the urge to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder.

Just as I was about to do just that, the closest EMT turned to her and shook his head. The victim, as the unsub, was dead. She let out a sound that I could only describe as a shudder before she raced out the front door.

“What the hell?” Luke asked, following her out.

Emily sighed, staring at the two bodies before us as the EMTs packed up their things. “Kind of a harsh second case for the kid, huh?” she asked.

I thought for a moment and shrugged, pushing sympathy away. “It’s not like it gets any easier from here on out, she might as well get used to it now.” I turned and started to walk out of the house, just in time to watch the new girl whip the SUV out of the driveway and hightail it back towards town. Though I wasn’t looking at her, I felt Emily shoot me a look.

“You’d have never said a thing like that before you went away, Spencer,” she scolded.

I took a deep breath. She was probably right. “No, I wouldn’t have, but things are different now,” I said plainly.

I walked down the front porch steps and out on to the lawn where Luke was waiting for us, impatiently resting a hand on the handle of the SUV’s door.

“Where’s your ride?” I quipped sarcastically.

He shook his head. “Don’t start. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

Emily caught up to me, pulling the SUV keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door so Luke could climb inside. As he did, she turned to me.

“When we get back to the hotel, I want you to go check on Y/N.”

I felt my face contort in a scoff. “Why would I be the one to do that?”

“Because,” Emily said, staring at the SUV before us, “someone needs to.”

“So why don’t you?” I challenged, growing more exasperated by the second.

Emily snapped her head to the side, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Spencer,” she said sharply. I looked at her, trying to read her microexpressions. “I worry about you. Do you get that?”

That wasn’t the reply I was expecting.

I averted my eyes to the ground, somewhat ashamed of my previous attitude. “Yeah, I know.”

“I want you to check on her because she needs someone who has seen bad things to explain to her that those bad things are survivable,” she started, eyes still locked on my face. I glanced up at her as she continued.

“And, I want you to check on her because I think it would be good for you,” she finished.

“Good for me?” I asked, with less attitude and more curiosity this time.

Emily sensed the shift in my demeanor and I could see her shoulders relax. “Yes, good for you. Ever since you came back, you never stay out after cases anymore. Remember how we all used to go out together? Have a couple drinks? Relax?”

I nodded because I did remember. Those were some of the best memories of my life.

“All you do anymore is go home or back to the hotels and hide in your room until the next morning, reading Vigotsky or Tarkovsky or whatever you do.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was reading the works of Dostoyevsky, so I let her continue uninterrupted.

“It’s time for you to do some socializing. I think talking about yourself might do you some good for once. Besides, Y/N really is a ray of sunshine once you get to know her. I think her company will be good for you.”

I thought about what she said for a moment. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Alright,” I said, “I’ll stop by her room before I go to bed for the night.”

Satisfied with my answer, Emily proceeded to the SUV.

Soon enough, we were back at the hotel. I thought about how to proceed. Should I go to her room immediately? Should I wait and change out of my work clothes first?

Absolutely not. Talking is one thing. Wearing my pajamas in front of her? That’s too personal.

I decided to head straight to her room. Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the best option.

I strolled down the hall and stopped in front of her door. I placed three quick knocks on the door and waited. And waited. I knocked again. Nothing.

Maybe she’d gone out for the evening, I reasoned. Or, maybe she was asleep. Regardless, I was ready to turn and go back to my room when I heard the faintest sound of running water coming from inside.

My mind raced. She was surely just in the shower, right? Or maybe running a bath? The FBI agent in me freaked out. What if she’d went off the deep end and was trying to drown herself? Or what if-

I tried to run through my options, the first obvious one being to try the door handle, which was miraculously unlocked. Who the hell leaves their door unlocked in a cheap hotel like this?

“Y/N?” I called out as I stepped into the room. The bathroom door was wide open to the left of the main door I just entered, and I peered around the corner.

She stood before the sink, eyes locked on her hands which appeared to be scrubbed nearly raw. I walked inside, concern building by the moment. “What are you doing?” I asked.

She didn’t hear me - or she ignored me if she did. She continued scrubbing her hands diligently. I leaned forward to get a better look. A few red streaks ran off her hand and down the sink, but I wasn’t so sure what she was washing off was the victim’s blood anymore.

“Y/N, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” I scolded. Her motions continued. She seemed dazed and unaware of my presence. She was surely in some kind of shock.

As I stood behind her, I felt as though the scrubbing intensified. I made a snap decision. Stepping forward, I placed my arms on either side of her body, caging her in around the sink as I firmly grabbed her forearms and separated her hands.

She jumped violently, enough for me to release her arms from my grip and back away quickly.

“My god, Dr. Reid. How long have you been here?” she asked as her voice shook. She looked exhausted and her hands were bright red. Red lines where she’d repeatedly used her nails to scrape at the skin caught my eye. I pulled my gaze away from her hands, making eye contact with her for the first time. “I came to check on you, after everything. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

She looked down at her hands, the realization of what she had done became apparent as she flexed her fingers and winced.

“Looks like I came at the right time,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her.

She shook her head incredulously before she began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. I have no idea why I was doing that. You shouldn’t have had to-”

I shrugged. “It happens.”

Silence filled the room as I noticed she was still in her blood-soaked clothes. Thoughts whirled through my mind, but I couldn’t form a coherent thought. Words were pouring out of my mouth without my approval.

“Here’s what I purpose,” I said before I could stop myself. “Take a shower, get changed, and meet me in my room for a few minutes. I just want to talk to you about a some things.”

She stared at the floor. I almost thought she was going to say no.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I nodded, heading for the bathroom door. “Room 91A. And please, call me Spencer,” I stated. Not waiting for her response, I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked her hotel door on my way out.

-READER POV-

You felt like you were in trouble.

You know when you’re merely a child and you get in trouble in the middle of class? You know the feeling of your stomach sinking as you walk to the principal’s office?

That was the only way you could describe walking to Dr. Reid’s - Spencer’s - room.

After a shower that stung your hands and brought tears to your eyes, you slipped into some comfy clothes and wrapped gauze around the rawest parts of your palms, before heading to his room.

Room 91A. You tapped your knuckles on the door twice. You heard shuffling from inside the room. Spencer stood before you, also showered, also in his pajamas.

This caught you by surprise. He could tell by the way your eyebrows shot up at his appearance. “I figured we might as well be comfortable with one another,” he said before stepping out of the way. “Come in.”

You brushed past him as you walked inside. Though it was just a hotel room, something about the stack of books on the side table and paperwork scattered on the desk brought a small smile to your face.

One book in particular laid face up on the edge of the bed. “Dostoyevsky?” you asked.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your question. “Yes. Have you read his work?”

You nodded, glancing up at him as you ran your hand over the cover of the book, tracing the engraving on the cover of the antique copy. “Everybody knows Crime and Punishment, but I prefer White Nights.”

You’d caught him off guard. “I didn’t know you were interested in Russian literature,” he said, walking to the other side of the room and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned in the corner, “or any literature, for that matter.”

You shrugged. “We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I’m not sure why you’d have any idea.”

His stare faltered, and you caught him averting his eyes to the floor as he leaned back in the chair. “I should have asked. I haven’t been very kind to you. I haven’t done a very good job of making you feel welcome here,” he started cautiously.

That caught your attention. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, but your first response was to reassure him. “It’s no problem, Spencer. It’s been so busy that I haven’t had time to get to know anyone very well.” You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully.

“That isn’t true,” he said matter of factly.

“Excuse me?” you asked, genuinely confused as to if you heard him right.

Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tops of his thighs. His hands folded and he used them as a rest for his chin. You could see the gears turning in his head.

“I said that it isn’t true. You have gotten to know everyone quite well, from what I gather,” Spencer said.

Before you could respond, he started in again. “I’ve seen pictures of you with Luke and Penelope at the club after the last case. I know you went to lunch with Will and JJ. She says you’re fantastic with Henry and Michael. Tara told me you helped Rossi finish the thousand piece puzzle he’s had splayed out on his office table for two months. All this while Emily claims you’re a ray of sunshine.”

Your mouth had fallen open a bit in the midst of his confession. You tried to think of an appropriate response. “Well, yes. That’s all true. But I don’t expect you to go out of your way to get to know me. I’m a people person.” You pointed to the books on his side table. “You, on the other hand, seem to prefer quiet time alone. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The room was silent for a moment. The sound of Spencer’s foot tapping quietly against the floor kept the time. One, two, three…

“I didn’t used to be this way,” he said frankly.

You glanced at him, trying to read his expression. His face was stoic. He didn’t look particularly upset, though he surely wasn’t happy either. He ran a lone hand through his hair and brushed a few solitary curls from his eyes.

“I know,” you responded.

He furrowed his brow at you, confusion written all over his face. You rose from the bed and approached him before plopping down in the armchair next to his.

“You know how, for us normal people, we spend a few years in training before we actually get a real assignment?” you asked.

He nodded.

“I’ve been with the Bureau in that capacity going on four years,” you started, eyes locked on the wall across from you. “My third year, there were rumors about an FBI agent spending time in prison for some high-level crime. People theorized it was connected to drug running, treason, even murder.”

Spencer cringed.

“For the longest time, I thought it was a rumor. I forgot about it and I got an internship in Internal Affairs,” you continued. “One day, my boss handed me this huge file, full of reports going back over a decade.”

He was curious now, staring at you intensely as you did your best not to melt under his gaze.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that was your file. One section was full of every report you’d ever written. The other section was what the Department of Justice had collected in an attempt to convict you in the fall.”

This was new information to Spencer, who felt himself let out a bitter laugh. You paused to look at him.

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that,” he said sourly. “I knew then they would want to be as far away from the case as possible. No wonder it was easier for them to try to keep me in there.”

You shrugged, continuing. “I guess Emily had called in a favor with Internal Affairs. I was tasked with finding proof of innocence.”

“And?” Spencer asked.

“I couldn’t find any,” you stated simply. He nodded. “But I never forgot the file, especially the pictures inside. I never forget a face. Reading through your life with the Bureau, seeing the sequence of ID images each year as you got older, maybe even colder. That stuck with me for some reason.”

He appeared intrigued and was clearly doing his best not to interrupt.

“When I woke up one morning and saw this huge CBS headline about the DOJ dropping the charges against a wrongly accused agent, I felt a strange kind of vindication,” you admitted. “Nine months later I got a call from Emily, asking me to come in for an interview. Two months later, now we’re here.”

“Now we’re here,” he repeated.

You cleared your throat. “What I didn’t bank on when I joined the BAU, was the same face from that file would be across from me at the table every day.”

You turned to him to find he was already looking at you, and you offered him a small smile. “All this to say,” you whispered, “I think you have every reason not to be friendly with the new hire.”

The room was silent once more, the two of you sneaking glances at each other. Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“Emily sent me to check on you because she thought it would be good for both of us,” he confessed. “She said you should see me as an example that people can get through bad things, and that I needed to get out of my head and into the real world.”

You were quiet for a moment before shifting in the chair. You thought of everything you’d seen over the last twelve hours.

“I never forget a face,” you whispered again, thinking back to the victim on the floor. Her glassy eyes staring up at your own.

Spencer nodded. “Me either.”

“So how do you do it?” you asked him.

He turned to you. You swore you could see tears forming in his eyes.

“I find that there's always that little moment right when you wake up in the morning, when everything's good, because your mind has temporarily forgotten the bad stuff.”

You smiled as he continued. “At night, when I can’t sleep, I make a list in my head of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game.”

You tried to think about every good thing you’d ever seen someone do and tears welled in your eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you said.

“It works sometimes,” Spencer smiled. He moved forward, placing a hand on your knee. You looked up at him. The two of you stared at each other.

“You have to know that you’ll never fully forget these things, but we get through it as a team,” he finished.

The tears welled up in your eyes spilled over, and you noticed that a few of his own had to. The hand on your knee moved up, wiping the fallen tears from your cheeks.

After a moment of letting the tears dry, you rose from the chair. “I really appreciate this, Spencer. I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way to help me, but I am very grateful.”

He stood, towering over you. “It’s not a problem. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“I enjoyed talking to you too,” you said with a smile. You stood next to him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his close proximity before you snapped out of it. “Well, I should probably go back to my room and let you get back to your work.”

You turned from him and walked towards the door, pausing only when you heard his voice call after you.

“Y/N,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction to where you’d crossed the room.

“Yeah, Spencer?” you said, turning to face him.

He faltered, his eyes finding the floor again. “I just,” Spencer stuttered for a moment, trying to regain his cool. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay. Stay and talk, of course. I-” he paused a moment more. Spencer took a deep breath. “I think Emily was right. I do enjoy your company and I’d like you to stay for a while,” he said firmly.

You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. Spencer saw it, too, quickly rushing to give you an out.

“You don’t have to, of course,” he rushed. His cheeks burned red.

“No, I don’t have to,” you said. “But I’d like to.”

You saw his shoulders relax as the tension left his body.

“Great,” Spencer nodded. He sounded relieved.

You walked over to the armchair, plopping back down next to him. “Right, so,” you started, “What’s your topic of choice, Spence?”

The use of his nickname brought the blush back to his cheeks as he scurried back into the chair next to you.

He glanced at the books on the side table, the topic of conversation coming to him quickly. “Tell me,” Spencer started, “What resonates with you about the White Lady?”

You smiled before diving into a summary that not only analyzed the text but connected it to your own life. You thought your heart skipped a beat when you caught a glimpse of Spencer smiling warmly at you as you rambled.

It was a long, interesting, conversation-filled night.

605 notes · View notes