#he just wants to help and to protect hotch from himself

[masterwords]

For your daily dose of rotty brains, I humbly submit this to the court. (5x02 - Haunted)

[pathologicalreid]

safe space | s.r.

in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: takes place during early season 12, mr scratch/peter lewis, kindergarten teacher!reader, mom!reader, wife!reader, the spencer reid dilf agenda, nondescript illness, lying to your spouse word count: 1.9k a/n: this just popped into my head while i was watching season 12 AND @lilacsandlavenderhaze has a request in for kindergarten teacher!reader angst AND i wanted to give lia reading material for her train ride so we are killing three birds with one stone

You’d just turned your monitor off when you heard a knock at your door. Initially, you assumed it was Janet, a member of the custodial staff, coming to see if you had left for the day, but as you approached the door, you didn’t see anyone through the small window.

Your footsteps faltered, hesitating to open the door because you weren’t sure what you’d find on the other side, you were certainly surprised to find Jack Hotchner standing outside of your door. Frowning, you stepped to the side as he shoved into your classroom, “Jack? What’s wrong?”

Sometimes, Jack would sit in your classroom while you finished work, and you’d take him home to help out his dad and aunt, but as far as you knew, the BAU was in town, and Hotch didn’t need any extra help today. “He’s here,” Jack said ominously, his tone enough of a warning to prompt you to close your classroom door.

“Who’s here?” You asked, clicking the door shut and turning back to him. He was nervous, clutching the straps of his backpack like it was a lifeline.

Wide-eyed, Jack peeked out the windows next to your door, “Peter Lewis.”

Instinctively, you locked your classroom door, before standing in front of Jack, “Honey, how do you know who that is?”

He gulped, probably wondering if he’d get in trouble for knowing something he shouldn’t have, but in this case, his knowledge might have protected him. “I saw my dad’s files out on the kitchen table, I recognize his face.”

Technically, Peter Lewis wasn’t a name you were supposed to recognize, and yet, you’d heard the name from Spencer’s lips countless times in the last year. Even more so since he managed to escape from prison, “Where did you see him?”

“Outside by the busses,” he told you, following you through your classroom until you made it back to your desk, searching for your cell phone. “Are you gonna call Uncle Spencer?”

You shook your head, scrolling through your contacts until you came across one Aaron Hotchner, “I’m calling your dad.” Blood drained from your face as realization dawned on you, “Jack, do you know where Henry is?”

He tapped on your desk anxiously; the fidgeting was the only movement that clued you into his nervousness. Jack’s facial expression was completely stoic, and you wondered, not for the first time, if it was genetic. “He went home early,” He told you, “His dad picked him up.”

Nodding to yourself as you clicked the call button on your phone and held it up to your ear, grateful that you didn’t need to be a haven for multiple BAU kids. You’d had both boys as students in kindergarten, but Henry was in second grade and Jack was in fifth now.

“Hello?” A familiar voice came in through the phone, instinctively, you reached out a hand and smoothed Jack’s hair back.

You smiled sadly at Jack, you didn’t call Hotch often, and when you did, it was seldom good news. “Hey, Hotch,” you greeted him, “I’ve got Jack here in my classroom, and I think we have a bit of a situation.”

Explaining the events of the afternoon to Hotch, you heard him packing up to leave work on the other line—the click of his briefcase, the placement of pens in a mug. “Can you put me on speakerphone?” He asked. Of course, you obliged, letting Jack take the phone in his hands, “Hey buddy, you did the right thing by going to Mrs. Reid’s classroom.”

“I saw him in your folders,” Jack said, trying to explain himself.

There was a fine line that needed to be walked when it came to what you all decided to tell your children. In this case, Jack’s snooping might have been what kept him safe. It made your chest ache, and it made you anxious to get home to your own kids. “I know, it’s okay. I’m gonna leave work and come pick you up…” His voice trailed off for a moment, “Can you give the phone back to Mrs. Reid?”

Jack handed the phone to you, and you smiled softly at him, “Hey, why don’t you take a seat in one of the bean bag chairs?” You gestured to your classroom’s comfy corner and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Hey.”

“Would you mind staying at the school with him? Just until I can get there, I just have to make sure I let Dave know that I’m leaving,” he informed you.

You swallowed thickly, it was a wonder that you were more nervous than Jack was right now, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise. “Yeah, that’s fine, Hotch. I’ll be here for as long as you guys need,” you assured him, watching as Jack dutifully opened his backpack and pulled out a binder.

Hotch released a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Y/N.”

After hanging up the phone, you went over to your snack cabinet and pulled out a package of goldfish crackers, bringing them over to Jack and holding them out for him to take. They were his favorite when he was in your class, and you hoped they still were. Maybe he was just humoring you when he took them gratefully, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water is fine,” he answered, focused on the pages on his lap.

You hesitated, “Are you sure?” You wandered over to your desk and opened the small fridge that you stashed beneath it, “I have some yogurt drinks… I have apple juice. Does your dad usually let you have juice?”

Holding out the juice box like an offering, you let him see it before he answered, “Sometimes.”

“Well, I think he’ll forgive me today,” you admitted, acknowledging the extenuating circumstances. You kept the juice boxes in your classroom in case of a low blood sugar, but you worried about giving him too much sugar without his dad’s permission. Then again, Jack could probably handle more sugar than your toddlers could.

He thanks you again, this time for the juice box, and sets it on the small side table with his opened bag of goldfish.

You noticed his drawings in the binder, he was in the process of coloring in a bunch of spaceships, but it wasn’t his precise coloring that you took note of, it was the fact that he was coloring in lines that he had drawn himself. Quickly, you texted your nanny to let her know that you’d be a little late getting home before sitting down in the bean bag next to him. “Those are really well done, Jack.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, focused on getting the straw into his juice box.

Deciding to try again, you wiped your clammy palms on your skirt, “Is that what you want to do when you grow up?” You asked him, peeking over at the papers again, “Design spaceships.”

Jack shrugged in response as he took a sip from his juice, “I’m not sure.”

Nodding in understanding, you let him sit and continue his drawing, smiling when he periodically snacked on a goldfish. You wondered if Hotch had the same fear as you. That one day, one of your kids would come up to you and proclaim that they wanted to be an FBI agent just like their dad. You wanted the best for your kids, and you wanted them to follow their own dreams, but not at the cost that the FBI took.

You both startled when a knock came at your door, you gently touched the side of Jack’s chair, “It’s probably just your dad,” you reassured him, “I’ll go look.”

Setting down your snack, you warily approached your classroom door, releasing a sigh of relief when you saw Hotch on the other side. “Hey,” you said, opening the door for him, “Jack, he’s here.”

He started shoving his things in his backpack, minding his juice and snack on the table as he tossed the bag over his shoulders. “Hi, dad,” he greeted.

“Hey, bud,” Hotch greeted with a small wave before he turned to you, “I didn’t say anything to anyone before I left, and I was wondering if you could refrain from mentioning anything to Reid.”

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, “I don’t keep secrets from my husband, Hotch,” you told him, shrugging slightly as you did.

Hotch nodded, “Could you just… delay it by a day, then? Just until I’m able to sort some things out.”

Meeting his gaze, you recognized the fear in them; it was the same fear you saw in Spencer’s eyes every time an UnSub got a little too close to the team. The look you saw when you and the kids were put into protective custody. With that in mind, your head bobbed, “Sure thing, Hotch.”

A day, you could do a day, you assured yourself as the three of you said your goodbyes, leaving you to relock your door and return to your desk. You took a seat, resting your chin in your hands as you eyed a photo on your desk. It was from last Christmas when you and Spencer took the kids to meet Santa. They were all grinning at the camera, even your youngest, who usually bore a scowl.

Closing your eyes, you tried to convince yourself to get up and head home when your phone started ringing. You sighed at the sight of the Caller ID: Spencer.

Swiping the screen, you brought it up to your ear, “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you immediately, “You sound upset.”

You sniffled, “No, it’s fine. I just…” you searched your mind for a fib, “There’s something going around the school. A stomach bug or something.”

In the background of the call, you heard the dinging of elevators, familiar BAU sounds, “Yeah, it sounds like Henry’s picked something up, so JJ’s headed home early. I’m worried Jack might’ve gotten it too, Hotch left in kind of a hurry not too long ago.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you nodded to yourself, “Uh, yeah. I’m just about to head home myself.”

“Well, with the team down two, Rossi decided we should just call it a day, so I’m actually on my way out too,” he told you. “I was wondering if you wanted to try to take the kids to that new playground out by Falls Church, but if you’re not feeling well, I can just take them and let you rest.”

You laughed weakly, more at the situation than anything, “I’d love to, and the kids will like it too.” At the very least, they’d sleep well tonight after playing their energy away.

He hummed over the phone, “Perfect, I’ll see you when I get home?” He asked, acknowledging that you had a shorter commute than him and would likely beat him home.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, standing up and gathering your things with your phone wedged between your shoulder and cheek. “Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, lovely?” He chirped in response, clearly in a much better mood than you.

You sighed, “I love you.”

He was silent for a moment, “Are you sure you’re alright? Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head even though he couldn’t see, you answered, “I just really, really love you.”

“Well,” he responded, his grin apparent in his tone, “I really, really love you too.”

[endearng]

Out of reach

Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist

The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.

Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.

"Hi."

Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."

Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.

Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.

"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.

Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.

"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"

You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.

He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."

Best friends.

The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.

Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."

Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"

Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.

And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.

You kept silent to make him happy.

Which was exactly what was happening now.

Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"

You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.

Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.

As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.

Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.

Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.

Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.

—

The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.

Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.

Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."

The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.

Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.

Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.

"That what?" You asked, puzzled.

"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"

Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.

"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.

"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.

"Calm down."

"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"

You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.

But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?

He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."

"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.

Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.

—

The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.

The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.

Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.

"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?

"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.

"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.

"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.

If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.

Spencer.exe has stopped working.

"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.

Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.

Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.

—

Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.

Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"

You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.

And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...

(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)

You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.

"No way." She gasped.

"Way."

"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."

"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."

She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."

"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"

She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?

"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.

No, not Spencer. It’s cool.

"Hi, I..."

MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."

They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.

Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.

"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"

"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.

MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.

"So, what does MJ stand for?"

She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."

"I'm familiar with that."

The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"

She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"

You smiled. "I like the shoes!"

Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"

You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."

"Where to?"

Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.

—

An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.

[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.

[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.

[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.

Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.

Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.

Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.

To want, to desire, is to be selfish.

It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.

A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"

Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.

"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."

"Frustrated?"

He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.

Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.

Perhaps it was true.

He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.

"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.

"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."

Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."

He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."

"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."

"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."

You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."

His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."

Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.

"I..."

Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.

Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."

Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!

You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.

Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.

Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."

Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?

Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."

"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.

Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."

"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.

"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.

At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"

"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.

Deep breaths (from both ends).

"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"

"What we need to do is talk."

You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"

Silence.

"You won't even remember this in the morning."

At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."

The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.

Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.

"No?"

"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.

"I'm not drunk."

"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."

"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"

His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."

Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."

"Okay... I'll take the couch."

"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."

"It's okay."

"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."

You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."

His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.

"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.

"I am."

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."

"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.

He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"

"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."

Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.

"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.

You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."

"You do?"

"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."

Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.

"Wait!" You almost shrieked.

"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.

"I don't want you to go."

He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."

"Just... stay here?"

"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.

He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."

Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."

He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."

"I'll take the couch."

"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."

He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.

It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.

"Spence?"

That damned nickname.

"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.

"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."

—

Spencer didn't get any sleep.

He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.

You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.

(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)

As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.

As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.

Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 

“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”

“I did.”

You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”

“Don't be.”

“But I was wrong.”

“So was I.”

“But—”

“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.

“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”

“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”

You nodded, weakly.

“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”

At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”

“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.

“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”

You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.

“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.

Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”

“I do… But…”

“But?”

“I'd like to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you love me?”

“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.

He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”

Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.

As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”

“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”

You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.

The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.

The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”

“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.

“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.

“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.

“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”

Silence.

“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.

“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 

“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.

“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.

Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.

“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”

“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”

Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.

“Come on, it is funny.”

He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”

“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.

He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”

“Of course he knows.”

“How are you so collected?”

“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”

“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.

“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”

Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”

—

A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 

“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 

Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”

Your wish was always his command. It would always be.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

bonus

[luveline]

oooh what about hotch's sister calling spencer to pick her up at the hospital after an accident or something because she doesn't want hotch to know since worry and go into protective big brother mode, but spencer tells him anyway and they both show up and lots of fluff ensues :)

adopted fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for panic attacks

You should call your brother. 

You think about it, even pull up his contact, he’s the first person you go to when you need help and he always has been, but lately Aaron has been so stressed you hesitate, clicking the text button by mistake. 

You read back his last message. 

I can feel myself being spread too thin but there’s nothing I can do to fix it, he’d text. I guess I’m frustrated. But how are you, working girl? New jobs are scary. I bet you’re doing better than you think already. Jack and I are super proud of you

You’d sent him a meagre response. You aren’t always sure what to say to him. Sincerity is easier in person, but even then, he can be terse and deflective; he looks after you and no one looks after him. 

You didn’t tell him about work, and you won’t tell him about now. You call Spencer instead. This is a good way to test the almost dating thing, right? 

He doesn’t answer. When you call again, he answers on the first ring. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“No. Are you busy?” 

“I’m not busy if you’re not okay. Two seconds.” There’s a pause where you assume he’s moving from one place to another, perhaps closing a book around his hand, or closing the lid on an early lunch. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m, uh, in hospital. I had a huge panic attack at work and I… thought I was having a heart attack, so I–” You’re so embarrassed your voice turns to a thread. “Sorry, I know it’s so stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid, that’s not stupid. How do you feel now?” 

“Like someone hit me really hard in the chest.” 

“Are you calmed down?” 

“Mostly.” You wince. “They want to talk to me about medications. Uh.” You clear your throat. “I want to go home.” 

“Angel… I’m on my way, okay? I’ll get Hotch and–”

“You can’t tell him.” 

“What?” 

“Please, Spencer, he gets so worried, he’s worried enough. And if he finds out I had a panic attack he’ll try and make me take time off of work and that’s just another thing on his plate he didn’t ask for–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, “please don’t panic. You’ve had a hard morning, panicking again is really gonna hurt. Try and think about things that don’t wind you up, alright? Is there anything you need me to get?” 

“You don’t have to come.” 

“That’s why you called me, right? I’ll be there.” 

You can’t know that he says goodbye and ducks straight back into Hotch’s office, where he’d been, to tell on you. It’s not to hurt you and it isn’t because you told him not to —it’s two parts concern, and one part self preservation. Aaron needs to know and you need him with you, and he also can’t imagine things going well for himself if he kept the news of your stay a secret. The shovel talk plays in his mind. 

Aaron’s shovel talk being, You won’t do anything to hurt her, said simply, and with an impassive expression that bordered terrifying. Not overly unaffected, just casual. 

You’re laying in your hospital bed with your hands clasped across your stomach when Spencer arrives. He frowns at you in your bed, worse when he sees your smudged makeup and the chafed inside of your wrist where you’ve picked and squeezed at your own skin. Your panic has left a physical mark, your chest aching as you force yourself to sit, and it hurts doubly so when your brother lets himself in behind your nearly-boyfriend.

You don’t have it in you to complain. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, reaching down to give you a quick hug as you sit. “I had to tell him.” 

 Aaron’s hug is similarly apologetic, though much longer. “You weren’t gonna tell me?” he asks quietly, his hand settling at the place between your shoulders. “How do you feel now?” 

“I’m fine, I– I really thought I was having a heart attack.” 

“That’s common,” Spencer says, “it’s the feeling of impending doom, thousands of people mistake anxiety for medical issues every week.” 

Aaron holds you by the shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says. “Was it a doctor that checked you out, or a nurse?” 

Aaron probes the name of your nurse from you and promises to be back soon. He seems to have gleaned that the quickest way to get information today won’t be from you. 

Spencer goes in for another hug when he leaves, and then, to your delight, a very quick kiss pressed to your cheek. He ducks away after that and sits on the side of your hospital bed, his knuckles gracing the outside of your thigh. “Thank you for calling me,” he says, smiling at you, and better when you smile back.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course. I know how it feels, okay? If they want to talk about medication it’s a good thing, but everyone has moments like this.” 

“I can’t believe you told Aaron,” you say, giving a weak but playful glare.

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to. He loves you, he wants to know what’s hurting you, no matter how much stuff is on his plate.” 

You bite the inside of your lip, contemplative for a few slow seconds. “You think so?” you ask finally. 

The hair flicked under his ears wobbles as he nods. “Absolutely.” 

You lean forward to readjust his collar and tie. He’s wearing one of his cutesy waistcoats, dark grey over a light blue shirt. His tie has patterns you trace with your thumb, like fish scales. “Sorry, I know you were working,” you murmur. 

“I think my boss will forgive me.” 

You let your hands fall. Spencer, perhaps picking up on a hint you hadn’t meant to give, takes them both into one of his and squeezes reassuringly. 

“It’s harder than I thought,” you confide softly. 

“It’s an adjustment period. But maybe it’s not right for you, there. That’s what started it, right? Your job.” 

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I get panicky about all sorts of stuff, but I’ve never had one this bad before. I was a miserable kid, you can ask Aaron, but I really thought I was better.” 

He rubs over your fingers with his thumb. “I think we all have stuff that messes us up. Doesn’t mean you’re not better. You don’t even really have to be better. And I… I am here for you, I promise. I know you have no reason to trust me with it yet, but I’ll listen whenever you need me to.” 

You think about kissing him. Spencer kisses like he’s suffocating and your air, it’s cliche and undeniably true. Whenever you kiss him it’s like a shock —he steals your breath, he can’t stop himself from grabbing your face, and any other time you’d love it, but right now you just need a peck. You’re hoping he can do those kinds of kisses too. 

“Will you kiss me?” you ask tentatively.

He gets the memo on gentleness. You shouldn’t be surprised, your very first kiss was tame, his hand running up your arm as he encourages you forward. Your eyes shutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours, and the exhausting thrumming that’s lived beneath your skin since you woke up numbs to a more manageable ache. 

Spencer breaks away. He cups your cheek quickly, dropping it immediately when the door opens. 

You shuffle backward nonchalantly. 

Aaron gives you a sarcastic look. Really? it says. I wasn't born yesterday. 

“They want to give you a prescription for Paxil, honey, what do you think?” He turns his attention to Spencer reluctantly. “What’s her best option here?” 

“Paxil could be fine. They didn’t suggest a benzodiazepine? Paxil is an SSRIs, it slows down the rate of serotonin reuptake, basically increasing the effectiveness of your bodies natural serotonin, which could decrease the risk of another attack, but taking it won’t stop her from feeling like this,” —he frowns at your location— “very quickly. Ideally she should have a medication for general anxiety and the option for quicker relief if this happens again.” He smiles at you suddenly, nearly shyly. “If that’s what you want, that is.” 

“What are you thinking, honey?” Aaron asks you. 

You have the two of them here to look after you while you decide. You take Spencer’s hand gently, desperate for reassurance. “I’m not sure.” 

“It’s okay, we’ll work it out,” your brother promises. 

Spencer squeezes your hand. 

[headkiss]

I LOVE the idea of protective Hotch constantly having an eye out for younger bau!agent who’s literally sunshine personified and the complete opposite of him!! Do u think u could write something along the lines of that—maybe him protecting her from something or just their dynamic?

i also love protective hotch!!! tysm for the request i hope u like it baby :D | 1k of fluff, tw for a small burn!

You’d been surprised when you got a job at the BAU. You didn’t have that much faith in yourself at first. Not to say you don’t believe in your skills, but it’s a widely known part of the bureau. A lot of people wanted the job.

And then, there’s Agent Hotchner, unit chief and intimidating though you’re sure he doesn’t mean to be. You were insanely nervous at the beginning.

That was before you started, before the team welcomed you as the new media liaison after Agent Jareau became a profiler. You met Garcia and her collection of fun high heels, Reid and his never ending supply of facts, and you sort of fit right in.

Hotch became much less intimidating. A kind man who cares so deeply for his team that you couldn’t help but like him the way you do. Not to mention the dynamic that built between the two of you.

The small things he does for you that are impossible to ignore. A hand covering the edge of your desk to protect your head when you were searching underneath it for a dropped paper clip, the way he physically places himself between you and danger if he ever gets the chance.

He’s always there, protecting you in ways both big and little, and you enjoy it more than you should.

It’s even brighter on nights like tonight. Drinks and snacks at Penelope’s after a tough case. Nights when you get to call him Aaron instead of Hotch, when he smiles and laughs freely without restraint.

The beep of the oven cuts off yours and Garcia’s conversation, and when she shifts to take care of it, you stop her, “I got it! You’re already hosting, just relax a little.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, squeezing your arm as you walk by.

The smell of food in the oven hits your nose as you walk into the kitchen, humming along to whatever song spills through the speakers.

You pull the oven open, reaching in without thinking and touching the pan with your bare hand. You drop it quickly, metal clanking as it falls back onto the rack in the oven.

“Shit!” You say it loudly, and then, even louder, addressing the team in the next room, “I’m okay!”

They all laugh a little at your reassurance, and then, like they know he wouldn’t let anyone else check on you before him, pretty much every set of eyes in the room lands on Hotch.

He shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, because he would’ve gone either way.

“You okay?” He asks, finding you with an oven mitt on your non-burnt hand, reaching into the oven, and your burnt hand shaking by your side.

“Oh!” You set the pan of nachos on top of the stove and slip off the mitt, turning off the oven and looking at Hotch. “I forgot oven mitts were a thing for a second there. Burnt my hand, I think.”

He’s on you in a second, his hands gently grasping your injured arm, pushing back your sleeve and guiding you over to the sink. His hold is light, never bruising even though you know he has the strength to do so.

It’s the kiss of sunlight on skin.

Aaron turns on the sink, places his fingers under the water to make sure the temperature’s okay before guiding your hand under the stream.

“You still took out the nachos first?” He asks, even when he knows that’s what you’d do, because of course you’re worrying about everyone else before yourself.

“I didn’t want them to burn.”

You’re trying to be brave, though your hand hurts so much there are tears misting your eyes. You’re bouncing on your feet a little to try and deal with the pain.

“How bad does it hurt?” Hotch checks.

Aaron’s felt this sort of protectiveness over you ever since you started. A little younger than him, this ball of light that’s come bursting into his life. You’re always the positive one, even in the darkest situations and he can’t help but want to shield you to keep it that way.

There’s this thing in his chest that tugs and tugs when you’re around, that makes him stand next to you in any room, in front of you in darkness.

“It’s okay,” you say, though your voice cracks a little. “I’m sure you’ve seen much worse, Hotch.”

“Aaron,” he reminds you gently, “and you don’t have to pretend. It’s alright if it hurts, I just wanna help.”

The sink running mingles with the music coming from the next room, the background noise to your moment with him.

“You could bring the nachos out? I told Garcia I would, but we see how that turned out.”

“Okay, I'll bring them out.”

“Don’t forget oven mitts!”

He huffs with a smile, somehow always surprised with how easily you can turn something around. A smile on your face even with tears shining in your eyes and a hand that’s surely stinging.

Aaron carries the tray of nachos and drops them off, then turns to Penelope, “you have a first aid kit?”

“Oh my gosh! Yeah, bathroom cabinet, I can grab it.”

“It’s alright, Garcia. I’ll get it.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Don’t worry. Nothing major, I’m taking care of it.”

He grabs the first aid kit and heads back to the kitchen where you’re still holding your hand under the stream of water.

“Okay,” Aaron sets the kit down on the counter, opening it and then turning off the tap. “Let me see, honey.”

The word melts into you, sticky sweet, and you hold your hand towards him, palm up.

He starts by drying your hand with a piece of paper towel, pressing your skin lightly. His other hand is under yours, his palm against the back of your hand a painkiller in itself.

You hiss when he hits a sensitive spot, and he’s quick to apologize, his voice low and quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Almost done.”

“It’s okay, Aaron. It's not your fault I thought I was heat-proof.”

“You’re cute.”

A smile spreads over your face, your head tilted down to stare and his hands around yours. You watch him spread some Polysporin over your burn, his fingertips featherlight over your skin, soft apologies leaving him every time you flinch a little.

By the time he’s done, the first aid kit shut on the counter, you’ve both forgotten about the rest of the team in the next room. Aaron’s happy to bask in your sunshine.

[g4rvez-r3id]

A Chat About Books

S5! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer catches you reading a rather disturbing book on the jet and a discussion about books and reading ensues.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of a case, discussions about a disturbing book called ‘Playground’, talks about gore (not explicit, just mentions of it in the book), mentions of murder & children dying, mentions of the Foyet arc and 5x09 “100”, reader has a fear of flying, reader is lowkey embarrassed about what she’s reading? spencer is also *lowkey* a simp? reader loves reading (heh), reader & spencer have crushes on each other but the other doesn’t know (i think that’s it, but please let me know if there’s anything i’m missing 🙏)

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i’m in the middle of reading “Playground” by Aron Beauregard and oh my god???? 😧 anyways, i wanted to write a little blurb because i get embarrassed about the amount of books i buy and read and ik spencer would never judge 😌 i love ✨projecting ✨ but i’m thinking of writing a part two with smut🤭 let me know hehehe

The case was a quick one. Sometimes, they usually weren’t and the team would probably be holed up in some random state for about a week. The longest you stayed was two.

You’d been on the team for a couple of years now and still, sometimes you never got used to flying high up in the air. You were usually terrified to fly, but over the course of you being on the team, you eventually got used to it.

And then you remembered the one thing your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, always suggested. Reading while flying. And it actually helped for flying on the way home. Usually flying to the case often consisted of debriefing and going over the M.O. and victimology. Flying home was always the better opportunity to get to reading your novels.

And you loved reading, so it gave you more of a reason to catch up on it. You often stuck to romance, but occasionally drifted into the horror genre, like you were now.

After the case in Minnesota — regarding your unsub killing prostitutes and then graduating to lower risk victims that reminded him of his wife who left him for his best friend — you were curled up in your seat on the jet, it’d been a while since you indulged in your reading without having your head full of thoughts. Since what happened with George Foyet taunting Hotch and his ex-wife and child going into witness protection and it ending with Haley being killed in the process, your head had been filled with so many thoughts and worries and stress for Hotch and his family that you could’ve even bury your face in a book until everything calmed down.

Spencer had noticed that you’d started reading again as he passed through the aisle on his cane and seated himself right next to you. He didn’t know what book you were reading but you’d been so focused on it, you didn’t even see that Morgan tripped over nothing in the aisle and tried to play it off like he didn’t. Usually, you’d laugh and tease Morgan like a brother since that’d always been your friendship with him but you didn’t even remove your focus from the book. Spencer thought it must’ve been that good of a book that you didn’t draw your attention to anything else.

He leaned over, trying to get a look at what you were reading but the book was nestled in your lap. “Whatcha reading?” Spencer finally asked and suddenly, your attention was finally drawn from the book. You almost flinched because you didn’t realize he was sitting next to you.

You quickly try and hide the cover since it’s a pretty gruesome sight so you turn it towards you in your lap. “Oh, it’s a— it’s a horror novel.” You tell. “You, uh, you wouldn’t like it.” You quickly add before he can ask what it was about.

“Why do you think so?” Spencer asks as he leans his cane over in the aisle.

You knew Spencer wasn’t one to judge, it’s what made liking him so easy. And yes, you’d admit it, you harbored a crush on the genius. And honestly, why wouldn’t you? He was amazing, sweet and insanely hot. He was everything you wanted in a man. You knew he probably didn’t feel the same way and that was okay. But finding out what type of horror novels you were into was probably a dealbreaker. Not just in a hypothetical relationship but in a friendship.

You see, the book you were reading was called Playground by Aron Beauregard. It was about an old woman who lured three families for their children to try out a playground structure for money. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the playground structure is basically a death trap for the children and their parents are forced to watch as their children try and survive the playground structure of death. It was your first time reading it and well, one time was definitely going to be enough.

And part of you worried about telling Spencer the exact kind of book you were reading and you worried that maybe he’d think you were some type of monster for reading a book such as the one you were holding now.

“It’s—It’s pretty gruesome.” You said and pretty gruesome was putting it lightly.

“So is what we see on a daily basis.” Spencer retorts and you nod with a small shrug, “Fair point.” You sit to face him and you begin to explain the book to him.

“It’s a different type of horror. Splatterpunk, if you will. Do you know what that is?” You ask and he nods, “A, uh, literary genre characterized by graphically described scenes of gory nature. In most cases, the gore described is extreme.” Spencer explains, literally giving you the definition he’d most likely read on paper on in a dictionary.

“Right,” You nod. “Well, the plot follows a woman by the name of Geraldine Borden. She was working on building revolutionary playground equipment for years. And she decides to invite three low-income families to the estate. All the parents have to do is have their children test out the playground equipment but — there’s a twist. The playground structure is actually full of death traps and the children are pretty much in danger the entire book and unfortunately, the parents are forced to watch as the children try to escape. Spoiler alert: I’m pretty sure none of them make it.” That was just a guess, it was your first time reading it after all.

“I thought you only read romance books.” Spencer stated and you shrugged, “I change it up a bit once in a while. I found this book online on some blog. A lot of people were talking about specific pages and parts in the book and well, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Why do you read splatterpunk?” Spencer decides to ask you and you look down at the book and then back at him as you admit — “Is it bad if I say it helps with my profiling?” Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at you curiously — “Really?”

“Yeah, in some of the books I read in this genre, the main character is usually a serial killer. Or killing is involved in the most extreme of ways. It helps you really get into the mind of a killer and see why they do what they do. If it makes sense without sounding totally crazy.” You explain, hoping to God that you don’t sound insane for using extreme books such as the one you’re reading now to get a deeper understanding about your job.

“I don’t think it sounds crazy,” Spencer interjected with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s just a different perspective on things.” You stare into his eyes with a smile and surely enough, you can just get lose into those hazel pupils of his. How a man can be as beautiful as him should be a damn crime.

You turn back to the cover of your book and set it down, the cover facing upwards and seemingly feeling a little secure in what you’re reading without feeling embarrassed. “Yeah, well, this is my first time reading this book and well, probably will be my only time.”

“I’m assuming that the next time we’re in this position, you’ll be reading romance.” Spencer tells, considering that every time you’re on the jet, you’re reading a new romance book. The last time you were on the jet, you were reading a book called Praise and the author was Sara Cate. Spencer had gathered it was an erotic book, solely based on the fact that your face had flushed a couple of times while reading it and commenting that you needed to put a pause on reading until you got back home. He’d wished to know what exactly you were going to do once you got home that night.

“Oh, for sure. Those usually cheer me up from stuff like this.” You gesture to the book in front of you. “I’ve got to stop buying books, though.” You sigh sadly.

“When I was younger, my mother had always commented that I bought too many books. Said I should use the money for something a tad more useful. I can’t tell you how many Stephen King books I bought when I finally got a job. Every paycheck, it was a new book. I guess I need to outgrow the habit, sometime.” You look down, growing embarrassed again that you just spewed all of that to Spencer.

“I don’t think you can never have enough books,” Spencer tells. “No matter if it’s silly little romance books or anything of the horror genre, reading is a part of life. We shouldn’t shame other people for what we like.” He explains and you find yourself smiling again at him. “You’re right.”

Before you can go back to reading your book, you yawn behind your hand and Spencer leans over, “You should get some rest before we land.” He suggests, considering the fact that the entire time you were both in Minnesota, you barely slept. You drank coffee the entire time you were there, not wanting to bat an eye and have the unsub strike again. The most you slept was two to three hours at most. Both of your young minds working together would be the death of you one day.

You shake your head, “Oh, no. I’ll be fine.” Spencer looks at you carefully, “I know you’ll be fine, but you should get some rest. A short nap can often improve memory, improve job performance, lift your mood, make you more alert, and ease stress. They can also be good for your heart, too.”

You nod, your eyelids seemingly growing heavy after Spencer had talked to you about naps. “If you insist, pretty boy.” Stubborn as you were, the only person that could get you break was Spencer. He knew you were independent and always assured everyone you were fine. But Spencer always saw through it. You weren’t sure how he did, but he did, every single time.

So, you put your book down on the table and curled up in your seat as your head fell towards the armrest. Spencer had been in arm’s reach of the couch and grabbed the throw blanket that was perched there and quickly tossed it over your body. You looked down at you with a small smile on his face.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he always liked you. Like liked you more than a colleague. He liked you-liked you. There was something about you that lit up a room, something that he often noticed. And the fact that you’d had so much knowledge of books and the way you seemed to enjoy explaining a plot to him reminded him of himself a lot. You were so passionate about reading and books and he loved that little fact about you. He loved you. He loved your smile, your personality, your body.

And he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell you that. And he hoped that maybe one day, he’d stop being a chicken for once and actually tell you how he feels about you.

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

[reidmarieprentiss]

A Reid Christmas

Summary: A few Christmas prompts mashed up from this link !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: holidays, fluff

Warnings/Includes: a kiss maybe..., this is sooo chesy

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: i am in a christmas mood and i want to spend it with Spencer Reid

main masterlist

The first time you stepped into the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Despite your experience in Human Resources, this assignment was a significant departure from the typical office conflicts you mediated. Erin Strauss herself had requested your assistance in an internal investigation involving the BAU’s Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. Apparently, accusations had surfaced suggesting Hotchner had bent a few rules, presumably in an effort to protect his team.

You walked into the bullpen wearing your usual crisp blazer and pencil skirt, clipboard in hand, determined to remain impartial and professional. You could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity and apprehension from the team as they watched you approach Hotchner's office. They were used to being scrutinized by external forces, but having HR conduct an investigation in their workspace was a new one.

Hotch, as they called him, was calm, collected, and unwaveringly professional throughout the entire process. You conducted your interviews meticulously, documenting every detail while observing the dynamics of the team. You spoke with Morgan, whose easy charm and casual demeanor couldn’t completely mask his wariness; with JJ, whose warmth was tinged with protectiveness for her team; and with Rossi, whose years of experience made him sharp and insightful. Emily Prentiss was direct but guarded, and Penelope Garcia was her colorful, effervescent self, despite clearly disliking your presence in their sanctum.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

Your first meeting with him was brief, almost rushed. He’d walked into the conference room where you were working, a stack of files in hand, his tie slightly askew. He apologized for interrupting, his voice quick and soft, as though he was already analyzing you and your purpose there. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, surprised by the firm but gentle grip. “I, um, wasn’t aware we had a guest this week. Are you working with the team?”

“Not exactly,” you replied with a polite smile, offering your name. “I’m here conducting an internal investigation on behalf of Erin Strauss.”

His eyebrows raised in recognition of the name, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he nodded, offered a fleeting smile, and excused himself. It was brief, yet something about his presence lingered in your mind.

Over the course of the week, you caught glimpses of Spencer in action. He moved like his mind was always three steps ahead of everyone else, which, based on his IQ and eidetic memory, it probably was. You couldn’t help but admire his passion for his work, his encyclopedic knowledge of nearly everything, and the quiet, almost awkward way he interacted with his colleagues. 

By the end of your investigation, you’d gathered enough evidence to conclude that Hotch was innocent of the accusations. It was clear that his actions, while unconventional at times, were always in the best interest of his team and the cases they pursued. You presented your findings to Strauss, ensuring that your report was thorough and unbiased.

On your last day in the BAU, Spencer stopped by your temporary desk. He held a book in his hands, a slim volume with a worn cover.

“I noticed you reading during your breaks,” he began, his voice soft but clear. “You, uh, seemed to favor non-fiction, so I thought you might like this. It’s one of my favorites.” He handed the book to you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You looked at the cover and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just Spencer,” he corrected quickly, his ears tinged pink. “And, um, thank you. For, you know… being fair. To Hotch. To all of us.”

“It’s my job,” you replied warmly. “But you’re welcome.”

As you left the BAU that evening, book in hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your week there had been more than just another assignment. Meeting Spencer Reid had been… unexpected. You didn’t yet know how much that brief encounter would change things, but something about it made you smile all the way home.

The next Monday started like any other. Your morning coffee sat steaming on your desk as you sifted through a stack of paperwork, preparing for a meeting. Everything was perfectly routine until you noticed an envelope that hadn’t been there earlier. It was plain white, slightly creased, and unmarked except for your name, written in a careful, slightly curled scrawl that instantly brought a smile to your lips.

You picked it up, already curious, and slid a nail under the seal to open it. Inside was a neatly folded piece of stationery. The handwriting, now familiar after that week in the BAU, made your heart skip just a little. It was undeniably Spencer Reid’s.

You unfolded the paper, eager to see what he’d written.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter doesn’t come across as strange. I’ve never been particularly skilled at expressing myself in person, especially when it comes to matters that make me nervous, so I thought writing might be a better option.

I wanted to thank you again for the work you did with the BAU last week. You were fair, professional, and kind—qualities that are sometimes hard to come by in situations like that. It’s clear that you’re exceptional at what you do, and it was genuinely nice to have you around.

That brings me to the reason for this letter. I’ve been debating whether to write it all weekend, and if you’re reading this, it means I finally worked up the courage. I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner sometime. There’s a little Italian restaurant near the Smithsonian that I think you’d enjoy. Of course, if Italian isn’t your preference, I’m more than happy to go somewhere else.

If this isn’t something you’re interested in, I completely understand, and I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Either way, I wanted to let you know that I enjoyed meeting you and hope our paths cross again.

Sincerely,  

Spencer Reid

You finished reading the letter, your cheeks warm and a soft smile tugging at your lips. The fact that he’d taken the time to write a letter—so formal, so earnest—touched you deeply. It wasn’t every day that someone asked you on a date in such a thoughtful way. 

You glanced at the clock, debating how to respond. After a moment, you pulled out a piece of your own stationery and began writing back.  

Spencer,  

Thank you for your letter—it was a lovely surprise to find it on my desk this morning. I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. Italian sounds perfect, and I trust your recommendation.  

Let me know what day works best for you. I’m looking forward to it.  

Y/N

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

As you finished the note, a small thrill ran through you. You had no idea where this might lead, but one thing was certain: you couldn’t wait to see him again. You tucked your response into an envelope, sealed it, and headed toward the BAU to deliver it personally.

The bullpen was bustling with activity when you arrived, the second you stepped through the doors, though, the atmosphere shifted. A few heads turned, and you could feel the curious glances of Derek and Emily as you offered them a polite smile and a quick “Good morning.”  

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you approached Spencer’s desk, your heart pounding against your ribs. He was seated, deeply engrossed in a stack of case files, his long fingers flipping through pages with a precision that somehow made you more nervous. The moment he looked up and his gaze locked with yours, you saw it—a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if bracing himself for rejection.

For a split second, you wondered if this was a mistake, if he would regret asking you out or if you’d misread the sweetness in his letter. But then you reminded yourself why you were here and smiled, a warm, sweet smile you hoped would ease his worry.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him. He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

“H-hi,” he managed, his voice just as soft, laced with nervous energy. His hands fidgeted with the papers in front of him, then quickly stilled when he realized he was doing it.

You held out the envelope, the edges of your smile turning playful as you added a wink. “I think this belongs to you,” you said lightly. The moment he reached out and his fingers brushed yours to take the note, you turned, leaving before the heat of his gaze and your own nerves could make you second-guess yourself.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, a sensation that made your stomach flutter in the best way. You glanced back briefly, catching the way his expression had shifted—his brows slightly raised, his lips parted in surprise, and the smallest hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Spencer sat frozen for a moment, still staring at the envelope in his hands. Slowly, he opened it, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the note inside. He recognized your handwriting instantly, and his eyes scanned the words with a growing sense of disbelief and elation.

By the time he finished reading, Spencer was grinning—an unrestrained, joyful smile that lit up his whole face.  

“Yo, Reid,” Derek called out from his desk, his voice breaking through Spencer’s trance. “You okay, man? You look like you just won the lottery.”  

Spencer quickly folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered, his tone betraying just how far from fine he really was.  

But Derek wasn’t buying it, and neither was Emily, who leaned over with an amused smirk. “Spill, Boy Wonder. What did she give you?”  

Spencer shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him as he stood, smoothing down his tie. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the way his smile lingered betrayed just how much it wasn’t nothing.  

As he turned back to his desk, his mind was already racing—planning, anticipating, and counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

—

The air was crisp, with just the right hint of winter’s chill, as you walked alongside Spencer toward the town square. The streets were lined with twinkling lights and festive decorations, a soft buzz of excitement filling the air as families, couples, and friends gathered for the annual tree lighting celebration. You had been looking forward to this for days, the idea of experiencing a classic Christmas event stirring a childlike giddiness in you.

Spencer, on the other hand, had been skeptical. When you’d first suggested the tree lighting for your date, he’d tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “It sounds… kind of cheesy,” he had admitted, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s the point,” you’d replied with a laugh. “It’s supposed to be cheesy. I never got to celebrate Christmas growing up. My parents didn’t believe in it, so… I want to see what the buzz is about. Please, Spencer?”

And how could he say no to that? The way your eyes lit up at the mere suggestion of the event made it impossible for him to resist. So here you were, bundled up in scarves and gloves, your breath visible in the frosty air as you made your way through the growing crowd.

The square was alive with activity, a large tree standing proudly in the center, its bare branches waiting to be illuminated. A choir sang carols near the base of the tree, their voices weaving through the laughter and chatter of the crowd. Vendors lined the sidewalks, selling hot cocoa, roasted chestnuts, and handmade ornaments.

“Let’s get some cocoa,” you suggested, tugging him toward one of the stands. Spencer let himself be pulled along, his long legs easily keeping pace with yours.

As you waited in line, he turned to you, his expression curious. “So, no Christmas growing up? Not even a tree?”

You shook your head, your breath puffing in the cold air. “Not a single ornament or candy cane. My parents thought it was frivolous. But I always loved the idea of it—the lights, the warmth, the magic. I’d watch Christmas movies and dream about what it would be like.”

Spencer’s face softened, and he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours. “Then I’m glad we’re here tonight. You deserve to experience all of it.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. After getting your cocoa, the two of you found a spot near the tree, the anticipation in the crowd growing as the time for the lighting drew near.

When the countdown began, you turned to Spencer, your excitement bubbling over. “This is it!” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with joy.

He couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm, his heart squeezing in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. As the crowd shouted, “Three… two… one!” the tree came to life, thousands of lights twinkling in vibrant colors, casting a warm glow over the square.

You gasped, your face lighting up in awe as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers around you.

Spencer wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at you, your expression radiant in the glow of the lights. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

When you turned back to him, catching his gaze, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. The moment was perfect, the air between you filled with something unspoken but undeniable.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said, your voice warm. “Even if it’s a little cheesy.”

Spencer smiled, his hand finding yours. “Cheesy isn’t so bad,” he admitted. “Especially if it makes you this happy.”

The two of you strolled through the square, your hands brushing occasionally as you walked. The festive lights cast a warm glow on the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with the sound of carolers and the gentle hum of happy conversations. Your cocoa had cooled by now, but neither of you seemed to mind, too caught up in the magic of the evening.

Spencer pointed out the intricacies of the hand-carved ornaments displayed at one of the vendor stalls, his voice soft but animated as he explained the origins of some of the designs. You listened intently, charmed by the passion in his words, the way his eyes lit up when he shared something he found fascinating.

And then, as if the universe itself decided to add its own touch of perfection to the night, a soft flurry of snow began to fall. You looked up in surprise, a delighted laugh escaping your lips as the delicate flakes drifted down from the sky. The crowd around you buzzed with excitement, children darting through the snow and couples huddling closer together.

“The first snow of the season,” you murmured, holding your hand out to catch a flake. It melted instantly against your glove, but the chill lingered, making you shiver slightly.

Spencer tilted his head back, his gaze following the snowflakes as they fell. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath clouded the air in front of him, and when he looked back at you, his expression softened.

You stood there for a moment, the world around you fading into the background. The square, the lights, the music—all of it seemed to blur into a quiet hum as your eyes locked with his. The snow gathered lightly on his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked, standing there with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

“I think…” Spencer began, his voice tentative as he took a small step closer. “I think I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart pounding as he reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek. The touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he let them drop.

“Then maybe you should,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, but not from the cold.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, and he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You stood on your toes to meet him halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was warm, tender, and filled with a kind of sweetness that made your chest ache. It wasn’t rushed or practiced—it was soft and genuine, as though neither of you wanted to break the spell the moment had cast.

The snow fell gently around you, dusting your shoulders and hair, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was Spencer’s hand coming to rest lightly on your waist, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to stand still.

When you finally pulled back, the tips of your noses brushing, you opened your eyes to find Spencer gazing at you with an expression that made your heart skip. His cheeks were pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, you couldn’t be sure, but his smile was unmistakable.

“That was…” He paused, searching for the right word. “That was perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound carrying in the crisp winter air. “It really was.”

Spencer reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. “You, um… you’ve made tonight unforgettable.”

“So have you,” you replied, your voice warm. And as the snow continued to fall, you found yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something truly magical.

—

As the days turned into weeks and the holiday season picked up pace, you and Spencer began spending more and more time together. It started with casual dinners and coffee dates but quickly grew into a comfortable rhythm of late-night conversations, spontaneous plans, and shared moments that brought a new kind of warmth to both your lives. 

Spencer, ever observant and thoughtful, seemed to remember every little thing you’d said about wanting to experience Christmas the way you’d always dreamed. He took it upon himself to make this season unforgettable for you, and the results were nothing short of magical.

One evening, he showed up at your apartment with a small stack of DVDs in hand, a proud but slightly sheepish smile on his face. "I thought maybe we could have a Christmas movie night," he said, holding up the collection like a peace offering. "You mentioned you didn’t get to watch a lot of them growing up, so I picked out a few classics."

You couldn’t help but grin, already charmed by the effort he’d put into it. "That sounds perfect. What did you bring?"

As you flipped through the stack, your smile widened. There was It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, Elf, and A Christmas Story, among others. But when you got to Die Hard, you raised an eyebrow and held it up with a laugh. "Seriously? Die Hard?"

Spencer adjusted his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "It’s set during Christmas. That technically makes it a Christmas movie."

"Oh, you’re one of those people," you teased, poking his side as he squirmed slightly under your touch. "I’m not sure I can agree with you on that."

He shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s a classic. You’ll see."

The evening was spent curled up on the couch under a cozy blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between the two of you. Spencer had insisted on starting with It’s a Wonderful Life, claiming it was the quintessential Christmas movie. You had agreed, though not without playfully poking fun at his almost academic defense of its merits.

By the time Elf rolled around, the bickering had reached a friendly crescendo. "Will Ferrell as a grown man in an elf costume? Really?" Spencer asked, his tone skeptical but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Yes, really," you shot back, grinning. "It’s hilarious and heartwarming, and if you don’t laugh at the ‘angry elf’ scene, I might have to reevaluate this relationship."

"Fair warning," he replied with a small chuckle, "I don’t laugh easily at slapstick humor."

But when the scene came, and Buddy the Elf called Miles Finch an "angry elf," Spencer let out a laugh so unexpected and genuine that it made you laugh harder just from hearing it.

"See?" you said triumphantly, nudging his shoulder. "I told you it’s funny."

Spencer shook his head, still chuckling. "Fine, you win this round."

The debates over Christmas movies became a running theme for the season. He swore by the timeless elegance of White Christmas, while you couldn’t get enough of the chaotic hilarity of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You both agreed, however, that Love Actually had its moments but was wildly overrated.

"Okay, but Die Hard is still the best Christmas movie," Spencer would insist every time, earning a dramatic groan from you.

"You’re impossible," you’d reply with mock exasperation, though the smile on your face gave away just how much you loved these little arguments.

Between the movie nights, the impromptu snowball fights, and the endless discussions over which holiday tradition to try next, Spencer was determined to give you the perfect Christmas season. And with every laugh, every shared glance, and every stolen kiss under the mistletoe, you couldn’t help but think he was succeeding.

—

The evening began with Spencer showing up at your door, his arms overflowing with bags of oddly-shaped gifts and rolls of colorful wrapping paper. His sheepish grin was enough to make your heart melt before the night even started.

“I may have overestimated my ability to wrap these on my own,” he admitted as he stepped inside, carefully setting everything down on your living room floor.

You arched an eyebrow at the assortment of gifts spilling out of the bags. “Spencer, how many people are you shopping for?”

“Not many,” he replied defensively. “Just my mom, the team, Henry… and you.”

Your face warmed at the last part, but you decided to tease him instead of letting it show. “Well, let’s see what we’re working with. But just so you know, if you’re terrible at this, I reserve the right to laugh.”

“I expected nothing less,” he quipped, his grin widening.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to unfold. Spencer’s approach to wrapping gifts was as meticulous as his research, but unfortunately, precision didn’t translate to skill. By the time he’d managed to tape one corner of a box, you were already stifling a laugh, your hand pressed to your mouth.

“What?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed as he held up his first attempt. The paper was unevenly cut, the tape crisscrossed in random directions, and the edges bulged where they shouldn’t.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said between giggles, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “A true work of art.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “I don’t think art is supposed to be this lopsided.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, sitting down beside him and taking the gift gently from his hands. “Let me help you. Watch and learn.”

You walked him through the process, showing him how to fold the edges neatly and tape them discreetly. He tried to mimic your movements, but somehow his wrapping attempts still ended up slightly crooked. You didn’t mind, though—it was endearing, watching him try so hard.

“You’re too nice to laugh at me again,” he said after his third attempt, glancing at you with mock suspicion.

“Oh, I’m laughing on the inside,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But you’re improving. Kind of.”

When the gifts were finally wrapped (with a mix of your expertise and his earnest efforts), you moved on to building a gingerbread house for Henry. Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet as he carefully held up the walls of the tiny structure, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re doing great,” you said encouragingly, but when one of the walls started to tilt, you couldn’t resist stepping in. You walked over and gently placed your hands over his, steadying the gingerbread walls.

Spencer froze at your touch, his heart skipping a beat. He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he took in the patience and warmth in your expression. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that made your own heart flutter.

“Teamwork,” you said with a small smile. “That’s what Christmas is all about, right?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, still looking at you.

Once the house was haphazardly assembled—complete with a slightly leaning roof and more icing than structurally necessary—Spencer produced a box of ornaments and tinsel for your tree. “I thought we could decorate your tree, too,” he said, his tone hopeful.

The idea was sweet, but execution? Not Spencer’s strong suit. Within minutes, there was tinsel tangled in his hair, a rogue strand of lights coiled around his wrist, and more glitter on the floor than on the ornaments.

“There is tinsel. Everywhere,” you said, dissolving into laughter as you surveyed the chaotic scene. “I think you got more of it on yourself than the tree.”

Spencer pouted, brushing a strand of tinsel off his shoulder. “I guess I’m not very good at Christmas.”

“Aw, don’t be such a Scrooge,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shot back, but his faux irritation was betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips.

By the time the night ended, the gifts were wrapped, the gingerbread house was (miraculously) intact, and the tree was decorated—albeit slightly crooked and glitter-covered. But to you, it was perfect, because it was filled with moments like these: Spencer’s quiet laughter, his shy smiles, and the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. 

“You’re not bad at Christmas, Spencer,” you said as the two of you stood by the tree, admiring your work. “You’re just… uniquely festive.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

And as you leaned into him, the glow of the tree casting a warm light over the room, you realized this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—and it was all thanks to Spencer.

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tag list <333 @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 @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005

[miley1442111]

stalker- s.reid

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer saves you.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, gore and brief descriptions of harm, mutual pining, heavy topics, stalking, reader if from Texas

Spencer sat at his desk, a less than pleasant expression on his face. His glasses had slid down his nose, his usually perfectly gelled hair was messy, and a frown played at his lips. 

“If you stare any longer you’re going to end up with your face stuck like that,” Jj joked as she placed herself in his eyeline. Spencer’s frown deepened and Jj chuckled. “Come on, we have a case.”

Spencer got up, falling into stride with you as you left your desk, hanging up the phone.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, trying to make small talk. You were new to the team, an old contractor Strauss had hand-picked, you were smart (smarter than him), beautiful, and you were so polite and dutiful that Spencer couldn’t tell if you were actually his friend. You just had an air of coolness that seemed so unreachable for Spencer. You and Derek had worked together in Chicago, you two made sense as friends, Penelope, Emily, Jj, and you all got along well, that made sense. David and you had a shared love of cooking, something SPencer couldn’t even begin to understand. You even made Aaron laugh on the worst of days with some witty comment or sarcastic joke. 

Had Derek just asked you to befriend Spencer for the team's sake? Why would you be interested in him? It made no sense.

You smiled. “My friend from home.”

“Where are you from?” He asked as you two sat in the conference room, Aaron shot you two a look that Spencer clearly didn’t see so you didn’t answer. 

“Tell you later,” you whispered as the briefing began. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking into the sweltering heat of Texas from the lovely air-conditioned plane was quite the shock to the body. 

“Fuck it’s hot,” you sighed, pulling off your hoodie to reveal a tight black top beneath. Yes, it was work-appropriate and completely within regulations, but Spencer’s eyes all but popped out of his head like he was in one of those cartoons. 

“You’re drooling,” Derek joked from beside him, pretending to wipe his chin. Spencer pushed his hands away with a shy smile, trying to recover from his embarrassing moment. 

“Ok, Spencer and Derek you two go to the latest crime scene, Y/n, Jj and I will go to the precinct, David and Emily you two will go talk to the deceased family,” Aaron gave out jobs. “Oh and Y/n, I want you with someone at all times, this unSub is going after women with your exact description and our team is a definite hit for him. He’s made contact with the police asking specifically for you and me,” Aaron explained. 

You all dispersed into your separate cars and began working the case. The precinct was full of slimy cops who all promised to ‘protect you’, just not from themselves.

“We want you to wear this,” Jj handed you a bulletproof vest and you rolled your eyes. 

“Seriously? I’m not a porcelain doll, I can handle myself-” You tried to reason with them but the look on Aaron’s face made you stop. He, himself, was wearing one too. “Fine.”

“Good,” Jj smiled. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer was worrying himself sick at the crime scene, rambling about all the ways the unSub could get to you and how you shouldn’t even be in the state.

“Spencer!” Derek exclaimed. “Go to your girlfriend, send Jj back after you. You’re no help when you’re like this.”

Spencer didn’t take kindly to the small jest, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the keys and drove down to the precinct, finding Jj immediately and making up a poorly executed lie about feeling sick. She saw right through him.

“Hope you feel better Spence,” she smirked. “Y/n is with Hotch interviewing a suspect here,” she pointed it out on a map. “See you later.”

After grabbing the keys to Emily and David’s vehicle (they’d just come back from the crime scene) and driving there, anxiety ran through him as he found the door to the farmhouse open. He turned the corner, finding three figures. One was on the floor, shouting in agony, the other was standing, hands above their head. The third was holding a gun.

He turned back, dialling Derek’s number. 

“We need back-up, we’re at 34 Terrace Avenue! Agent down!” He spoke quietly into his phone. 

“We’re on the way kid, don’t go in without back-up,” Derek told him. Spencer didn’t respond. “Spencer?”

“She’s dying,” he reasoned and hung up, walking in. “FBI! Put your weapons down!” 

The unSub, Mitchell O’Hara had been obsessed with you since high school, you’d rejected him in senior year when he’d asked you to the prom since you already had plans with friends. All over the farmhouse, there were photos of you from every stage of your life. Childhood to teenage years, to college years, to your various positions before joining the BAU just a few months ago, including your CIA and covert Ops positions. 

Spencer could see you on the ground, multiple knife wounds in your exposed torso, he’d made you take off your vest, Spencer thought. You groaned in pain on the floor. “Spencer?” You asked hazily. Spencer kept his gun trained on Mitchell. 

“Yeah?” He was stalling, waiting for Aaron to get his own gun or for back-up to arrive. 

“Good,” you were slipping out of consciousness. “I’ve always liked you,” you smiled hazily. Spencer would be elated at those words if the circumstances were different. 

“This is your dream guy Y/n?!” Mitchell shouted. “Him?!” 

“He’s nice,” you managed. “He’s funny.”

“I’m nice! I’m funny!” Mitchell screamed. 

“You’re not Spencer,” you mumbled as everything went dark. 

SWAT suddenly filled the room and Spencer ran to you, trying to stop the bleeding. Thank god Derek had ordered for an ambulance to follow them to the scene.

As Aaron cuffed Mitchell, Spencer went with you in the ambulance. He watched as they attempted to treat your wounds, needing to cut open your shirt. Spencer was shocked to find what looked like 50 different scars. Some from bullets, others knives, others things he couldn’t name. He knew you’d been in the CIA and on a Cover Ops team, he never thought you would’ve been hurt this many times and still have the strength to go on. The ambulance pulled up to the hospital and you were brought straight into emergency surgery. 

He waited for hours there just pacing, nervously biting at his nails, or attempting to sit there as no one told him a thing. He lied, saying he was your boyfriend. Technically it wasn’t a lie, you liked him, he liked you. He just hadn’t asked. 

“Dr. Reid?” A nurse called out. He stood immediately. “She’s stable and should be waking up soon, you can see her.”

Spencer nodded a ‘thanks’ her way and entered your hospital room. 

You were alive. You were here. You were awake. 

You smiled at him. “Hey.”

Your voice was hoarse, tired from the shouting you’d done. 

“Hi.”

“Thanks for saving me Spencer,” you smiled. “And about what I said… if you don’t feel the same I’d totally get it. I just thought I was… y’know dying so…”

Spencer shook his head and smiled. “I like you a lot too.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He leaned down, a sudden surge of confidence ran through him and he kissed you softly.

“I’m from Texas by the way,” you smiled against his lips. 

“I actually guessed that, yeah,” he joked, making you laugh. God, he loved your laugh. 

He loved you. He just wouldn’t tell you that yet.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

[ithebookhoarder]

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help). 

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now. 

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight. 

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with. 

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found. 

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again. 

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying… 

David Rossi 

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.  

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work. 

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake. 

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else. 

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again. 

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit. 

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing. 

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.  

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first. 

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States. 

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick. 

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’. 

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in. 

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe. 

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close. 

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.” 

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again. 

JJ

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike. 

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will. 

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back. 

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag. 

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected. 

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia 

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out. 

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the 

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best). 

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field.  Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case. 

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!” 

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers. 

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you. 

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you. 

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar. 

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed. 

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare. 

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe. 

Masterlist

[cognitiveoverload]

Chasing ghosts - p1 (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: When a woman from Hotch's past shows up with a new case, he makes it his mission to catch the killer.

tags: fem!reader, age gap (8 yrs)

note: Takes place in 1998. Rossi only retires in this year.

masterlist

Detectives show up every now and then, it’s nothing new, but you are different. You are familiar. Hotch’s brain kicks into overdrive as he’s trying to figure out where he has seen you before. Was it an earlier case? No, no, he can tell you look older now than you were then. When he sees no one’s really interested in figuring out who you’re looking for, he puts down his pen and rolls back the chair to head in your direction.

Two steps and an exchanged glance later he comes to a sudden halt as realization hits him. Of course. The main witness in the Peter Blake case from his time as a prosecutor. The last time he met you, you were studying law, but now here you were with a badge on your side. 

“Agent Hotchner,” you say when you start to walk toward him, meeting him halfway. “I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

He can’t help but smile as he extends his hand in your way. “I remember, but the last time I saw you, you didn’t seem to be on your way to become a detective,” he tells you, and even though he wants to go on, he instinctively wants to profile you, his thoughts trail off for a second when he feels your small hand in his.

“It felt to be the right move to make. Look, I’m sorry to disturb you here, but a colleague of mine worked with your team and told me a lot about you, that’s how I knew where to find you. I need your help with a case,” you begin.

“Look, if you want the BAU’s help, we need to be contacted by your boss, we can’t just pick up cases like that.”

You’re quick to shake your head. “No, it has nothing to do with your team. I need your help. Well, rather your opinion. Can we talk somewhere private?” you ask as you hold up the case file you have in your hand. 

Nodding, he puts his hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the conference room that’s supposed to be empty now. Back in the day, he always had this strong feeling that he had to protect you, and now that you are here, it’s back with full force. You are only eight years younger, it isn’t that much of a difference, but he still can’t shake this feeling off.

Once inside, he closes the door and sits next to you at the table, watching as you open the dossier and put the crime scene photos in order. His eyes begin to scan the report before you can say anything, and the more he reads, the more he understands. You probably notice, because you don’t speak up, you let him learn the basics on his own.

It’s all too familiar. He saw his method before, he was the one who sent that man to prison, and this is why he knows it isn’t just any case. It’s personal for you. It hits too close to home. “Blake’s still in prison,” he mutters as he takes a better look at one of the photos.

“So it’s not just my imagination?” you ask, and he can hear the relief in your voice. 

He turns to you and finally notices just how exhausted you look. The dark circles under your eyes, the fatigue, they are all clear signs that this case hasn’t let you sleep last night. Shaking his head slightly, he moves his hand an inch toward you, as if he’s about to cover your hand with his in a sympathetic way, but then he stops himself, and he doesn’t really know why. Touching you seems like a big deal, even though it shouldn’t be. 

Back in the day, especially around the end of the trial, he often thought about you, even when you weren’t around him. He checked in every now and then, just to see how you were, if you could handle your studies and the trial at the same time, and these conversations sometimes moved to quite a personal territory. By the time he had to say goodbye, he knew more about you than he knew about some of his closest friends. Did it mean something? No, because even though you were almost twenty by the time the trial ended, he knew you were off-limits.

But now? 

No, he shouldn’t think about that. 

So, he lets out a sigh as he points at one of the photos. “These details were never made public. Sure, we showed the photos during the trial, but we never pointed out that these seemed to be important,” he explains, his brown eyes desperately searching for contact with yours. 

“If it’s the same killer, then we sent the wrong man to prison,” you note quietly.

“You mean I sent the wrong person to prison,” he corrects you. “He wore a mask every time you saw him, you didn’t know for sure. We based everything on the evidence that pointed to him. Look, it bugs me as much as it bugs you, so go back to the station, ask your boss to send us an official request for assistance, and meanwhile I’ll talk to my boss and ask for their help. Hopefully, they will agree.”

You nod, but your silence speaks volumes. There’s something on your mind, something that clearly brought back sad memories. “If the killer follows the original murder, there’s a chance the girl is still alive. The police found me four days after I was abducted, and we don’t know how much longer he would have kept me there before killing me,” you say, your voice slightly breaking at the end. 

Hotch nods as he collects the photos and sheets to put them into the dossier. “This is why we need to hurry. Can I keep this?” he asks as he holds up the case file. When you nod, he takes a business card from the pocket of his jacket and hands it to you. “Call me after you talk to your boss so we can discuss what I managed to accomplish here.”

“Alright. And thank you,” you tell him, a small, hopeful smile creeping on your lips. 

While he escorts you out to the elevator, he can’t help but think about what to say, how to break the silence between you. Not because it’s awkward, more because he wants to know more about how you feel about this. It doesn’t take a genuine to see you’re not well, not even close. After all the things you went through back then, seeing another girl being abducted by someone who follows the same pattern must bring back memories you buried deep in the back of your mind.

The elevator arrives, and you flash a friendly smile at him before moving your feet to get inside, but Hotch doesn’t feel like letting you leave just yet. He has to say something, anything that could make you feel better, just like he always said something supportive during the trial. When he wraps his fingers around your wrist to gently pull you back, you give him a confused look.

“Are you sure about this? Shouldn’t you give the case to someone else?” he wonders out loud, watching your face so he wouldn’t miss your reaction.

You inhale deeply, your gaze turning to follow something behind him. That tells him something important you would probably never admit to him. You’re scared. You must be terrified that it’s the same killer, and if it is, who knows when he’ll come after you to finish what he started years ago. But you don’t take it into account that the killer might have a preference for younger girls, in which case you’re safe.

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him with a forced smile, then quickly slip inside the elevator before the doors could close.

Shaking his head, he turns around and begins to move through the bullpen, heading to Rossi’s office to tell him about this case. In his mind, he goes through the pitch, all the important points that could hopefully convince him, rehearsing each sentence with extra care. He needs his boss to say yes, but if he says no, he’ll have no choice but to help you unofficially. 

This was the last big case he worked on as a prosecutor, so you aren’t the only one who finds this new case personal. He wants to find out if he made a mistake back then, if the man behind bars is innocent when it comes to this murder. No one likes to make a mistake, but he’s extremely strict with himself, he doesn’t like the idea of being the one in this situation.

When he stops in front of the office, he takes a deep breath and knocks, which is soon followed by his boss’ invitation. “Do you have a minute?” When Rossi nods, he closes the door then goes closer to hand him the case file. “There’s a case. They haven’t officially requested our assistance, but it will probably arrive soon. The victims are Hank and Kelly Roberts, they were murdered last night, while their sixteen years old daughter was kidnapped.”

“They want us to help find the girl?” Rossi asks as he looks up from the dossier for a moment.

He nods, but then lets out a sigh while putting a hand on the back of his neck to calm his nerves. “That too. But the thing is, in 1989 there was a murder that happened exactly like this one. There are details that were never made public, and weren’t highlighted during the trial, but they can be found in this case too.”

Rossi leans back and taps his fingertips on the table. “What is it you’re not telling me, Hotch?” he asks. 

“I was the prosecutor in that case, and the homicide detective working on this one was the victims’ daughter the killer kidnapped.” There’s a barely visible smile on the other man’s face as he watches him, and he knows what it means. “Look, we just don’t understand how the killer in this case could know those details. If it’s the same murderer, then I sent the wrong man to prison.”

“Have you checked if there were similar cases before that?” 

“She’s working on it, but… Well,” Hotch says, hinting at the obvious.

His boss lets out a thoughtful hum. “We could help her get the information she needs. Alright, the moment the request arrives, I’ll gather the team. You’ll help with the briefing,” he tells him.

Hotch can’t hide the small smile that creeps on his lips. “Thank you, Rossi.”

[reidbae]

DAY 27: Stress Relief — period sex w/dom!aaron hotchner

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

summary: Your hot, older boss, who’s been protective of you since day one, helps to remedy your stress when he finds out your time of the month has come.

pairing: dom!fwb!aaron hotchner x sub!fem!reader

warnings/mentions: mention of periods (obv), along with blood but it's nothing crazy, use of a condom and small mention of latex, very heavily implied age gap, reader is very shy, vaginal sex, piv sex, hip/thigh gripping, fondling, use of my love, angel, honey, sweet girl, and princess, reader is fucked dumb but also not rlly, hotch is super doting but there's some teasing, too, lots of praise, SO much slowburn i'm sorry lol (like the first 1.5k ish words), lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: went a little overboard with this one oops :P also i'm gonna *try* to fill in most of the gaps i've missed for kinktober this weekend, but no promises <3 hope y'all enjoy this one!

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1 @mrs-ssa-hotch @boimlers-gonna-boim

You were working tirelessly in the bullpen of the BAU, when a caring, yet firm, hand landed on your shoulder.

It was that of your unit chief, Aaron Hotchner’s: And also, your lover’s. You and Aaron had been seeing each other in private for a while now, and while not officially together, you were pretty damn close to it.

The older man had taken on a calm, caring, and loving role in your pairing, always handling you in a sweet, and never hostile way.

It was a sharp comparison to the manner in which he carried himself in the field, but that was a different story, for a different time.

You usually saw Aaron everyday when work ended, you coming over his house, or vice versa. If you didn’t, you’d let the other know, and there would be some exchange of affection, at least.

But that wasn’t the case this week.

You had dozens of case files and paperwork to finish. You had work to do in general because of the main job, but even more than your team, mainly due to the way you had handled your previous case. Strauss wasn’t happy about it, and neither were you, because you had a hell of a lot of work to do now because of it.

As a result, you had been spending less and less time with Aaron, even avoiding him when you could, so he wouldn’t get a feel for your grouchy mood.

It didn’t help, also, that you were on your period.

When Aaron’s kind hand landed on your shoulder, you looked up in surprise to see him hovering above you, all packed up and ready to go home. He would usually stay a little later as the week ended, working as tirelessly as you were on paperwork.

So to seem him here, ready to pack it in for the day, was a little unusual.

“Hi,” you spoke, looking up at him with a shy expression. He could see the worn out look that your eyes held, the bags under them giving you away.

“Hello,” Aaron spoke in his calm, composed tone of voice, one you usually heard when he was addressing people in the field. It wasn’t always a bad thing, really, seeing as that’s the way he was supposed to speak.

But when he used it on you, you knew you were in for a bit of a talk.

As you’d done various times before, you moved the case files you were working on aside, so that Aaron could lean on your desk. He did so, and crossed his arms as his gaze lingered on yours.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Aaron said brusquely as he looked down at you; His expression was genuine, though, as he did, and you could tell that he cared.

You looked down and away from him, letting out a heavy sigh, not prepared to have this talk with him. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong,” you said in a timid, low voice, avoiding the tall man’s gaze.

“Please don’t lie to me, honey. I can tell something is wrong. I’m a profiler, remember? Just like you,” Aaron reminded you, and from the corner of your eye, you could see his expression change from loving to firm.

“We’re not supposed to profile each other,” you reminded him, your tone small as you answered him. Aaron let out a little chuckle, shaking his head above you.

“Fair enough,” Aaron chuckled. “That doesn’t mean I can’t still worry for you, honey. You haven’t been yourself. I’m sure you know that.”

You gave him a shrug, not quite sure what to say in response to that. “Yeah, well—I haven’t been the best,” you admitted to him.

Your reveal caused Aaron to crouch down next to you, the way he likely had done for his son, Jack, so many times. You suddenly felt just as small, and turned your head away from him.

Aaron guided your face back to his seconds later, his dark brown eyes boring into yours. The look was sweet, though, and soft, as he put a warm hand on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, angel?” Aaron asked you curiously. You couldn’t deny the wave of butterflies that soared through your figure when he said that, and you bit your lip.

“I just have a lot of work to do, that’s all. And I’ve been—Moody,” you vaguely explained to him. You avoided using the word, “period,” for a fear of the weirded out look Aaron could give you if he heard it.

But Aaron took the words from your mouth in mere seconds, like he’d been able to do on numerous occasions. “Are you on your period, my love?”

Your eyes widened when he asked you this; Your cheeks warmed up as soon as his words finished, and you swallowed. “H- How did you know that?” you asked bewilderedly.

“Come on, princess. Do you really think I wouldn’t pick up on it? You get moody like this at least once a month, and I’ve been seeing you for seven. It doesn’t take a profiler to figure out what the cause of that is,” Aaron explained to you, rubbing his hand over your thigh. His tone wasn’t teasing, though, his words flowing from his lips in a warm manner.

You hid your face with your hands, hating, and loving, the way he could read you so easily. Aaron chuckled as you mumbled to him, “That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he assured you, moving his hand from your thigh to your shoulder. You’d be wondering how he was keeping his balance so well, if it weren’t for the fact that you were being so awkward. “It’s normal, and nothing to be ashamed of, honey. You’re okay.”

After a while of Aaron rubbing your shoulder, the unit chief broke the silence once again. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me so much?” he asked.

“I have not been avoiding you,” you said to him, even if you knew you were lying through your teeth.

That was the very thing you’d been doing.

“Do you want to convince me that, or yourself?” Aaron chuckled, keeping his hand where it was on your shoulder. You shrugged.

“Okay, so maybe I have been a little bit. But it’s not you. I’ve just been so tired and stressed, and—I don’t know. I know it doesn’t make sense,” you said to him.

“It doesn’t have to make sense to me, honey. As long as it does to you, that’s fine with me. I understand,” he told you. “You need a break from work. Come on. Let me take you home.”

“No, Aaron, I need to finish these files,” you all but whined, the very idea of abandoning your unfinished work making you uneasy. Aaron chuckled and got up, holding his hand out for you to take.

“Come on, sweet girl. Don’t force me to make this an order,” Aaron said to you. You couldn’t really tell if he was joking or not.

But you weren’t about to argue with him regardless.

With a huff, you took his hand and got out of your chair. Aaron draped your coat over your shoulders, making sure you were warm. He then took you by the waist and walked you out of the bullpen, and out to his car.

Knowing you didn’t feel like driving, and promising to give you a ride to work the following day, Aaron drove you home in his car, attached to your hip until you reached the front door of your house.

“Here we are,” Aaron said as he held your hand, guiding you to your door, like you would fall if he let you go. Aaron pressed a loving kiss to your cheek, smiling down at you. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

You gave him a confused, and a bit of a sad expression when he said that. “Wh—You’re not going to stay?” you asked.

Aaron’s expression then mirrored yours, and he looked as confused as you were. His eyes glimmered, though, with what you assumed was hope in response to what you had just said. “I—Well, I didn’t think you’d want me to. I figured you needed your space.”

You shook your head at his cluelessness, sighing at the fact that he could even think that for a second. “No, I—I do want you to stay. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head at you and cupping your face with his hand. The heat of it engulfed you, and you nuzzled into his touch. “Of course I do, angel. You know I love taking care of you,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before saying, “And I always will.”

—

He wasn’t kidding.

Hours later, you were curled up in Aaron’s lap after an evening of pampering from him. He had made you tea, gotten you all of the snacks you were craving, even leaving the house to do so, and gotten you changed into comfy sleepwear, but not before showering you clean first.

It was days like this that made you wonder how you had landed yourself such a wonderful man; A man who wasn’t even fully yours.

But, God, the way he handled you—Like you were a real life princess, and he was ready to serve you at any command. It was nearly impossible to comprehend.

The unit chief’s hands were tangled in your hair, playing with it as he held you there in his lap. Your face was hidden in his chest as you closed your eyes, relishing in his touch.

You had been sitting there in silence for a while, and Aaron finally broke the silence by pressing a small kiss to your forehead. “Is there anything else I can do for you, angel?” he cooed. “Anything at all that you need?”

You shook your head, lifting your eyes up to meet his soft ones as he looked down at you. “No. No, I’m fine. Thanks for being here for me," you smiled.

Both of Aaron’s hands went down to your hips, holding them in a tender manner as he smiled warmly at you. “You know I always will be, princess.”

You smiled back at him, moving closer to him to press your lips to his. Aaron responded by rubbing your back, his lips eagerly answering your kiss.

When your kiss moved from slow to passionate, Aaron moved you in his lap, so that your legs were on either side of it. He was rubbing your back as you kissed him, and you all but melted into his embrace.

You had never felt this needy for him before. Never felt this needy for one human being before.

That’s just the effect that Aaron had on you.

You were snapped back into reality seconds later when Aaron’s hands began to dance at the hem of your underwear, close, too close, to pulling them down.

You tried to move his hands away, quickly growing shy at Aaron’s move. “No, Aaron, I- I’m on my period, w- we can’t—“ you began to slur.

Aaron cut you off.

“Come on, angel. Do you really think I care about that?” Aaron cooed in a loving tone, looking into your eyes. “I won’t pressure you, princess. But I can feel your need, and I am happy to oblige you.”

“But—“

“No buts. It’s up to you. If you need me to wear a condom, I will. And if you need me to just pleasure you, then I am okay with that, too,” he whispered, cupping your cheek gingerly. “You’re not feeling good, and if I can make you feel better, I will.”

You were rendered speechless for several long seconds, unsure of how to respond to Aaron’s kind words.

Fuck, was he even real?

“Are—Are you sure?” you asked him, because you were unsure yourself about this. You had never had sex on your period before, let alone with a man who worshipped you like a goddess.

“I’m sure, princess. Say the word and I’m yours,” Aaron told you, running his thumb up and down your cheek. You gave him a shy look, and then a nod.

“I want you. I really do, Aaron, but—Only if you’re sure,” you said again. Aaron chuckled, shaking his head at you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, princess? I’m sure. Positive. Get that in your pretty head,” Aaron chuckled, causing you to smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Now, tell me what you want," he said.

“I—Um—“ you began, really not knowing the answer to that query. You bit down on your tongue, taking some time to think to yourself, before speaking once more.

“Well, I want to feel you, but—Can you use a condom, please? It’d just make me feel better,” you said timidly. Usually, you and Aaron didn’t use condoms very much, but you had a box of them in your house, anyways.

“Yes, honey. Go grab one for me,” Aaron smiled, kissing your lips before you got up.

Aaron took the condom from you when you came back with it, not saying another word on the matter. This is what you wanted, so that’s what he would give you.

You sat back in his lap as Aaron moved down his joggers, followed by his boxers. After what felt like years, Aaron’s cock sprung free from them, and from what you could see, he was already incredibly hard; Pre-cum leaked from his tip.

You sat in your own neediness as Aaron put the condom on, making sure that the latex reached the very bottom of his dick.

When he was finished, he gripped your hips, and pulled you to hover over him. He didn’t say a word on the blood that was so clearly in his vision; Instead, he lowered you down onto him, allowing you to take all of him.

Even after all this time, you had never gotten used to just how big Aaron was, his cock leaving you brimming with it each time you had sex.

And, as it happened, “Fuck,” was always the first word that left your lips.

Aaron chuckled at your vulgar use of language, and pulled you closer, beginning to kiss your neck. “Language, princess,” he said in a joking voice.

You giggled, biting down on your lip as you rode him. “Sorry.”

Aaron smirked up at you, but didn’t tease you more. Instead, he began to kiss your neck again, attacking it with a fervid passion.

Aaron left a trail of hickeys behind as he kissed and sucked at your neck; You were surely going to have to cover them up for work the next day.

One of Aaron’s hands went under your shirt, and with ease, unclasped your bra in one go. He discarded it to the side, as though it were the most unnecessary thing in the world, and began to circle his thumbs over your nipples.

You were worried you would hear the sound of blood as the two of you made love, but your whines and whimpers fully combatted the noise: You couldn’t hear a thing.

“There’s my good girl. You feel so good, princess,” Aaron inattentively praised you, his lips split open in pleasure. You whined in response to his words.

“You—Too,” you stuttered back out at him, your brain fogging up with the pleasure of the experience. “Mmm.”

Your eyes closed, and you leaned your head on Aaron’s shoulder as you moved yourself up and down. Aaron chuckled, bringing one of his hands away from your nipples to tangle into your hair. “What’s the matter, princess? Am I fucking you dumb?”

You let out a low whimper at Aaron’s teasing words, scrunching your face up in embarrassment. “Y- Yes, Aaron. You are.”

Aaron chuckled in response, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. That’s what I like to hear, honey,” he smiled.

After a while, Aaron felt the need to take over, and grabbed you by the hips once more. He flipped you over onto your back and climbed on top of you, moving into you now at a lethal pace.

“Oh,” you whispered in surprise, Aaron’s sudden change in pace causing your eyes to widen. But you weren’t complaining.

“Hm?” Aaron hummed to you, his breath warm on your nose as he moved himself into you. You shook your head in response.

“Nothing,” you murmured, earning a sly smirk from Aaron.

“Your thighs are shaking so much, honey,” Aaron whispered to you, kissing your neck again. “Relax for me, okay, princess? I’ll make you feel good," he cooed.

You felt yourself blushing as you nodded your head, surrendering to Aaron without having to think twice about it.

You were all his.

You were a hot, moaning mess under Aaron as your high approached dangerously close. Your period made you so much needier, so much more sensitive, and you were beginning to feel the effects of it.

Your expression was lewd as Aaron sensed your need, moving into you as quickly as he could, needy as you were to get you off. You were whimpering his name like there was no tomorrow, your climax burning low inside you.

“Shhh, princess, I know, I know. Almost there, honey, okay?” Aaron cooed in a loving voice as an answer to your whines, pressing butterfly kisses to your neck as he spoke to you.

All self-control fled your body as Aaron fucked you, and there was never another moment where you knew more what it was like to feel alive. Human, even.

“Please, I wanna cum. I wanna cum so bad,” you were mumbling over and over again, your speech unclear, all logical words fleeing your body.

“I know, my love,” Aaron whispered to you.

Then, Aaron did something you didn’t think would happen; He moved his hand down your body, and began to rub circles into your clit.

Immediately, you shook your head, trying to get his hand away as you realized what he was doing. “No, A- Aaron, no, the—Blood,” you all but exclaimed. Aaron shushed you with a kiss, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

That sure as hell shut you up.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed pink, and his dark hair was smeared over his forehead, stuck to it with sweat. “I don’t mind it, princess. I told you this. You need this, don’t you?”

Your eyes met his, and you nodded shyly.

“So stop it, and let me make you feel good, angel,” Aaron cooed, kissing your lips.

Your brain was too cloudy to argue back to him, and you relished in the feeling of his tongue tangled with yours, his thumb working rapid circles into your bundle of nerves.

“Aaron—!” you whined.

He had you finishing in seconds.

“Go ahead, princess. Scream for me.”

You did just that, his name leaving your lips in a way that your neighbors were going to hate. Your eyes shut with the feeling of pure bliss washing over your body, and you whined over and over again as you came down from your high.

When you were both all done, Aaron moved out from inside of you, and took the condom off. He smiled down at you, and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Was that good?”

You didn’t see how that was even a topic of discussion. Eagerly, you nodded. “More than.”

“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay, sweet girl? I don’t want you to feel messy or anything,” Aaron said in a sweet voice, running his fingers through your hair.

You nodded at the brown-eyed man, smiling. "Aaron?"

"Yes, my love?"

You giggled up at him, responding to him in a soft, shy tone of voice, "Thank you."

Aaron's face softened, and he pressed one more kiss to your cheek for good measure, smiling down at you. "Anytime."

—

reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

—

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[ddejavvu]

could you do a hotch x reader where reader has injured her leg and he walks her to the ambulance and then grows very protective of her in the hospital and/or office??

"Hotch, she's- aah," You gasp, leg burning with a fire that you're sure will turn it to ash, "She's down, I'm- I'm okay, I can wait, get her help."

"Morgan's got her," Hotch murmurs, slipping his hands beneath your arms as Derek attends to the unsub's final victim, "You need an ambulance."

"Ah, it- it hurts! It hurts, Hotch," You whimper, welcoming the rough material of his kevlar vest when it meets your face. He hauls you off of the ground, and you're ale to bury your face into his shoulder to ground yourself.

"I know," He murmurs, and when he has you on your feet, or rather, foot, he braces an arm at your thighs.

"Grab my neck," He instructs you, and if you weren't in mind-numbing pain, you'd be freaking out about flinging your arms around your boss's neck. It's even better when he lifts you bridal style, and you hope he does it again someday, minus the blood gushing from your leg.

It's certainly flowing less now, thanks to the jacket that Aaron had tied around the wound, so tight that it made you see stars. But there's still blood leaking from the bullet hole, and you can't look at it or else you start to get queasy on top of everything else.

To make sure you can't see it, you bury your face in his neck. It's unprofessional, sure, but you're bleeding out, so you think you deserve a pass.

"You're gonna be okay," Aaron hums, and you feel his voice thrumming through his throat, "We're almost to the ambulance, okay? Just hang on, don't close your eyes."

Every step that he takes jostles you in his arms, but he holds you tight. Sirens get louder in your ears and you see flashing lights even from where you're smothered against his skin, and before you know it you're being lowered into an ambulance.

Your vision swims as the EMTs get to work on your leg, and to your surprise, Aaron steps in beside you.

"Hotch," You rasp, looking at him through hazy eyes, "You- go, they need you there."

"They're fine." He assures you, settled on the bench beside your stretcher, "Dave and Morgan can drive back, and there's an ambulance waiting for Rebecca. I need to make sure you get settled, that you're not alone."

Very little can pull Hotch away from his duties as Unit Chief. You're fairly certain that he's supposed to wrap up, give his report at the scene and file paperwork for it later. He lets his agents leave, and he stays to finish the job himself. So you take your time to appreciate that he's given that up for you, that he's choosing to be carted to the hospital rather than take his typical position of authority.

He does the same three days later, skipping out on a meeting with Strauss to wheel you out of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. Your hands are hovering uselessly over the wheels, but once you realize he's serious about pushing you the entire way to the SUV, they melt over the armrests.

"Thanks, Hotch." You peer up, looking at the underside of his chin as he navigates the uneven sidewalk.

He glances down at your face, and you know what looks like his typical stern frown is really upside down to you, a kind smile against his cheeks.

"You're lucky I didn't let Morgan do this," He reaches the van, opening the passenger's side door and turning to help you out of the chair, "He would have brought along Prentiss and Reid just to have a wheelchair race."

He even buckles your seatbelt for you, despite your arms working fine. It means he's close, incredibly so, to your face, and he lingers for just a split second too long.

"I appreciate that," You laugh, and you think your actions through, but only minutely. You lean forwards, lips catching his cheek rather than his own mouth that you're yearning to kiss. It's intimate, of course, but you're hoping that it's ambiguous, that if he wants it to be romantic, it will be, and if he doesn't, then it won't.

Judging by the sweet, rosy blush that colors his cheeks when you pull away, he wants it to be.

[section-chief-prentiss]

puzzled

Summary: In your spare time, you and Emily start working on a puzzle in her office. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader 

Word Count: 2429

Ao3

“You can refresh your email as much as you want,” JJ teased from the desk next to yours. “But it’s not going to make a case appear.”

You sighed, glancing over your computer at the blonde agent sitting across from you. Her light hair was thrown back in a ponytail, and she had a light blue blouse on and black slacks. Her legs were crossed, and she looked at you with amusement in her sparkling eyes.

“Four days,” you said, running a hand through your messy hair. “We haven’t had a case in four days.” 

“For the first time since joining the team, I’m caught up on paperwork,” Luke commiserated from his desk a few feet away. “I never knew four days could feel so long.” 

Spencer whirled around in his desk chair, his brown, curly hair flying in every direction. “A recent study found that bored participants tended to think more about time, which caused it to feel like it was moving slower. Since we’re accustomed to frequently working on cases, it’s only natural that the unexpected downtime we’re experiencing would cause us to feel that time is moving more slowly than it is.”

You set your hands on your desk and pushed yourself up to a standing position. “I’m going to see if Emily has anything for us. Maybe that’ll help time move faster.” 

Spencer perked up. “Time doesn’t actually speed up when we’re occupied; it’s only our perception that—”

A groan from the rest of the team drowned out the rest of what Reid was going to say, as you navigated your way out of the bullpen and up the stairs toward Emily’s office.

You knocked twice on her door, straining to hear her response on the other side. 

“Come in!”

You opened the door a crack and peeked your head through the space. “Are you busy?” 

Emily cracked a smile. “As busy as any of you are.”

You made your way inside, closing the door behind you, and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Emily’s desk. The Unit Chief’s raven hair hung in a curtain around her face, her bangs perfectly cut just below her eyebrows. She wore a long-sleeved red shirt—your favorite color on her. 

“No new case yet?”

Emily sat forward in her chair, clasping her hands together and resting them on her desk. “Not yet, it appears all serial killers have taken the week off.”

“Do you have paperwork you need help with?” 

Emily chuckled. “You’re so bored that you’re asking for paperwork?”

You frowned at her. “Em, I’m desperate.”

Emily’s brown eyes locked with yours for a moment. She bit her bottom lip—her tell that gears were turning, and an idea was forming in her mind. 

Nodding, she opened one of her desk drawers, reaching for something you couldn’t see.

“Hotch left this in his desk when he resigned,” Emily said, setting a box down between you.

The top of the box showed a 1000-piece puzzle depicting dolphins cresting over waves, a sunset behind them. 

You softened, thinking of the previous Unit Chief, who’d left the team to enter witness protection to keep himself and his young son safe from a serial killer. 

“Aww, for Jack?”

“No,” Emily grinned. “It was for him. He loved puzzles, said they helped him focus on a case when he was stuck.”

You picked up the box, studying the image. There were a lot of similar shades of blue, but you hoped that would present enough of a challenge to keep you entertained while you waited for a case to come in.

“Are you gonna help me with this?” you asked. 

From your first day at the BAU, being in the same room as Emily caused butterflies to flit around in your stomach. Her kind eyes, her dark hair, the confidence she strutted around the BAU with—you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. But you’d never had the nerve to ask if she felt the same way.

You were sure she couldn’t. Even if she did, the HR nightmare of entering a relationship with your superior was likely something neither you nor Emily were willing to risk. You both loved your jobs too much, cared too much about helping people, to put any of that in jeopardy.

You watched Emily as she weighed your offer, her eyes flitting from yours to the stack of unfinished paperwork on her desk. 

“It’s either the puzzle, or we sit in here in silence working on paperwork,” you said. “Which sounds more fun?”

“Fuck it,” Emily said. “A break wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Your face lit up with a grin. “Exactly.”

You both relocated to the couch at the far end of her office, and you set the puzzle box on the coffee table in front of it. Emily cleared off the table while you opened the box and flipped the contents onto the table.

“Edges first?” you asked.

“What am I, a sociopath?” Emily joked. “Of course edges first.”

You giggled, searching through the pile for any border pieces. “In college, my ex-boyfriend refused to start with outside pieces when we’d work on puzzles together. He said it was too easy and he wanted to engage his brain.” 

“Gee, why did you ever break up?” Emily asked dryly.

“He cheated on me. Repeatedly.” 

“Like I said,” Emily paused, holding up a corner piece as evidence. “Sociopath.” 

You tried, and failed, to fight the smile tugging at your lips. She was right—your ex, Sam, was a douchebag. You deserved better than how he treated you.

And you hoped that better was sitting next to you.

You fell into a comfortable silence as you worked, sorting through pieces. While Emily searched for edge pieces, you transitioned into organizing the middle pieces into piles by color. 

Once that was done, you collaborated on putting the frame of the puzzle together—Emily assembling the sunset on the top half, and you focusing on the varying shades of blue that made up the water on the bottom half.

As you snapped the two halves of the border together, there was a knock at Emily’s door, startling both of you. 

Emily grinned. “Come in!”

Penelope rushed through the door, file in hand. “We got a case.”

An hour ago, you would’ve loved nothing more. Now, you were already missing this one-on-one time with Emily.

“I guess we should clean this up,” you said, reaching for the box.

Emily put a hand out, stopping you. “That’s okay; we’ll leave it here. Work on it during our downtime.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, silently wondering when the next time would be that you had downtime. But you weren’t about to turn down the offer, so you nodded.

“I’ll grab the team.” 

***

On the elevator ride back to the sixth floor at the end of the day, you felt yourself nodding off, head bobbing up and down in an attempt to keep yourself conscious.

The rest of the team was too exhausted to comment on it. The elevator ding startled you awake, and you moved through the BAU on autopilot, beelining for your desk and grabbing your bag so you could get home as soon as possible and sleep for a few hours before you had to pick up the case in the morning. 

Fortunately, the case kept you in D.C., so you’d get to sleep in your own bed tonight. Throughout the day, the team scattered between the BAU, Metro P.D., and various crime scenes, assisting where you could. 

But before you could hightail it to your car, the light on in Emily’s office caught your attention.

“See you tomorrow,” Tara mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” you said, making your way toward Emily.

You were too exhausted to bother with knocking—it had been a long, emotionally exhausting day, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about protocol. 

Emily was sitting up on her brown leather couch, her head tucked toward her chest, fast asleep. There was a puzzle piece in her hand.

You took a moment to memorize this moment, since you knew if you pulled out your phone to take a picture, Emily would actually murder you. 

Her hair was still perfect, somehow, even after a day of running around. Her blouse and pants were wrinkled from all of the activity, and as you walked toward her, you saw that she’d even fallen asleep with her shoes on.

You reached out to gently touch her shoulder and whispered, “Emily.”

She woke with a start, wincing from the light but searching for danger.

“You’re fine,” you said softly. “You just fell asleep.”

“I wanted to… work on it,” she yawned, gesturing to the half-completed puzzle. 

Earlier, while the team was building a profile and getting frustrated that things weren’t lining up, Emily suggested the puzzle. The team had gathered around the coffee table, debating which parts of the profile would need to be changed. The whole time, you kept your gaze on Emily, as if you were still the only two in the room.

You took a seat on the couch next to her. “We can work on it tomorrow.” Or so you hoped, assuming the case had wrapped up by then. 

Em nodded but didn’t move. You slid forward on the couch to get a better look at the progress your team had made on the puzzle, and you were impressed. Most of the bottom half was done—the difficult part, mostly due to Spencer—which just left the hues of red, pink, orange, and gold of the sunset. 

As you admired the puzzle, one piece jumped out to you—half red, half pink—and you saw immediately where it needed to go. You popped it into place and started searching for the next one. 

Next to you, Emily took the piece she’d been holding and slid it into place. Surely it couldn’t hurt to add just a few more pieces. You could always drink coffee in the morning if you needed a pick-me-up.

Your previous exhaustion melted away as you focused on your task—entering a flow state where nothing mattered except the picture in front of you and the women beside you.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you found yourself staring at the last few gaps, scattered in various places around the image that needed to be filled in. 

It wasn’t until you were down to your last three pieces—you and Emily had taken to silently alternating back and forth, and at this rate, you were poised to put the last piece in—that you realized there was one missing. 

Maybe you were just tired, you told yourself. It had to be here somewhere. Hotch was too organized to have ever lost a piece. 

You put down a piece that filled in the last piece of one of the dolphins. Emily finished off part of the sunset on the horizon line, but there was a gap where one piece needed to fill in the blueish-purple tints in the sky.

You frowned, glancing at the floor around you.

“Are we missing one?” Your voice was scratchy from tiredness and the fact that you and Emily had mostly worked in silence.

Next to you, Emily was silent as you peeked under the table before standing to search the couch cushions.

When you turned up empty, you sat back down with a sigh. “Well, that’s disappointing.” 

You glanced over to Emily to find her face flushed and hands balled in her lap. Her beautiful, dark eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.

“Are you okay?”

Her light skin turned an even deeper shade of red as she unballed her right fist. Sure enough, the missing piece was sitting in the middle of her palm.

You laughed. “Em, if you wanted to place the last piece yourself, you could’ve just said so.”

“It’s not that,” she said, putting the piece on the table but not in its spot. “I, um, didn’t want to finish it because I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want it to be over.”

Your heart raced. Were you deliriously tired, or was Emily really saying this?

You opened your mouth to respond, but when no sound came out, you closed it again.

Emily swore, burying her face in her hands. “I knew it,” her voice was muffled. “I knew I was reading this all wrong.”

She looked up to face you, and your heart sank in your chest. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you; if you could just forget I even said that—”

“Em!” You interrupted. “I feel the same way.”

But Emily was already shaking her head. “No, you don’t have to say that. This was so inappropriate of me; I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m too tired to be thinking clearly…”

“Emily,” you said forcefully. You took her hand in yours and smiled, color flooding your cheeks. “You don’t understand. I feel the same way.”

The raven-haired beauty’s eyes widened as she took in your words. “Oh! Oh.” 

“Yeah,” you said with a giggle. “But I know it would be complicated, and I don’t want to mess with either of our careers.”

Emily sobered at that. “Neither do I.”

“But…” you hedged, glancing at the clock. “It’s 4 in the morning, and we need to be back here in two hours, so the time for good decisions has already passed.”

Before you could lose your nerve, you picked up the last piece and snapped it into its place. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to marvel at the completed image, because the person sitting next to you was even more mesmerizing. 

Pressing your palms against Emily’s face, you pulled her toward you until her lips were crashing against yours.

It felt even better to kiss her than you’d imagined. Her lips were soft, and even after a long day, she still smelled of her floral perfume. You ran your fingers through her soft hair, and Emily moaned against your mouth. 

Emily’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. Where you touched, your body hummed with electricity and desire. 

Too soon, you pulled back. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” you confessed. 

“I’d hate to make you wait again,” Emily said, a teasing smile on her lips. “But if we want any sleep tonight, we should probably head out.” 

You pretended to ponder that before shrugging. 

“Who needs sleep?” you mumbled, throwing yourself once more into Emily’s welcoming embrace.

Tag List:

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[luveline]

would you ever write about hotch pining after r because he thinks she’s interested in someone else but then she confesses to him that she’s only ever had eyes for him 🥹

You’re shocked Hotch will let them look at him, honestly. When was the last time you saw Hotch receive medical attention? He doesn’t seem happy about it, suit jacket folded in his lap, his shirt cut in three places, most noticeably the left sleeve. 

“His arm is definitely broken,” Spencer tells you. 

“Do you think he’ll let me give him some comfort?” you ask, the two of you with your arms crossed against the side of the second ambulance, where Morgan undergoes a similarly reluctant checkup for his bloody temple. 

“No. You can always try, though. He’ll appreciate the effort.” 

You ready yourself with a deep breath and begin the short walk. It feels long then suddenly over at the same time. The only thing between you and Hotch now is a shoe’s width and the EMT securing his temporary sling. 

“They’re making me an emergency appointment,” he tells you. 

You fight the urge to rub the toe of your shoe into the ground. “Are you in pain?” 

“No. They gave me tramadol.” 

Hotch pushed you hard out of the way of a brawl and took blows meant for you in turn. He never lets you get hurt in the field. At first you’d assumed him to be the overprotective boss, and careful of women in the team, but you’ve caught on now that his motivation wells from somewhere deeper. 

Hotch loves you. He won’t tell you. You have no idea why. 

The EMT says she’ll return and takes her leave. You nod to the patch of metal flooring beside him, legs too tired to keep standing, and Hotch moves over to leave a gap between you suitable for turning into. You sit down with a sigh. Face to face, this close, you can see the different colours of his iris and the scar under his eyebrow clear as day. 

“You okay?” 

“Are you?” he asks with nothing more than a single short nod. 

“I’m worried about you,” you confess. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I can take care of myself, okay? I don’t like you getting hurt in my place.” 

“I’m your Unit Chief.” 

“If it were Morgan, you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way. If it were Emily. And we both know I can hold my own.”

He doesn’t look away from your face. “I know.” 

You’re finding it hard to want to scold him. You love him, too. You appreciate what it takes for him to take a fight that was meant for you, and the sentiment behind it. You’d quite like for him to protect you, just not at work. He could glare down potential suitors or argue with people who are rude to you at the grocery store. He doesn’t need to do your job for you. 

You raise your hand tentatively to his face, ignoring his confusion as you rake the hair that falls against his forehead back up. “It’s getting a little long for you.” 

“I’ve been busy.” 

“Me too. I keep meaning to do so much stuff but we get home and I get to my apartment and I just sleep for days.” 

“I wish I did something that sensible.” 

You curl your fingers over his shoulder. Without his suit jacket, you can feel the solidness of his muscle and soft tissue clearly. You rub your thumb in a half circle. 

“Why don’t you sleep much? I wish you would.” 

His eyes flare momentarily. His only tell, a flicker of movement you can’t miss. He’s surprised by something, your question, maybe your tone. “I do sleep.” 

“Not enough.” 

“No, I guess not.” 

You press your cheek to his arm. Can’t help yourself. He’s this strong, stern guy, so used to trying to save everyone that he barely looks after himself, and it makes you sad to think he’d love you and not want to tell you, because why wouldn’t he? Something in him must stop him from acting on it, but that something isn’t in you, not anymore. “Can’t believe you got your arm broken for me,” you murmur, lips to his shirt. You let out a breath, feel the warmth of it pass onto his skin and his following shudder. 

“It wasn’t purposeful.” 

“No? That’s good.” 

“I would do it again,” he says. “I thought you’d be with Morgan.” 

“Morgan’s a big boy.” 

“As opposed to me.” 

“I want to be here with you. I’m worried about you.” You press your face further into his arm, scared to say it even though you know it’s returned. “I care about you so much, ‘n’ you never let me show it.”

“That’s not true,” —his voice climbs higher— “I thought… You and Derek are close.” 

“He’s my friend, Hotch. It’s not like that.” 

Hesitant, tender all the same, Hotch’s uninjured arm slinks around your side to hold you, to bring you closer to his side where you’re hiding. You’re much too old for this, and still you have to confess. 

“I don’t like him,” you say. 

“As opposed to me.” 

You laugh at his repetition. Too embarrassed to say anything more on the subject but wanting to cement it in his head, you raise your head and your hand at the same time, knuckle to his jawline, nudging him to one side. You lean up and kiss his cheek. 

“Please don’t push me out of the way again,” you say. 

Hotch smiles at you, a proper, soft-eyed smile. “I won’t.” 

It’s an obvious lie. 

“Maybe when we go home we can nap together,” you suggest, heart slamming considering the innocence of what you’ve suggested. 

His fingers cradle your side. “You want to?” he asks carefully. 

“You can finally get some rest.” 

He closes his eyes, resting his face against yours. 

[youbutstupid]

What d’you think is the “best” trait the main bau team members have?

OH I love this question thank you so much. There’s a lot so bear with me

Hotch: his compassion for his team. He’s an extremely compassionate and empathetic leader, constantly allowing for his team to leave work if they need to and following them on their hunches, even if they seem unlikely, purely because he loves and respects each of them. Quite often Hotch is portrayed as stone faced but I’ve honestly never seen a male leading character be so openly loving to their team.

Gideon: how much he cares for the victims in his cases. Gideon is often characterised as being a bit clueless to the feelings of his team, yet he never is to the people he is trying to save because he puts his everything into it. He has always been so open and accepting in cases which was rare for a 51 year old man in 2005; he was very willing to let go of his old ways and what he used to know so that he could evolve with the changes in society in order to best help the people he was saving. We also got to see his book of the people he saved. It was amazing.

Rossi: his ability to read and help the people on the team when no one else does. I wholeheartedly believe that if Rossi was present during the Hankel case, Reid would not have gone through his addiction alone. Rossi is always the one to call out people who try to hide their problems and he puts in so much effort to help them, even using his hours outside of work to do so. We see him waking up early to help Hotch coach Jack’s football matches, him inviting Penelope over for scotch so that she can finally disconnect from technology and him hosting the cooking class, the wedding and Strauss’ funeral dinner ar his house. His character development from being weary about the team to adoring them all individually was amazing.

Reid: I love how despite him admitting that he has trouble with emotions, he is always the one doing everything he can to be an emotional support when people around him are struggling. We see him try and comfort Elle when everyone else disconnected from her, he stayed with Garcia the entire time when she was shot, he is the one to call Emily to ask if she wants to hang out when she started disconnecting due to the Doyle situation, he is the one to try and help JJ with her PTSD in season 10 and so on. He doesn’t like the idea of the people around him going through things alone despite the fact that he often tries to go through things alone and he is extremely selfless in this sense.

JJ: I am constantly inspired by how throughout the show, she is repeatedly putting in effort to try and improve herself as a person and as an agent. We never see her get cocky, even when she deserves to be like she was in the FBI from a very young age, she had one of the most challenging jobs as the press liaison and then she was able to work herself up to profiler where she was one of the most formidable people on the field. Despite how impressive she really is, the audience are never given a chance to consider it because she never boasts about it and instead spends everyday striving to be better.

Morgan: he is always willing to take on a leadership role when he has to, yet he is always willing to give it back to Hotch when he doesn’t need to take it on anymore. I’m not just referring to season 5 either, I’m talking about any time when Hotch is unable to take on his role. Morgan respects Hotch a lot and is always willing to support him by taking on the role of team leader when Hotch can’t anymore, yet he never tries to take the role permanently for himself, despite being told he could by Strauss. Despite his years of experience and his leadership skills, he is willing to give up the role because he sees it as what is best for the team and he respects Hotch too much to keep it.

Elle: her protection of women. Elle was, in my opinion, ahead of her time. She previously worked in the sex crimes division and in season 1, she was the only female profiler and she did not step away from her previous role as an advocate for women in sex crimes just so she could better ‘fit in with the men’ of the BAU; she instead brought her perspective with her and implemented it in her cases. She was the only one in episode 3 to look at the woman who was assaulted and realise how uncomfortable she must have been surrounded by men. She ended her career in the BAU fighting for women and it hurts me that the BAU lost her.

Garcia: she never, ever stops being herself, even when people question her or bring her down for it. Sadly, because Garcia is the brightest person in the room, she is quite often the one who the profilers take their frustrations out on; we have seen JJ, Morgan, Hotch, Rossi and Emily all do this. Despite this, she doesn’t waver, she doesn’t stop being the brightest person in the room just because someone is simply not in the mood for her to be because she knows that she does not need to apologise for simply existing as her authentic self. In the episode The Black Queen, 9x12, her ex tells her that they both used to make fun of girls like her, and she corrects him saying that he made fun of girls like her, this was who she always wanted to be. This is so empowering to me.

Prentiss: my love, she was so unbelievably loyal to those around her and this was clear from the beginning. She was the only one to question Reid’s suffering in season 2, she literally uprooted her life and faked her death so that her team’s lives could be protected in season 6. When she found out JJ was in danger in season 9, she was so quick to jump on a plane back to help her. When the team calls for favours whilst she is in London, she always answers to help them. When Reid got arrested and imprisoned in season 12, she didn’t once believe that he committed the crime of which he was accused and even risked her entire career tampering with possible evidence so that it couldn’t be used against him. She is loyal to a fault and so many don’t acknowledge that.

Todd: we only got Todd for 9 episodes but I loved how human she was. She was the first character to make the audience realise that none of what we were looking at was normal. By season 4, the audience became very desensitised to the crimes that we were looking at and Todd broke us out of that and she also was not afraid to call out the fact that it wasn’t normal that the profilers were desensitised either. I respect how in the end she would rather admit that she couldn’t do the job anymore than lose that human side of her. I also loved how she made sure Hotch never took JJ for granted.

Seaver: we never got to see much of Seaver’s development because of the writers, but I loved her willingness to learn. Seaver hadn’t even graduated from the academy when she joined the team, she was not a profiler, she wasn’t even a qualified FBI agent. Watching her learn and grow in such a traumatising field and take it all in her stride was so incredibly interesting to watch. I also loved watching her friendship grow with the team; going to the cinema with Reid, Morgan and Garcia, gaming night with Rossi and going out for curry with Reid. 

Blake: Blake was so incredibly talented and so unbelievably smart but instead of using it as a way to get ahead of her team, she used it as a way to relate to them and bond with them. She almost became a protective figure over them and she took that role very seriously too. It was honestly amazing watching her mind work and how easily she was able to take on her role as a profiler because of it. I know I just named multiple good qualities but it is incredible to me how much her character was able to grow and be adored in just two seasons, she had no idea what dynamic she was getting into when she joined the team yet she fit in perfectly and adapted to it so quickly in order to help them and gain their trust.

Callahan: her confidence. She went into that bullpen being unapologetically herself from the beginning and she fit herself into that team without an ounce of apprehension. She made so much effort to establish herself and she was not shy about it which I adored; she had banter with Rossi, she opened up to Reid, she carpooled with JJ, she became a close friend for Garcia and she gained Morgan’s trust all within a few episodes; the last two being hard to do as a new member of the team. I love how she didn’t question where she belonged, she knew she belonged.

Simmons: to me, Simmons was just so incredibly sweet. When he first joined and I saw that he was buff and conventionally attractive, I was weary that he was just going to be another jock detective that we see in other shows, but he wasn’t. He, again, was an incredibly strong and skilled agent yet when he arrived on the team he took everyone for who they were and never once acted like he was in any way better than them because he had skills that they did not have. He was just a nice person and that may sound like a basic description but to me, it’s the best description to give a person. I felt genuinely safe with Matt’s character on the screen because it was just lovely to see a man on the screen who was just good.

Lewis: OH I love this woman. Tara brought a new element of self assurance to the screen and also humour. She, again, was very unapologetically herself and she knew her worth, as we saw when she went through her breakup, which was so refreshing to see because it is rare you see a woman know her value and not be portrayed as cocky for doing so. She is also a character that marked her place on the team and I also love how unafraid she was to come out and say that she was dating a woman, which was a risk in itself because the BAU had never had an openly LGBTQ+ profiler before. I also loved how she brought ‘your mum’ jokes to the show because watching a 50 year old woman with a doctorate make multiple ‘your mum’ jokes is all I needed from the show if I’m honest.

Alvez: I don’t want to repeat things too much but I also love Luke’s loyalty, which is something we also saw from very early on in his time in the show. Bear in mind when Reid was in prison, Luke was only on the team for a very short period of time, yet he believed wholeheartedly that Reid was innocent and even made threats for his safety. I also love how he took Garcia’s original dislike of him in his stride and honestly embraced everything about her, whether it was her distrust in him or her ‘quirkiness’ as the team would dub it, he took it all in and loved her because of it all, not in spite of it.