#jj goes off

[rottengurlz]

she’s like if the virgin mary smoked a pack of pall malls every day 🚬

[eternallovers65]

Imagine letting two actors dictate your show and ruined the whole fucking experience for the fans.

And imagine not being professional and letting your girlfriend get in the middle of your work when she shouldn't even be there in the first place. Both girlfriends.

And imagine creating this whole situation when you have your friends, the actual ex couple on the set, being civilized, playful and professional while still playing a couple

Imagine the level of unprofessionalism. Just imagine.

EDIT:

To those saying his contract ended and accusing me of sending hate, I’m sorry if you’re under the impression I care or asked for opinions. Secondly, yes, "his contract ended", which is exactly why they decided to use so many camera cuts during the JJ and Kiara bonfire scene (including a double for certain takes) and why there was a lack of closeness in other scenes. I'm not just blaming them, I’m holding everyone involved accountable: the actors, their partners, and the producers.

Acknowledging that they handled it poorly doesn’t mean I’m sending hate. It’s completely unprofessional on all sides that things escalated to this point. And also, embarrassing when you have a real ex couple being more mature than you.

[rudystree]

the only unprofessional ppl are the pates and whoever runs that shit along with them bc HOW do you let it get that bad, are terrible pushovers and have ZERO control over your own damn set to the point an actor, who once lived and breathed for that show, wants out that badly. bc i yeah i don’t believe jjs death was planned from the beginning it was rudy that wanted out

like i thought the mess that was s3 (to keep the exes apart) was crazy but s4 work was insane. they fired (or whatever happened) with elaine, who had the job BEFORE getting with rudy and didn’t get it BC of rudy, and replaced her with another significant other???????? who notoriously does not get along with rudy???????? dudes????? bros??????? did all photographers idk die when they were looking for one or…..???????

and why are you allowing on set significant others and ppl that don’t belong on set control the mf set for you???? put your mf foot down and tell the actors to leave shit, issues, like and dislikes and GFS (esp the one that causes problems and has done so FOR YEARS with lives,unfollows, petty messy shit etc) outside of the set.

this. all of this.

[rainc0at]

brassic questions im haunted by: what the fuck was the wanking contest? why the FUCK do these "professional thieves" never silence their phones when they're robbing? why does dylan continue to take class a's?

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

library writing day today <333 jeremiahhhhh

[okurrroye]

Just watched the bear and now I have no clue how I’m going to survive without them until season 3

[jjcocker]

still thinking abouthese 2 rockers fics js bc thye were wirtten by the same person. I was just gonna post sbt the cute one that I tlaked abt befote but I keep remembering the one where they talk to each other like theyr ein a melodrama

[mariasont]

OKAY OKAY OKAY this might seem really simple but i love the simple stuff

spence x reader

spence is just yapping about whatever, the quantum mechanics of coffee beans, as you said in one of your posts i think, and reader just cuts him off by kissing him IN FRONT OF EVERYONE on the jet.. and everyone’s there like.. oh! im imagining he kisses reader like he kissed lila in that pool scene IM FERAL. yes he kisses back.. and then the rest of it’s just garcia being a squeaking happy person and hotch and morgan are like “that’s my boy” but rossi and jj are just gagged

please im like

Reid the Room - S.R

spencer reid has never met a bad time to discuss aviation disasters. and before your survival instincts can stop you, you're kissing him just to make it stop

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), secret relationship, pda, mild workplace inappropriateness lol, teasing/banter, spencer reid being spencer reid, mentions of plane crashes! wc: 0.9k

The words don’t just come from Spencer, they pour — fast and inevitable, like water rolling down slick stone, shaping everything in its path. You’ve spent months memorizing the subtleties of it, the tiny furrow between his brows when he’s thinking too hard, his fingers twitching mid-sentence, like even his body can’t quite keep pace with his brilliance.

He becomes more animated when he’s passionate. It should be illegal, you think, for someone to be this smart and this pretty at once. If the team ever noticed how intently you watched him, they’d know. They’d know everything. 

“— the likelihood of a plane crash is about one in 11 million, but what’s really fascinating is that 95.7% of people actually survive crashes, assuming they’re seated within the five rows of an emergency exit. Though, of course, the probability of surviving depends on factors like impact angle and —”

Morgan leans forward, bracing an arm against his knee, eyes locked on Spencer with the patience of a man debating the ethics of shutting someone up by violent force.“Hey, man, you ever hear of a bad time? We are currently on a plane. Read the room.”

For once, you don’t leap to his defense. No well-timed he’s just trying to educate us, Morgan, or an indulgent I think it’s interesting thrown in to buffer the onslaught. 

Instead, you glance at him, eyebrows lifting into something dangerously close to betrayal. Because, yeah. This might actually be one of those times. One of the Morgan is completely justified in wanting to tape Spencer’s mouth shut for the next four hours.

“I have heard of a bad time, but the concept is largely subjective. What you’re experiencing is cognitive bias, your brain associating this discussion with immediate danger because of proximity. In reality, the likelihood of a crash remains the same whether I mention it or not, so from a purely logical standpoint, this is no worse a time than any other.”

Morgan drags a hand down his face.

“...In fact, not talking about it could be considered the real danger. Avoidance leads to complacency, and complacency leads to fatal mistakes. Did you know that the most survivable crash positions involve bracing at a 60-degree angle? Although, of course, survivability depends largely on the structural integrity of the fuselage upon impact, and in cases of explosive decompression —”

It happens before you can think about — before the gnawing, frantic need to make him stop talking about plane crashes while you are actively inside one overrides all rational thought.

You turn, grab Spencer’s collar, and yank him in, your own common sense careening into a tailspin somewhere at 30,000 feet.

The moment your lips collide, Spencer’s entire body goes rigid, frozen mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-existence. His mouth is still forming a syllable that dies in a half-swallowed exhale against your tongue. His hands, previously conducting an invisible orchestra of statistical doom, trap in mid-air like he forgot what hands are.

But he catches up fast. One second he’s buffering and the next his fingers twitch — once, twice — and then lock onto your waist like he’s just decided physics no longer applies and you need to be closer. It starts semi-tentatively, inhaling against your lips, breath uneven, before he presses deeper. A lit match dropped straight into gasoline.

You pull back, breath coming fast, Spencer still leaning in like he isn’t done yet. “Anyway. What were you saying?”

Spencer stares, lips parted, pupils blown wide. For a second, he seems to genuinely try to answer, searching his mind for whatever deeply important fact he was so adamant about a minute ago. “...I don’t remember.”

The jet is quiet — too quiet — and that’s when it hits you. 

You kissed Spencer. In front of everyone.

Something cold and hot spreads through you, and suddenly, your limbs don’t seem to be operating under your jurisdiction anymore. Do something. Anything. Breathe. Blink. Move. But nope, your brain is still buffering, and Spencer – dear, sweet Spencer — looks just as dazed, which means absolutely no one is saving you from this.

You could just… not turn around. Avoid whatever is waiting for you. Live the rest of your life facing forward like a malfunctioning animatronic. But the weight of twelve pairs of eyes boring into your back is impossible to ignore.

So, with all the grace of a person walking into their own execution, you turn.

Garcia has both hands glued to her mouth, body vibrating like she’s one second away from either screeching at a frequency only dogs can hear or launching herself into the air like a bottle rocket. Her eyes are huge, pupils dilated. JJ, meanwhile, is just staring. Frozen, lips parting as if she wants to say something but has no idea where to start.

And then there’s Hotch.

You swallow hard as you meet his gaze, expecting some level of seriousness, some stern professional acknowledgment of the wildly inappropriate display that just took place — but instead, he just exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man who is simply too tired for this.

And then, breaking the tension with the ease of a wrecking ball, Morgan lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Damn. I knew there was something going on, but damn.”

After the initial shock wore off — and after Garcia had texted Emily a summary in all caps, Morgan had called you both a lost cause, and Rossi had actually applauded — things mostly went back to normal. Mostly. Except now Spencer absolutely knew what he was doing.

And later that night, as you sat beside Spencer on the couch, he turned to you, utterly serious, and murmured, “You know, in the U.S., the majority of residential break-ins occur between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. —” 

You groaned, yanked him in, and cut him off the same way you had earlier. He made a very pleased noise.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[riddlesbunny]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 18+, MDNI

Imagine best friend!JJ being in the middle of jacking off to photos of you when you call him. His cock is hard and pre-cum leaks from the tip as he scrolls through your instagram feed. Mainly clicking on the photos of you in bikinis.

A desperate whimper escapes him as he imagines it’s you wrapped around him instead of his hand.

JJ is quickly irritated when his phone first goes off and sets him off pace, but his demeanor changes once he sees that it’s your name lit up on the screen.

The right thing to do would be to let it go to voicemail. It would be disgusting, perverted, even, to pick it up… but he knows he’ll do it anyway. Since when did JJ ever do the right thing? He needs to hear your voice.

“Jayj?” you say when the line picks up and he instantly feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.

“H-hey!” He chokes out, his voice on the brink of inaudibility.

“Hey Jay.”

Fuck. Your voice is perfect, he thinks.

“Um, what’s up?” He stutters as he continues to glide his hand over his thick cock, tugging at it harsher now than before.

“The boys mentioned they hadn’t heard from you yet today, so I wanted to let you know we’ll be down at the boneyard later.”

“Yeah? A party?” he asks coolly as he attempts to keep his composure, a sheen veil of sweat beading on his forehead.

“Mhm, and I need someone to protect me from those douchey, frat boy, kooks,” you flirt innocently, “so I was hoping you’d wanna come?”

Yes, he wanted to cum.

He wanted to cum on your stomach, in your mouth, inside your pussy. Just hearing you say the word nearly sent him over the edge. For a split second he was unable to respond, too focused on his pleasure.

He was close. Too close. It didn’t take much for JJ to cum these days — especially not when the pent up lust he had for you had reached new heights. He just needed you to talk to him some more with that sweet, angelic voice of yours.

As if you read his mind, you let out a deep sigh into the phone.

“Well, JJ? Are you coming or not?” you huff and that is all he needs to be sent over the edge.

“Fuck,” your best friend groans out.

“Yes! I’m— I’m coming,” he chokes into the phone, practically moaning at you as he pumps his cock a few more times, squeezing at the tip before spilling himself into his palm.

“I—I’ll be there,” he reassures you through bated breaths.

“Sheesh, Jay,” you giggle at his enthusiasm, oblivious to the situation. God, you were so fucking innocent.

“I’m glad to know you’re excited, I am too! I’ll see you there! Bye!”

JJ lets out a deep breath as the line disconnects down on your end.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself, “I’ll see you there.”

He could consider himself totally fucked.

[ssahotchnerr]

okay I don’t know how to make this idea I have in my head make sense but here it goes: imagine reader spending time with the team and knowing that Aaron has kind of a stoic image when it comes to the team but then he’s a cinnamon roll at home and the reader tries not to embarrass him with the team and Aaron ends up thinking that the reader is mad or upset because she’s not being as touchy or flirty with him as she normally is but really she’s just trying not to ruin his image??? Did that make sense? I hope that made sense

let loose

it makes perfect sense cw; fem non bau!reader, established relationship, touch starved aaron <3, angst if you squint, fluff and some ending spice ❤️‍🔥 wc; 1k

This was the second time you'd met Aaron's team.

The first was a few weeks ago; you'd brought Aaron a case file he'd forgotten at home. Multiple pairs of eyes latched onto you as you stepped into the bullpen, looking a bit lost until Aaron departed his office to greet you.

When he’d introduced you, only the briefest of pleasantries had been exchanged. Tonight - a small party at David Rossi's - proper acquaintances were finally made.

Your initial shyness was to be expected; getting used to their dynamics, their quirks, fearing you were invading the 'family' they had created.

Aaron's done what he thought would make you more comfortable; staying in close proximity, offering subtle reassurances - a hand on your knee, silent check-ins - and involving you in conversation. He had no doubts the team would make every effort to be welcoming, but he was also well aware that they could come off as intimidating without meaning to be.

But as the night went on, your reservation was directed more at him.

You strayed away from his touch, meeting his eyes with uncertainty, clasping your own hands together instead of intertwining with his. Such detachment was in complete contrast to your typical behavior; normally, you were wrapped around him any chance you got.

Not to mention, you had been all over him back at home. Prolonging your departure by having him pressed against the door, kissing him senseless. You’d almost been late to the time Dave had stated dinner would begin. 

And now, Aaron was left wondering what he could've done wrong in such a short amount of time.

"Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" He asked when a private moment between the two of you finally presented itself, finding you in the kitchen. The others had filtered out to Dave’s patio.

"Yeah, your team is great." You flashed him a quick smile as he neared, busying yourself with the charcuterie board JJ had brought. "You never told me how fun they are."

"They have their moments," his hand found your back, pressing a kiss behind your ear. His actions caused you to tense, only proving his suspicions further. Something was wrong.

"Honey?"

"Hm?" You glanced towards the doorway before looking up at him, your cheeks flushed. You took a small side step away, creating some distance. Anxiety bubbled in his chest.

"Did I do something wrong? You've barely touched me all night. If I upset you somehow, I’m sorry."

"No, no you haven't done anything. I just..." You turned your head away again, timidly and quietly admitting, "didn't know if you wanted me to."

His eyebrows quirked in confusion, you continued.

"This is your team. I know you have an image you want to maintain, and I respect that, so I didn't want to do anything that could potentially embarrass you, with me being as touchy as I am. I panicked, I didn't want to cross a line without knowing."

Oh. His eyes softened in understanding, as yours displayed inner conflict, your heart and head being pulled in different directions.

"Well, I do want you to. Please do."

"Are you sure?"

"Within reason." He offered you a sly smile, not insinuating he wanted hot and heavy actions in front of his colleagues. "But I want you on my arm. Holding my hand. Being your affectionate and loving self. It's what I love about you, and it's meant to be shared."

In fact, it was the one thing he was looking forward to about tonight. He felt more possessive than usual, a state that might have concerned him if not for the pride that came with it. You were his, and he wanted everyone to know how lucky he was.

And selfishly, he wanted the others to know he was worthy of love, (given, he was still trying to believe the same). That there was more to him than Aaron Hotchner, the BAU Unit Chief. He was needed, and not in the professional way he was used to, where his value was measured in results and responsibilities. But rather, being a doting and deeply loving partner.

A smile slowly made its way onto your face, grabbing his hands and lacing your fingers with his before guiding them to your waist, wrapping both his arms around you yourself.

"This may sound pathetic, but within the two hours we've been here, I've missed you."

You laughed gently at his whining, clinging onto his arms. "It's not pathetic at all. If you think you were having a rough time... I had no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you."

"Good thing there's an easy solution for that. Don't restrain yourself."

"In that case," this time, you didn't glance towards the door, in fear of being caught by one of Aaron's team members. You grabbed his face, your lips meeting his in a kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, a breath of relief escaping him as well; needing this, needing you, the lack of contact throughout the night excruciating. His mouth moved on yours with seamless urgency, as though instinct guided every touch.

The kiss quickly grew heated and messy. Aaron's arms tightened around your waist, backing and picking you up onto the counter, stepping in between your legs. His hands pulled at your hips in desperation of getting you closer. Your breath heavily picked up, assisting him by pressing your chest into his.

Aaron couldn't help but smile against your lips - for a number of reasons. The all-consuming love he had for you, being with you - being close to you - with the team just steps away. Feeling much the same, a giddy giggle escaped you.

"You know..." you mumbled between kisses, your fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. "You look sexy tonight. Absolutely irresistible."

A breathless chuckle shook through his chest. "We should head out. They'll come looking for us," he teased back, his fingers digging into your hips - a silent cue that he had no intention of actually joining them.

You hummed softly in response, undoing his top button. You stopped there; as it was, you’d only undone the button to get a reaction out of Aaron. It worked, a heavy, trembling breath leaving him. "Let them."

[drewsephrry]

Love Island - Episode 11: Purple Lace Bra

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.9k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos, pretense of sexual acts

series masterlist

A few hours have passed since the text about the Heart Rate Challenge and the villa is buzzing with energy. In the makeup room, the girls are crowded around the mirrors, giggling and squealing as they touch up their glam.

“If John B’s heart doesn’t raise the most for me, I swear to God, I’m gonna be fuming.” Sarah announces dramatically.

“Especially after last night?” Maddy raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Everyone heard you two.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide as the room erupts into laughter.

“Okay, sorry…about that.” She mutters, quickly grabbing her eyeshadow palette to avoid eye contact.

“Is that why you were bouncing off the walls this morning?” Alyssa teases, wiggling her brows.

“Oh, shut up.” Sarah mumbles, her cheeks turning pink.

Across the room, Cleo groans at her reflection. 

“Y/N, why’d you have to bake today? I’m bloated as hell.” She moans as the girls laugh again.

“Don’t blame me, I didn’t know this challenge was happening!” Y/N raises her hands up in surrender.

“Oh my god, I forgot to shave!” Abigail yelps, making a beeline for the bathroom as the laughter doubles over. 

“Okay, real talk. How’s everyone feeling?” Maddy asks, dabbing highlighter into the inner corner of her eye. 

“Honestly?” Y/N sighs, setting down her brush. “Kinda nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” Alyssa blinks. Y/N glances briefly at Sarah, then drops her gaze back to her makeup bag. 

“Yeah, well…dancing all sexy in a tiny outfit in front of seven guys and the entire world watching? It's nerve-wracking.” She says dryly, reaching for her mascara. Sarah and Maddy both nod in solidarity.

“Please.” Alyssa scoffs. “That boy is down bad for you. He blushes just looking at you.”

Y/N doesn't respond, keeping her focus on her lashes.

“Alright, ladies, let’s calm down.” Cleo declares, noticing the tension. “And can someone please show me some moves before I embarrass myself?”

Y/N chuckles softly. 

“Yeah, let me finish up my makeup and I’ll help you.” She offers.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Cleo grins, grateful. 

Meanwhile, the boys are gathered around the firepit, with heart monitors around their wrists and dressed in casual fits, buzzing with anticipation as they wait for the girls to make their entrance.

“Y’all excited?” JJ asks, glancing around. The group nods, a few low chuckles rippling through.

“Yeah, man.” Topper replies, bouncing his leg slightly.

“I’m honestly more nervous for our turn.” Pope admits, earning a round of agreement.

“Think any of them are gonna surprise us?” JJ asks.

“For sure.” John B says confidently.

“Have you seen the way those girls move?” Kelce adds, shaking his head. “They’re gonna go all out.”

“Can they come out already?” Rafe leans back with a groan.

Just a few minutes pass before the speaker crackles to life and ‘Don’t Cha’ by The Pussycat Dolls blasts through the villa. The boys immediately sit up straighter, all heads turning toward the path as the unmistakable click of heels grows louder.

Kiara rounds the corner first, owning the moment in a sheer purple babydoll dress, delicate matching lingerie just visible underneath. Her platform heels give her extra height, fairy wings flutter softly behind her and a crown of flowers is nestled in her curls. She moves like she’s on a runway, mouthing the lyrics with a confident smile.

She starts with Kelce. Dropping low in front of him, before coming back up. She gives him a playful lick up his neck that has Kelce’s eyebrows shooting to his hairline as the boys lose their minds beside him.

Next is Ryan. Kiara gives him a little shimmy of her chest and throws in a teasing wink. Ryan’s face goes bright red as he looks away, his hands gripping the couch tightly.

At Pope, her energy softens. She grazes her hands across his chest and presses a kiss to his jaw, then trails down to his neck. Pope lets out a breath and glances to the sky like he’s trying to focus on anything but the feel of her.

Then comes Rafe. The energy shifts again, no seduction, just a sharp high-five that smacks through the air. The guys burst into laughter as Rafe leans back on the couch, clearly grateful to be spared the full treatment.

Kiara turns to John B and the flirt is back. She spins around, drops it low and gives him a slow twerk that makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He clears his throat, adjusting his shirt while the boys holler.

Topper gets a slow, sultry drag of her fingers along his chest and collarbone, his smirk faltering just a bit as she leans in close but then she keeps walking.

JJ’s eyes are already wide when she approaches. Kiara climbs onto his lap without hesitation, her hands sliding into his hair as she presses her lips to his neck. Her hips roll slowly, deliberately and JJ’s head falls back like he’s transcending the moment.

“Yo, look at JJ.” Rafe mutters, nudging Pope, both of them wide-eyed and grinning.

Kiara finally pulls back with a satisfied smirk, pats JJ’s chest and glides back toward the villa. Applause erupts behind her, the boys losing it and JJ falls onto the ground.

“Dude.” He wheezes as Topper helps him up. “What the actual fuck was that?”

The rest of them are still yelling, clapping, trying to recover.

Confessional - JJ “And six more girls are gonna do this?” He scoffs. “Cool. Yeah. Just kill me now.” JJ stares at the camera, flushed and shirtless.

The speaker blasts ‘Candy’ by Doja Cat and all eyes turn to the villa as Abigail struts out. She’s dressed in a black lacy top, a short skirt, thigh-high socks and a tiny apron to represent a maid outfit, complete with accessories and a feather duster in hand. She saunters over with a seductive smile, sitting onto Kelce’s lap and rolling her hips to the beat, earning a groan from him and cheers from the boys.

She moves from one guy to the next, straddling Ryan with a playful roll of her hips, kneeling between Pope’s legs to suck on his finger, licking Rafe's neck and teasing John B with her duster. Topper gets a teasing show as she raises a leg on the couch and runs her hands over her outfit, while rolling her body, leaving him speechless.

Finally, she makes her way to JJ, settling in his lap before pulling him into a heated kiss. Kiara’s scream of encouragement echoes from the terrace as their hands explore and their tongues tangle. Abigail giggles as she pulls back, grabs her feather duster and struts back toward the villa, leaving the boys clapping.

Confessional - JJ “Literally...kill me.” JJ says, shirtless, deadpan. “I’m not built for this.”

‘Sports Car’ blares through the speakers as Maddy steps out in a red, skin tight race car driver bodysuit, zipped low in the middle, paired with knee-high boots. Her curls bounce with each step and she holds a checkered flag that flutters in the night breeze.

“Is it…” She throws away her flag and pulls the zipper lower, revealing bare cleavage beneath. “Getting hot in here?” She teases with a mock gasp. 

The boys erupt, Ryan practically shakes Kelce out of his seat, while Kiara and Abigail cheer from the terrace.

Maddy struts past Kelce, giving Ryan a cheeky shake of her ass, then grinds smoothly on Pope’s lap. She kisses Rafe’s cheek and neck, sucks on John B’s finger, rolls her hips on Topper's and leans into JJ, pressing her chest to his face with a sultry smirk.

Finally, she turns back to Kelce, clearly saving the best for last. Pulling him to his feet, she runs her hands down and back up his body before pushing him back into his seat. She straddles him and kisses him deeply, her hips rolling in sync with the beat. One last peck and she struts away, the boys clapping like they’ve just witnessed a miracle.

Confessional - Kelce “Maddy…” He exhales, still catching his breath. “That girl didn’t just move, she performed.”

‘Naughty Girl 'by Beyoncé pulses through the speakers as Cleo steps out in a tight police officer bodysuit, handcuffs twirling from her fingers. She walks to the beat, owning every step.

“Any naughty boys out here?” She teases, her accent drawing laughter and nods from the boys.

“He is!” Rafe grins, pointing at Pope. Cleo smirks, strutting towards Kelce and circling the firepit, giving each guy a playful moment. 

Lastly, she climbs onto Pope’s lap, kissing him deeply as she guides his hands to her ass, grinding against him to the music. The boys erupt, but Pope barely registers it. She pulls back just enough to place her police hat on his head.

“Don’t lose that.” She says, grinning, then stands and walks away, hips swaying like she’s in full control.

The boys cheer wildly.

Pope remains frozen, eyes wide and unmoving.

“Dude...you good?” Topper laughs.

“I-I think I need a minute.” Pope stammers and the laughter doubles.

Confessional – Cleo “I had no idea what I was doing. Like, zero.” She cackles. “I just hope my ass looked good.”

The speaker comes to life again and Madison Beer’s ‘Make You Mine’ pulses through the villa. The boys snap their heads to the entrance, anticipation thick in the air.

Then she walks out.

“Holy fuck.” Rafe breathes, eyes wide.

Y/N is a vision. She's wearing a checkered bandeau top and matching ruffled mini skirt, lace tracing the hem just enough to tease. White knee-high socks with little red bows along with white platforms that make her legs look longer. Her hands are covered by red, sheer gloves and ruffles that catch the light as they move. Her curls bounce beneath a tall chef’s hat as she holds a whisk in one hand. But it’s the way she moves. Slow, sultry and confident that holds everyone captive.

“Let’s go!” Maddy screams from the terrace.

Y/N flashes her a smile, then struts toward the fire pit, every step deliberate. When the beat drops, so does she, into an improvised routine that somehow feels choreographed, like she’s done it a hundred times before. The guys can’t look away. When she bends down low, the skirt lifts just enough to reveal a white thong underneath. Rafe feels like his heart’s going to explode.

She starts with Kelce, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from his seat before bending him over with a dramatic flair. The villa erupts into laughter as she gives him a playful smack with the whisk, giggling right along with the rest of them.

Then it’s Ryan, her current partner. She moves to him effortlessly, straddling his lap, her hips rolling in slow, hypnotic waves. Her hands glide over her body with ease, like every inch of her was made to be admired. Untouchable. Electric.

John B covers Rafe’s eyes, but he bats his hand away, locked in.

She glides to Pope next, sitting onto his lap and circling her hips again before falling back into his chest, laughing breathlessly. Then she’s up, catching Rafe’s stare and she smirks at him as she passes by.

She kisses down John B’s neck, biting softly before giggling. Even Topper, who’s pissed at her, bites his lip when she turns around and teases him with a playful shake of her ass.

Then she’s on JJ, laughing as she straddles him. She grabs his hands, places them on her chest and rolls her body like the music is made just for her. JJ smirks, clearly enjoying himself. Rafe’s jaw tightens.

And then, she drops to the ground.

The guys lose it as she crawls, slowly, directly toward Rafe. John B and Pope instinctively scoot aside. She kneels between his legs, fingers sliding up his body. Then, with one smooth motion, she jumps into his lap, her body landing flush against his.

Their lips meet, fast and heated, but she pulls away just as quick, pushing his head back against the wood behind him. Her mouth trails down his neck as she undoes his shirt expertly, one button at a time, nails dragging against his chest.

Rafe gasps loudly and the boys go nuts.

She pulls away, lips flushed, breathing heavy. Then she leans in, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell George I’m sorry.” She murmurs against his ear. Then she’s gone. Back to the villa, hips swaying like nothing happened. Rafe just lies there, stunned as the rest clap.

“Yo!” JJ grins. “Did you get a boner?”

“Yes.” Rafe groans, adjusting himself without shame.

Back on the terrace, Maddy pulls Y/N into a hug.

“Girl! You ate. Rafe is done.”

Y/N just laughs, still catching her breath.

“I think I blacked out.” She admits. “I don’t even know what I did.”

Confessional – Rafe “Okay, but like…when’s the hideaway open again?” He looks off-camera. “For real.”

Alyssa’s heels click confidently against the ground as Ariana Grande’s ‘Dangerous Woman’ pulses through the speakers. She struts out in a red corset, lace shorts and knee-high red socks fastened with garters. A pair of red devil horns perch atop her head like a crown.

Topper lets out a loud howl as she makes her way toward the firepit, eating up the attention. Alyssa throws a few flirty moves to the first boys, but pulls a big performance for Rafe. She climbs onto his lap, pressing her body against his, her movements slow and deliberate as she tries to read his face.

Rafe leans back casually, his expression unreadable, detached, almost bored.

“She’s trying too hard.” Maddy whispers to Y/N from the terrace above. Y/N doesn’t answer. Her eyes are locked on Rafe’s face, studying his every reaction.

Alyssa leans in, lips brushing against his neck as her hips continue to roll. But just as she does, Rafe glances up toward the terrace, locking eyes with Y/N.

Alyssa catches it. She pulls back, annoyed and with an exaggerated eye roll, slides off his lap and moves on without a word.

When she reaches Topper, she turns the charm back on. Even though they’ve been coupled up for ages, she treats him to the same routine, only this time, she caps it off with a slow, deep kiss that lingers just a little too long.

Confessional - Alyssa “I think I crushed it!” She grins, tossing her hair. “I mean…did you see that?”

The last girl to take the stage is Sarah. As Britney Spears’ ‘Gimme More’ comes on, she struts out in a bubblegum pink bodysuit, fishnets and matching heels. A pair of bunny ears bounce on her head, a pink bowtie collar wraps around her neck and a fluffy pom-pom tail completes the look.

The girls erupt in cheers from the terrace, screaming her name as she saunters around the firepit, hips swaying to the beat. She gives each guy just a taste, but enough to leave them wanting more.

A kiss pressed to Kelce’s neck. She sits onto Ryan’s lap like she belongs there. Sucks on Pope’s finger with a slow smirk. Rafe gets a kiss on the cheek and she flashes a cheeky thumbs-up to Y/N on the terrace, setting off a round of giggles from the girls.

With Topper, she settles on his lap, rolling her hips in a way that’s almost cruel. JJ gets a flirty body roll and her pair of bunny ears perched on his head.

Then she turns to John B. She grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him up effortlessly, leading him by the collar.

“Walk him like a dog, Sarah!” Y/N yells with a laugh.

Sarah turns, pushing John B down onto the ground. He obeys without hesitation, grinning as she crawls on top of him. With a practiced flick, she sweeps her hair to one side, offering a full view of her neck and then leans in, kissing him hard, slow and deep.

His hands find her waist as she moves against him, completely owning the moment.

The girls scream from the balcony again.

When she finally pulls back and gets up, her hips sway like nothing just happened.

The boys get up from their seats, applauding and John B stays on the floor, dazed and impressed.

Upstairs, Sarah barely makes it to the top before Y/N and Maddy run to her, squealing.

“You killed it out there!” Y/N shouts, throwing her arms around her.

Confessional - Y/N "Not gonna lie, watching Sarah move like that? Instant fanny flutters." She admits.

The girls make their way to the fire pit, still in their challenge outfits, changed into comfortable slippers instead of their tall heels, heart rate monitors strapped snugly around their wrists. They settle in, giggling and waiting for the boys’ turn.

“Bring them out! Bring them out!” Maddy chants, pumping her fists. The others join in, laughter bubbling up as ‘Ice Ice Baby’ starts playing. Confused glances are exchanged before they shrug and start clapping along to the beat.

Suddenly, JJ bursts out dressed in a beige toga, white angel wings and gold accessories. The girls erupt into laughter as he lip-syncs the first verse flawlessly, selling every word with exaggerated swagger.

As the chorus hits, he struts toward Alyssa, rolling his body dramatically, making her double over with laughter. Next is Abigail, he lifts her effortlessly, her legs wrapped around his waist as he bounces her in his arms. She squeals, gripping him tightly. He lowers her gently and plants a playful kiss on her cheek.

Then he turns to Kiara. Without warning, he parts her knees and rolls his body against hers, full grind-mode. The girls scream, while Kiara sits frozen, wide-eyed.

Maddy’s next. JJ spins her around, grabs her hips and pulls her back onto him with no hesitation.

“Whew, go J!” She laughs breathlessly.

When he reaches Y/N, he slows it down, licking up her neck to her ear, then gently biting her earlobe while gripping her thigh. Y/N gasps, visibly flustered and JJ flashes a wicked grin before moving on.

He grabs Sarah’s hands next, dragging them over his chest before pretending one is a mic, rapping into it with full commitment. Finally, he ends with Cleo, giving her a cheeky kiss. She cringes, giggling as he dances away.

The girls cheer wildly as JJ struts back to the villa, arms in the air like a champ.

Confessional - Abigail “JJ definitely brought the energy.” She says with a slight shrug. “But honestly? I expected…more.”

The speaker crackles to life again, this time, ‘Please Me’ by Cardi B and Bruno Mars blares across the villa. The girls perk up, scanning the area for the next boy.

Then out comes Pope in bright yellow baggy pants, red suspenders and a firefighter hat perched on his head. Sarah grabs Cleo, shaking her as the girls burst into cheers. Just as Cardi starts singing, Pope yanks down the pants in one dramatic motion, revealing snug black shorts that leave little to the imagination.

The girls scream.

He goes around to the girls, body rolling with messy confidence. He plops into Maddy’s lap, pulling her hands to his chest in mock seduction and makes everyone chuckle by sucking one of Sarah’s fingers.

Then he makes a beeline for Cleo. He picks her up effortlessly, cradling her close as he plants a deep, lingering kiss on her lips. One of her hands settles gently on his cheek, while his grip tightens around her thighs, one hand on her ass.

When he sets her down, he places his firefighter hat on her head and bounces away, grinning ear to ear. Cleo bites her lip, cheeks flushed.

“How was that kiss?” Y/N teases.

“Too good.” Cleo laughs and the girls break into a chorus of giggles.

Confessional - Cleo “Yeah, that kiss?” She smiles, still dazed. “That was…really good. And his moves? Didn’t think he had that in him, honestly.”

Next up ‘Yeah!’ by Usher plays and the girls look around in surprise before Topper struts out in a full gladiator costume. Sword in hand, chest bare, he lifts his weapon theatrically. The girls crack up.

He tosses the sword to the ground, then drops into a near-perfect worm as screams erupt.

Topper rises and struts past Alyssa, heading straight to Abigail where he rolls his hips against her with exaggerated precision. Then he sucks on Kiara’s finger, she blinks, stunned, before planting kisses on Maddy’s neck and chest. Maddy shoots a bewildered glance at Y/N, nose scrunched in amused disbelief.

Topper turns, facing Y/N. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he clenches and unclenches his butt cheeks like it's choreography. She laughs, fully unbothered.

He bends down to Sarah next, kissing her neck and parting her legs to pull her closer, lingering a little too long. Sarah clears her throat. Topper backs off, finally moving on to Cleo with a brief lap dance.

Then, for his finale, he lifts Alyssa right off the bench, laying her gently against the wooden platform. With his hips pressed to hers, he leans in and kisses her deeply as she giggles into his mouth. The girls cheer wildly. From the balcony, JJ hollers while Pope casually eats popcorn, watching the show.

When Topper’s satisfied, he helps Alyssa back to her feet, gives a theatrical bow, and walks away like a man who just conquered Rome.

Confessional - Alyssa “Topper was good.” She nods slowly. “But…it kinda bothered me how much time he spent on Sarah.” Her lips press into a thin line.

‘SexyBack’ by Justin Timberlake hits the speakers like a shot of adrenaline. The girls perk up immediately, ready, but nothing prepares them for what comes next.

Rafe walks out, slow and deliberate. He’s wearing baggy, grease-stained pants slung low on his hips, a reflective construction vest that barely covers his chest, a yellow hard hat and a wrench casually swinging in his hand.

Y/N’s lips part before she even realizes. 

“Oh. My. God.” She breathes.

He smirks, he knows what he’s doing. And when he reaches the fire pit, he pauses for effect before ripping the pants away, revealing fitted black shorts that cling to him like a second skin.

“Damn, girl, he’s packing.” Maddy whispers.

Y/N smacks her without taking her eyes off him. 

“I know.” She murmurs back, with wide eyes.

He strides toward the girls with confident ease, his gaze sharp and unreadable. As he reaches Alyssa, he leans in and plants a quick, almost obligatory kiss on her cheek. No charm behind it, no spark. Just a quiet, clear message that he is not into her.

Alyssa blinks, caught slightly off guard and straightens her posture as if trying to recover her pride. But the moment hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Y/N watches it unfold, her eyes narrowing with a flicker of satisfaction. Her lips tug upward in a small, smug smile. She doesn’t say anything, just shares a knowing glance with Sarah, who stifles a laugh.

Then Rafe moves on to Abigail. He grabs her hands, placing them firmly against his chest, dragging them slowly over the ridges of his abs with a devilish grin. Abigail laughs, caught up in the performance, but he is focused on Y/N.

He shifts to Kiara next, pressing a soft, respectful kiss to her cheek. She gives a small smile and a thankful nod. He turns to Y/N.

She leans up toward him instinctively and he swerves. Walks right past her.

The girls gasp. Y/N freezes, stunned, a half-smile frozen on her face. She blinks, lips parted, brows lifted. She doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh or kill him.

He continues to Sarah, then Cleo, handing off his hat like it’s part of the act. 

He struts away and just when she thinks he’s done, he spins around and runs straight back to her.

Y/N barely registers what’s happening before he scoops her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her to the wooden platform. He lays her down gently, the music still pounding in the background, but it’s like the world has narrowed to just the two of them.

His hands find her wrists, pinning them above her head. 

She gasps, eyes locked on his.

Then his lips crash against hers.

The kiss is deep, consuming. One of those can’t-breathe, can’t-think, don’t-care kinds of kisses. His free hand traces down her body, grabbing her leg and stretching it over his shoulder like it belongs there. She arches beneath him, breath caught, heartbeat wild.

He rolls his hips against hers, slow but controlled. Commanding.

The villa goes wild. The girls scream. JJ yells something unintelligible from the balcony. And Pope almost drops his popcorn. But Y/N can’t hear any of it.

She only hears him.

When he finally pulls away to breathe, she’s still dazed, until he expertly flips her over.

The crowd roars again as he pulls her hips back against his, dragging her into him in a way that feels anything but performative. It’s raw. Possessive. 

Then, as if she weighs nothing, he lifts her over his shoulder, carries her back to the bench and sets her down gently.

He plants one last kiss on her lips, softer this time, but no less intense and he walks away, cocky and cool, like he didn’t just set the entire fire pit on fire.

Y/N sits, still catching her breath, completely flushed.

Confessional - Y/N “Book. Us. The. Hideaway.” She says, fanning herself with both hands. “I’m not kidding. I need him like…yesterday.”

‘Yo Voy’ by Zion & Lennox pulses through the speakers and the girls sit up instantly.

Kelce walks out in a Top Gun jumpsuit, unzipped halfway to reveal his perfectly sculpted chest. A pair of aviators hangs low on his nose, until he tosses them aside with a smirk.

“Oh my God, that’s my favorite song!” Maddy squeals, smacking the couch. “He remembered!” Her voice softens into a giddy coo.

The girls cheer as Kelce strides to the fire pit with swagger, popping open the rest of the jumpsuit and letting the sleeves fall. His torso glistens under the lights and the hollering only gets louder.

He does his round with the girls but he doesn’t waste time. Kelce heads straight for Maddy, lifting her up and laying her out against the platform like she’s a prize. He grinds into her with practiced rhythm, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she throws her head back in laughter.

When he helps her back to her seat, he walks and pauses in front of Y/N. With a quick, cheeky grin, he leans down and kisses her cheek.

“Good man!” Rafe shouts from the terrace, laughter echoing around the villa.

Y/N smiles up at him, shaking her head, but her eyes sparkle with amusement as Kelce moves on to the next girls.

When he starts to walk away, just a few steps in, he pauses. With zero hesitation, he shimmies out of the rest of the jumpsuit, revealing a pair of impossibly tiny, neon green underwear.

Rafe and JJ go feral on the balcony, whistling and howling as the girls explode.

He turns around to reveal the back and it’s barely hanging on, wedged so far up it might as well be invisible. The screams from the girls are immediate.

Maddy, Sarah and Y/N collapse to the ground, crying with laughter.

Confessional - Kelce “Listen…” He smirks, tongue poking his cheek. “You get one shot to show off the goods, so I made sure they saw all of them.”

Then, the unmistakable beat of ‘Promiscuous’ by Nelly Furtado is heard.

John B steps out in denim shorts trimmed with cow print, a red bandana tied around his neck, brown cowboy boots and a matching cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes. His belt buckle gleams in the firelight.

“Yeehaw, bitch!” Maddy shouts, smacking Sarah’s arm, over Y/N. Sarah hides her face in her hands, already blushing.

John B keeps it light with the rest of the girls, just a few cheeky moves here and there, but it’s very clear who he’s here for.

He moves, determined, up to Sarah, tosses the hat off and gently presses her back on the bench. Cleo rushes away, cackling. The moment their lips meet, the girls erupt into a chorus of cheers. Her legs coil tightly around his waist and her fingers tug at the strands of hair peeking from under his cap.

They laugh into the kiss, whispering something only they can hear. When he finally pulls back, he plants the cowboy hat on Sarah’s head with a wink and walks off like he just won riding the mechanic bull.

Confessional - Sarah “You know what they say…” She grins, pretending to twirl a lasso. “Ride a cowboy, save a horse.” 

The girls lounge by the firepit, their chatter buzzing with leftover adrenaline as they wait for the final boy to come out.

“You know.” Y/N begins, eyes glinting with faux annoyance. “I think I’m more upset that I didn't get to see Maddy do her thing…than I’ve ever been in this villa.”

The girls laugh, but Maddy smirks knowingly, already climbing into Y/N’s lap like it’s second nature.

“Oh, she’s doing her thing now.” Sarah teases as the girls burst into cheers.

Maddy rolls her hips slowly, playfully, while Y/N's hands hold her firmly at the waist. The boys up on the terrace freeze, some with amusement, some in awe.

Maddy raises an eyebrow at Y/N, who just nods, biting back a grin. That’s all the encouragement she needs.

Maddy leans in and presses her lips to Y/N’s, soft but deliberate.

The girls scream and holler as the kiss lingers just a beat too long. The guys are stunned.

“Hey-hey!” Rafe blurts out, eyebrows furrowed. “What the fuck?” His voice isn’t angry, just startled. Flustered, even.

Maddy pulls back, casually wiping the smudge of lip gloss from Y/N’s bottom lip before standing.

“Sorry, Cameron.” She says innocently, strutting back to her seat with a proud smirk.

“Dude…” JJ whispers, still slack-jawed. “That was the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Close your mouth, man.” Kelce says, nudging him. “You’re drooling.”

Before anyone can say more, the speaker blares to life with ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine. The mood shifts again.

Ryan steps out, dressed in tight black shorts, football shoulder pads, high socks and a helmet. He tosses a football toward the terrace as he swaggers forward, while Kelce catches it effortlessly.

Helmet off, Ryan heads toward the firepit, the girls screaming and laughing already.

He starts with Alyssa, kissing down her neck and chest sensually, he makes Abigail giggle as he twerks right in her face and kisses her forehead sweetly, then presses his body into Kiara’s and grinds against Maddy like he’s trying to outdo every boy before him.

But everyone’s watching for the moment they know is coming.

Ryan stops in front of Y/N.

The girls go silent. The boys lean forward. Rafe doesn’t move a muscle.

Ryan smirks, stepping between Y/N’s legs like he owns the space.

Y/N blinks, pulse speeding.

Rafe’s jaw flexes up on the terrace, his arms crossed tightly.

Ryan kneels down slowly and lifts one of Y/N’s legs over his shoulder. He starts kissing her inner thigh, trailing down until he reaches the top of her high sock.

Y/N's breath catches as he pulls the sock off with his teeth, never breaking eye contact.

She swears her heart is pounding in her throat.

He presses one last kiss on her shin before standing to kiss her cheek, tenderly, almost teasingly and then moves on to Sarah and Cleo, finishing his set with a sultry suck of Cleo’s finger.

As Ryan walks away, cocky and triumphant, the girls jump up to cheer. Y/N moves with them, but slower. Still flushed, flustered and unsure where to look.

Until she does.

Her gaze lifts to the terrace, where Rafe is already staring at her. Intensely.

She quickly looks away.

Confessional - Rafe “Yeah… uh…” He exhales, scratching the back of his neck. “I definitely preferred it when she was dreaming of Captain America.”

The islanders gather around the firepit, boys on one side, girls on the other. The anticipation buzzes in the air as Sarah stands up, holding a heart-shaped board with the results.

“Alright.” She begins, clearing her throat dramatically. “First up, Pope’s heart rate was raised the most by…Cleo!”

Applause breaks out as Cleo beams and Pope rubs the back of his neck, blushing.

“John B’s heart rate was raised the most by…moi.” Sarah announces with a cheeky grin. John B winks at her, nodding in approval.

Then she glances at the next name, her grin widening.

“Rafe’s heart rate was raised the most by…” She pauses for suspense. “Our little baker, Y/N!”

Laughs ripple through the group as eyes turn to her. Y/N blushes, looking across the firepit at Rafe. He winks at her, cool and smug. 

“JJ’s heart rate was raised the most by…Kiara?” She blinks, surprised. Everyone claps, but the energy is more curious than celebratory.

Y/N’s eyes flick over to Abigail, who offers a tight, practiced smile before looking down at her hands.

“Okay, next…” Sarah continues, clearing her throat. “Kelce’s heart rate was raised the most by Maddy.”

Maddy grins and sends him a playful wink. Kelce just nods, calm and collected.

“Topper’s heart rate was raised the most by…” Sarah squints at the board. “Me?”

Confused claps follow. Topper shrugs awkwardly. Alyssa crosses her arms and looks away, visibly irritated.

Confessional -Alyssa “Like…what the actual fuck?” She mutters, clearly seething. 

“Alright, last boy.” Sarah announces. “Ryan, your heart rate was raised the most by…Y/N.”

Y/N looks down, lips tightening. Across the firepit, Rafe’s jaw tenses visibly. Ryan rubs the back of his neck, trying to lighten the tension.

“Guess I’ve got a thing for bakers.” He jokes, shrugging. A few chuckles echo around the pit, but not from Rafe or Y/N.

Rafe’s eyes stay locked on her.

Now it’s John B’s turn to take over, holding the next set of results.

“Okay, starting with Maddy.” He says. “Your heart rate was raised the most by Kelce.”

“Knew it.” She claps dramatically.

“Sarah, yours was raised the most by…yours truly.” John B says, smiling.

“Duh.” She replies.

“Kiara.” John B continues. “Yours was raised the most by…JJ.”

Kiara turns toward JJ, who’s still wearing his angel costume. His blue eyes meet hers and he smirks. She blinks, caught off guard but smiling faintly.

“Alyssa.” John B reads next. “Your heart rate was raised the most by…Ryan.”

“No. No way.” Alyssa says, shaking her head.

“That’s what your heart monitor said.” He shrugs. She huffs but doesn’t argue further.

“Cleo, your heart rate was raised the most by Pope.” He reads. They exchange a shy smile across the pit.

“Abigail, yours was raised the most by…Ryan.”

Abigail looks at Ryan and lets out a small laugh as she joins in on the applause.

“And finally…” John B pauses for effect. “Y/N, your heart rate was raised the most by…Rafe.”

Before anyone can react, Rafe’s already on his feet.

He strides over, grabs Y/N’s face and kisses her deeply, like he’s been waiting all night for this moment. The firepit erupts in cheers and whistles as the couple finally pulls apart, breathless, smiling, eyes locked.

It’s electric.

And everyone can feel it.

to be continued...

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[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy’s girl -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

“Don’t walk away from me,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the bullpen like a gunshot. The team freezes. No one dares to look up from their desks—except the new agent recruit. Spencer Reid watches as the girl in the pleated skirt and pressed white blouse turns back slowly, mouth twisted in irritation. She looks like she walked straight out of a catalog for expensive private schools.

“I came by to say hi after class,” you snap, arms folded. “Sorry for existing, Dad.” Dad? Spencer blinks. That’s Hotch’s daughter?

Hotch steps forward, a calm rage simmering behind his eyes. “You charged nearly two thousand dollars on that card this week. I warned you. Five missed classes in one week and a bar tab that could fund a tactical op? You’re done.”

“That was for my thesis!” you cut in.

Hotch doesn’t flinch. “Give me the card.”

“No.”

“Now.” as he held his hand out sternly.

“You’re actually doing this in front of everyone?” you hiss, hopping off JJ’s desk. “Right now?”

His tone doesn’t shift. “Now.” You roll your eyes, with an exaggerated sigh, you yank the black AMEX from your bag and slap it into his palm.

He cuts it clean in half.

“Enjoy campus dining,” he says.

You glare at him. “I fucking hate you.”

“You’ll thank me someday,” Hotch says coolly.

You throw your hands up dramatically and spin on your heel to storm out, fury radiating off you like heat. But not before you pass Spencer’s desk—your eyes catch on the stack of neatly organized files beside his laptop. His poor, innocent desk. And with a perfectly manicured hand, you swipe your arm across it, sending the entire pile of case files flying like paper snowflakes. Hotch raises his voice once again, “If you walk out this building your going to be looking at more than just your card taken away—”

You don’t even glance back. “Don’t wait up, Dad!” you shout, You keep walking, one middle finger raised in the air, aimed squarely at your father. Spencer watches you disappear through the elevator doors, your skirt swinging, attitude on full display.

“Jesus Christ,” Reid says with his eyebrows raised. “Who?”

“That,” Morgan says, clapping him on the back, “was the princess.”

“She’s—?”

Hotch sighs and rubs his temples. “My daughter.”

Spencer frowns, still staring at the papers on the floor. “She knocked over my files.” Emily shrugs. “She once crashed her Porsche into Hotch’s SUV and blamed the parking lot security.” Morgan pats him on the shoulder, laughing. “Welcome to the BAU, rookie.” The team goes back to their work like this is normal—because it is. Except for Spencer, who’s still carefully re-stacking the files you knocked over, eyes darting toward Hotch’s office every few seconds like the man might implode. 2 minutes later, Hotch appears again. But this time, he’s got his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and that special kind of father-is-done-with-your-shit face.

“Garcia, if she tries to swipe her badge again, deactivate it,” he says as he strides past.

“On it, sir,” she says with a salute, but she’s smiling. Everyone is. They’ve seen this before.

Spencer watches, confused. “Where’s he going?”

Morgan grins. “You’re about to witness a tactical extraction of a different kind.”

“Extraction?” Spencer echoes.

“Yeah. Of his daughter’s attitude.”

Outside in the parking lot, your phone buzzes again. You don’t check it. You already know what it says. You’ve barely made it to your car—keys in hand, still fuming—when you hear the sharp, familiar sound of polished dress shoes striking concrete.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You don’t even have time to climb into the driver’s seat before your dad’s voice cuts through the parking garage like a warning shot.

“Don’t you dare get in that car.”

You freeze with the door halfway open.

“Dad—”

“Out.” His tone is clipped, controlled, and unmistakably pissed. “Now.”

You slam the car door shut and turn around dramatically, arms crossed, “I already left. I made my exit. That was the whole point.”

“You made a scene. You humiliated yourself. And you disrespected someone on my team who’s done nothing to deserve it.”

You roll your eyes. “God, I barely touched the files.”

Hotch doesn’t budge. “You knocked over a federal agent’s files and flipped me off in front of my team. You’re going to walk back inside and apologize like an adult. Get. Upstairs.”

You push off the car and strut past him, tossing over your shoulder, “But you’re not getting a thank you. I’m doing this under protest.” He exhales like he’s bargaining with God not to lose his temper.

Back in the bullpen, Spencer is still carefully re-stacking the files when he hears the elevator ding again. He looks up—expecting Garcia, maybe—but freezes when he sees you marching in behind Hotch, arms crossed, lips pursed, sunglasses still on like you’re shielding yourself from the humility of being dragged back.

The entire team watches in silence. You come to a stop in front of Reid. Your chin’s high, your tone flat. “I’m sorry I knocked over your files or whatever.”

Reid, stunned by your sudden change in demeanor blinks, “Oh. Uh—thank you. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” your dad says behind you. “Say it like you mean it.”

You groan, “I’m sorry,” you say, voice syrupy-sweet now. “I didn’t mean to take my daddy issues out on you, Doctor Reid.” Spencer’s eyes widen. His brain short-circuits. “Oh my God,” Morgan mutters under his breath, laughing. Garcia fans herself. “I can’t breathe.”

“Okay,” Hotch snaps, clearly at the edge of his sanity. “We’re done here. Go back to class.”

You flash a sugary smile. “Of course, Daddy. Love ya.” You start toward the elevator again, this time with a little bounce in your step, Just as the doors begin to close, you shoot Reid a parting glance, tilt your head innocently, and say “Nice cardigan, by the way.”

a/n: I had no business writing this but here we are

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[reiding-writing]

hi!! can you write more of the banter between enemy!reader and spencer but like now he goes beyond limits and like tells her the team would be better without her in their lives or something drastic and then she either goes missing or badly injured by the unsub??

404. /spencer reid/

if spencer is going to continue shutting down all of your ideas for leads in front of the team, then you’re going to track the unsub down yourself. you don’t need his approval anyway.

s1!spencer x enemy!reader 5.8k angst. series masterlist. main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, spencer is a real twat, details of kidnapping and grievous bodily harm, catatonic trauma response. imagine this like halfway through season one.

The moment you step into the precinct, you feel it in your chest—a tightness, a heaviness. It’s not just the fatigue of being called in at 3 a.m. or the smell of stale coffee and desperation thick in the air. It’s the kind of tension that says we’ve been chasing ghosts and getting nowhere.

You glance across the briefing room. The local PD is gathered awkwardly along one wall, arms crossed, faces pinched with defensiveness. They’re not happy to have the FBI here. You don’t blame them—getting sidelined in your own case is a bitter pill to swallow. But this unsub isn’t playing fair.

“This is the third victim in two weeks,” the lead detective mutters, flipping through crime scene photos projected onto the wall. “Each time, the unsub leaves a note. Always handwritten. Always addressed to us. Sometimes directly to me.”

Morgan leans forward, eyes narrowing. “He’s taunting you,”

The detective scoffs. “He’s gloating. This one said, ‘You didn’t catch me last time. What makes you think you’ll get it right now?’”

“Classic narcissistic behavior,” Elle murmurs. “But there’s more to it,”

Hotch’s voice is calm but pointed. “He’s not just showing off. He’s testing you. He wants to see if he can outsmart us next.”

You shift in your seat, arms crossed, gaze flicking from photo to photo. The unsub’s pattern is clean, almost surgical. No evidence left behind, no usable prints, no DNA. Victims all abducted within ten miles of each other, murdered within 48 hours, left posed—like the unsub wanted the scene to say something.

Spencer sits to your right, scribbling notes in that tiny chicken scratch of his. You pretend not to notice the way he looks over at you when you suggest a geographic clustering theory.

“I think we should be focusing on the clusters—if the unsub’s circling familiar territory, it could give us a window into their comfort zone. Maybe even a home base,”

Spencer doesn’t even look up. “Or they’re using the local geography as a red herring. Throwing us off on purpose. Which is more likely with his intelligence level,”

You grit your teeth. “Or maybe you just don’t like when someone else has a theory first.”

There’s a flicker of tension across the table. JJ coughs awkwardly. Spencer finally glances over, his eyes sharp behind his curls.

“Just trying to eliminate bias,” he says flatly. “You might want to try that sometime.”

It starts small. A glance. A jab. You throw it back, and the fire spreads.

—

You and Spencer used to be good at this—banter, playful jabs, mutual intellectual sparring. It was light. It was fun. 9 months of almost playful hatred. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being any of those things.

You know why, you both do. But you’re still too stubborn to actually address it. So now, every briefing is a minefield.

“He’s organised,” you say, tapping a finger on the evidence board. “He’s probably keeping souvenirs. There’s no way he’s not revisiting these crime scenes in some capacity,”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “That’s a reach. He’s already getting his fix from the letters. Revisiting is more common in disorganised killers with obsessive traits. But, by all means, let’s base our strategy on assumptions,”

You round on him, the heat rising in your chest. “You always do this—cut people down because they didn’t quote a research paper in their suggestion. Not everything is from a journal article, Reid. Some of us work off instinct

He doesn’t blink. “That’s a shame.”

The room stills. You can feel everyone watching you now—JJ's uncomfortable glance, Morgan’s frown, Hotch’s silent disapproval. Elle shifts like she wants to step in, but thinks better of it.

You clench your jaw. “Just because your IQ is the highest in the room doesn’t mean your word is law,”

“And just because you talk louder doesn’t make you right,”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gideon’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “We are not here to flex egos. We’re here to stop a killer.”

You force yourself to look away, biting down on every retort itching to escape. Spencer doesn’t say another word either, but you can see it in the way he tightens his grip on the pen—he’s not finished. Not even close.

—

By midday, the briefing is over and you’re elbow-deep in case files, staring at photos of victims and crime scene reports that blur together. You’re trying to hold onto the idea that this is about the work, not about him, but Spencer’s voice grates in your head like static.

“Victim number two was killed in a different manner,” you point out, “which might indicate a loss of control or a change in the unsub’s emotional state,”

Spencer scoffs from across the room. “Or it might indicate that your profiling is, yet again, based on faulty interpretation,”

You look up slowly. “You’ve got a real talent for being insufferable,”

He shrugs. “Just pointing out the facts,”

“You’re not pointing out anything. You’re just undermining me. Again.”

He walks closer now, arms crossed, eyes full of cold disdain. “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being right, you’d actually be useful,”

Your jaw clenches so tight it hurts. “And maybe if you got over the sound of your own voice, we wouldn’t waste half our cases cleaning up your messes,”

Spencer steps in even closer, and now it’s personal. “You’re reckless. Impulsive. You go off instinct like it’s a badge of honour when really, it just makes you sloppy,”

You fire back without thinking. “You’re emotionally stunted and completely incapable of functioning outside a textbook,”

The words hang in the air like a punch.

Silence spreads. The local cops glance over from their desks. One of them murmurs, “Damn,”

Then Gideon slams his hand on the table.

“Enough,”

His voice is sharp, final. “Both of you. I don’t care how long this has been brewing—this is not the place. You’re acting like children, and you’re making this entire team look like amateurs,”

You glance down, throat burning. Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s stone-faced, but you can tell from the twitch in his jaw that he’s stewing.

Gideon’s not finished. ���I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you unless it pertains directly to the case. Are we clear?”

You nod. Spencer doesn’t move.

“Are we clear?” Gideon repeats.

“Yes, sir,” Spencer mutters.

You don’t trust yourself to speak.

As you start gathering your files, Spencer’s voice cuts through the tension one more time—this time quieter, but not quiet enough.

“You know, we probably would’ve caught him already if you weren’t dragging us down.”

The words hit like a slap. You freeze.

The room goes dead silent.

Spencer looks away like he didn’t just say it. Like it didn’t just split something open.

You don’t respond. Not with words.

You finish collecting your files, slam the folder shut, and walk out of the room without a glance back.

—

You don’t say a word as you walk out of the precinct. You don’t slam the door or stomp your feet—there’s no drama, no outward explosion. Just a quiet, ice-cold silence that coats you like armour.

Let them think whatever they want. Let him think he won.

You move with purpose, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. You’re done trying to reason with people who have no interest in listening—especially a certain genius with a superiority complex. You tried to play by the rules, work within the team, but apparently the team doesn't think you have anything worthwhile to offer.

Fine. You’ll do it on your own.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket—JJ, probably, or Hotch, maybe even Gideon trying to pull you back into line. You ignore it. Instead, you pull out your notes, flipping through the photographs you took earlier, the ones the team waved off as nothing—redundant, too similar to previous kills, “unremarkable,” Spencer had called them.

But they weren’t. Not to you.

The unsub had made a mistake. A small one, but a mistake nonetheless.

In victim three’s crime scene photo, the position of the body had been ever so slightly rotated compared to the first two—enough that most wouldn’t care, wouldn’t notice. But the shadows were wrong. There was too much light coming in through a window that didn’t face the same direction as the other houses in the neighborhood. And the blood pattern—it had streaked upward at an angle.

Someone had moved the body. After the kill.

You’d mentioned it in passing. Spencer had dismissed it as “grasping at straws.”

Well, straws were all you needed.

—

You hole up in a dingy motel room a few blocks from the latest crime scene, spreading every case file and crime scene photo across the bed like a map to something only you could see. Your eyes flicker between documents, stringing together tiny inconsistencies—the make and model of the air conditioner in victim four’s apartment, the mismatched doorknob in victim one’s home, the off-center towel rack in number five’s bathroom.

The unsub didn’t just kill these people. He replaced things. Adjusted details.

Controlled them, even after death.

You flip back through the files, heart hammering now, and scan the addresses again. You map them out on the motel’s bedside notepad, drawing circles, checking distances between the apartments and the kill sights. Mixing and matching scenes chronologically or otherwise. And then you stumble on it.

A perfect crescent, not random but intentional. All ten locations arced around a center point—a forgotten stretch of suburbia with an abandoned cul-de-sac, a place zoned for housing development ten years ago that never got off the ground.

It’s the only place the unsub hasn’t struck yet.

It’s also the only place that could tie them all together.

You glance at your phone again. The screen is blank. No new calls. No new messages. Not from the team. Not from Spencer.

And maybe that’s a good thing. You don’t need him to validate you. You don’t need anyone.

You grab your gear, shove your files into your bag, and drive.

—

The cul-de-sac is quiet.

Not in the way quiet neighborhoods usually are, but dead quiet. No birdsong. No dogs barking. Just a biting, eerie stillness that settles in your bones the moment you step out of the car.

The houses are in varying states of decay—some half-built and gutted, others with boarded windows and cracked sidewalks. You grip your flashlight tighter as you move through the overgrown path between two units.

You keep your gun low, your ears straining for sound.

The data you gathered had pointed you to the house on the far end—the only one with signs of recent activity. The windows had been cleaned. The door, repainted.

You creep up the porch, careful not to make a sound. Your breath clouds in front of you, and the air feels colder here somehow. Heavier.

You reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.

Unlocked.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

The interior is dark, but not untouched. A table in the front room is neatly set for two. Plates. Silverware. A bottle of wine. It looks more like a dinner party than a murder scene.

You sweep the room, clearing corners, keeping your steps light. Nothing jumps out at you, but your gut won’t stop twisting.

Then you notice it.

On the wall.

A photo.

Your heart stops.

It’s you.

Snapped from the side, no more than a few hours old. Shot through the window of your hotel room, small map of the city in hand. The image is taped to the wall with surgical precision. Below it, a tiny note, one you have to walk right up to to read.

Congratulations.

You barely have time to react.

There’s a sharp sting in your neck.

You reach up instinctively, but your fingers are already clumsy. You turn, try to raise your gun—but the world tilts violently.

A face emerges from the shadows. Smiling. Calm.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” he says, almost apologetically.

And then everything goes black.

—

You drift in and out of consciousness. Time becomes slippery—your mind fogged, your limbs numb. Every now and then you feel something cold against your skin, a tug at your wrists, the uncomfortable pinch of something sharp near your ankle.

When you finally come to fully, you’re tied to a chair.

Hands bound behind your back. Ankles strapped to the legs of the chair with zip ties. Your head throbs, and there’s a metallic taste in your mouth—blood, probably.

The room around you is dimly lit. It’s not the main house anymore. You’ve been moved.

It looks like a basement. Concrete floors, unfinished walls, a single exposed bulb hanging overhead.

There’s a table nearby, neatly arranged with tools—not weapons. Instruments. Brushes. Tweezers. Surgical gloves.

You inhale shakily. You’ve seen what hems done with them before.

“You’re awake,” a voice says behind you.

You flinch as he steps into view.

The man is unremarkable in every way. Tall-ish, average build. Brown hair, clean-shaven. The kind of face you’d pass on the street and forget within minutes.

“You came here thinking you’d be the hero,” he muses, walking around you like he’s inspecting art. “They all do. You think your badge makes you invincible.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to conserve what little energy you have, mentally calculating your options.

He crouches in front of you, smiling. “You found me. That makes you smart. Smarter than the rest of them, maybe.”

You meet his gaze, steel in your voice despite the pain. “They’ll come looking for me.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replies. “I’ll lead them right to you if I have to. Whether you’ll be salvageable though, is up for debate,”

He walks to the table, picking up a small silver scalpel, running a gloved finger down its edge.

“A portrait is a powerful thing. It’s like capturing a snapshot of a person’s soul. Of course no true portrait is taken without the proper preparations being put in place first.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t show fear.

You just stall.

“They’re going to kill you,” you say evenly. “The second they find out what you’ve done, you’re done.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Then I guess we better speed things along,”

—

The sun had long since set when the rest of the team finally packed up for the night. The precinct lights buzzed with the kind of fatigue only unsolved murders could generate. Tension still clung to every surface, like dust no one could wipe away.

You’d been gone for hours.

And no one noticed.

Gideon assumed you’d taken some space after the confrontation—he’d scolded you both sharply enough in front of the local cops to warrant that kind of retreat. Morgan figured you’d gone to cool off, maybe back to the motel, maybe to follow up on a lead solo out of spite. JJ worried but didn’t say anything, not wanting to stir the already tense dynamic. Elle even offered to call, but Hotch had waved it off.

“She’s probably just blowing off steam,” he said. “We’ll regroup in the morning.”

And Spencer?

Spencer hadn’t said a word. Not one. He’d returned to his paperwork, methodically scribbling notes, analysing patterns, and doing everything in his power to ignore the hollowness you’d left behind.

He told himself you were being petty. Immature. Childish, even. Storming off like a petulant child after a simple observation.

But by morning, the quiet had stretched too long.

The motel clerk confirmed you never came back last night. Your room key remained untouched. Your bed, still made. Your rental car, gone.

JJ’s face turned white. “She always checks in. Always.”

Morgan’s voice was sharper than usual. “She would’ve called if she was going somewhere. Even if she was pissed.”

Elle was already reaching for her phone, scanning through emergency numbers and local hospitals. “We need to start looking now.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, reaching for his radio. “She wouldn’t go dark this long, not in the middle of a case. Not without telling someone.”

Then Gideon walked in with a manila envelope in his hand, face grim. “We just received another message.”

Everyone stilled.

He handed it to Hotch, who opened it slowly, bracing himself. Inside was a note—typed, this time—and a single, polaroid photograph.

JJ read it aloud, voice catching:

“At least one of the FBI Agents you corralled to help was intelligent enough to track me down. Too bad they weren’t prepared for the aftermath.”

Hotch turned the photo toward the group.

You.

Bound, unconscious, head lolled to one side in what looked like a concrete room. Your face was bruised. Blood smeared your temple. Your hands were zip-tied behind you, your body slumped forward like a discarded puppet. The lighting was dim, shadows slashing across your figure like jagged teeth.

A basement. A storage room. Somewhere hidden, somewhere wrong.

JJ gasped.

Morgan swore under his breath.

Elle closed her eyes and muttered, “No…”

And Spencer—Spencer leaned forward slowly, brows knitting as he examined the image.

“We need Garcia to enhance it,” he murmured, already reaching for his phone. “Maybe we can track down the camera. Or a reflection. Or—”

“Well,” he added suddenly, voice clipped, “She obviously wasn’t that intelligent if she got caught,”

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

The entire room turned toward him.

“What did you just say?” Morgan snapped.

JJ’s mouth dropped open. “Spence—”

But it was Gideon who moved first, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous.

“Say that again,” he said, “and I will bench you for the rest of this case.”

Spencer blinked. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Gideon cut him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want action. You think you’re the smartest person in the room? Good. Prove it. Use your genius to get over yourself and find her.”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything anyone had felt since the case began.

Spencer stared down at the photo, jaw clenched.

And then, finally, he swallowed his pride and got to work.

—

He isolated the enhanced image on the screen of his tablet, pushing aside his guilt and anger like clutter on a desk.

Don’t think about what you said.

Don’t think about the way you looked when you walked out.

Don’t think about the fact that you might not be okay.

Focus. Analyse. That’s what he’s good at.

“Lighting first,” he said aloud, mostly to himself.

He zoomed in on the image, filtering the background. The bulb overhead was exposed, casting distinct shadows.

“That angle suggests a single overhead source,” he muttered. “No side lighting. Probably a basement. At least eight to ten feet deep underground.”

He paused, adjusting the contrast on the image. “There’s no natural light at all, which rules out windows. Walls are unfinished. Cinderblock. Mortar lines are tight… That’s not a pre-’80s build. It’s too clean,”

Morgan leaned in. “So what—newer construction?”

Spencer nodded. “Late 90s or early 2000s. This wasn’t improvised. It was planned. It’s structurally sound, like a finished or semi-finished basement that’s just… been stripped down,”

Elle pointed to the corner of the image. “What’s that? Right behind the chair,”

Spencer zoomed in again. “It looks like… rust. A drainage pipe, maybe. Industrial-grade. Not common in most basements unless there’s risk of flooding. That, combined with the cinderblock, suggests this could’ve been built in an area prone to high groundwater. Maybe even flood plains,”

JJ frowned. “We’re not near the coast,”

“No, but if you look at the housing map…” He switched to a digital layout of the neighbourhood. “This cul-de-sac was supposed to be part of a larger development. Half of it was never completed because the land didn’t pass inspection,”

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “He’s in one of those unfinished units,”

Gideon nodded once. “Then we start there. We canvass the entire development. We don’t stop until we find her.”

Spencer looked at the photo one last time. His throat was dry. His chest ached. He thought of what he’d said—we would’ve caught him if you weren’t dragging us down—and suddenly it sounded less like a petty jab and more like a curse.

He looked up at the team.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch nodded. “Good. You’re going to lead the search.”

—

The SUV was quiet on the way to the development site. No one played music. No one made jokes.

Spencer sat in the front seat, his fingers tapping a rapid rhythm against his knee. He was trying not to picture you in that chair. Trying not to imagine what the unsub had done in the hours since that photo was taken. But he couldn’t stop the images.

You, bloody and bound.

You, unconscious and alone.

You, thinking no one was coming.

He had no right to worry.

No right to be scared.

But he was.

The words echoed in his head.

“She obviously wasn’t that intelligent.”

He wanted to take it back. Shove it into his mouth and swallow it down until it never existed. But that’s not how words work. They cut, and they cling, and they stay.

When they arrived at the development, the team split up fast. Morgan and Elle took the north end. JJ stayed with local officers to coordinate grid sweeps. Hotch and Gideon led the way into the southern row—newer units, all empty.

Spencer broke off on his own.

He had a gut feeling. It didn’t feel smart. It didn’t feel strategic. But it felt right.

And for once, he let himself trust that instinct.

The fifth house in the row was quiet.

Too quiet.

The front door was slightly ajar. No visible signs of forced entry. No sound from inside.

The front door creaked open under Spencer’s hand. The house was stale with disuse—thick air and thin silence. He moved cautiously through the entryway, gun raised, heart a thunderous rhythm in his ears.

Every shadow stretched too long. Every corner felt wrong.

Footsteps pounded behind him seconds later—Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon falling in silently. Elle and JJ soon followed through the back, their weapons drawn, movements swift and precise.

Then—

A noise.

A soft creak.

Second floor.

Hotch motioned with two fingers, and the team surged upward.

They found him in one of the back bedrooms. The unsub.

He was standing in front of a half-boarded window, arms crossed, calm like he was waiting for them. No fear. Just smug, eerie satisfaction, the kind that made your skin crawl.

“You’re too late,” he said simply.

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “On the ground! Now!”

But the unsub didn’t comply. He moved fast—reaching for something under his coat.

Hotch fired first. A warning shot into the drywall, forcing the man to freeze mid-movement. Morgan lunged in, tackling him with a grunt. They struggled, fists swinging, feet skidding across the half-carpeted floor.

Spencer stood back, watching the scuffle like it was underwater. His fingers twitched against his sidearm, but he didn’t fire. Couldn’t. His eyes were already scanning—behind the man, past the empty bedframe, to the blood on the floor.

He wasn’t thinking about justice. He was thinking about you.

By the time Gideon and Morgan got the cuffs on the man, Spencer was already moving—down the stairs, through the hallway, toward the door at the far end of the house.

There was a lock on it. Heavy. Old.

Spencer kicked it once. Nothing.

Twice.

On the third kick, the door gave way.

The basement smelled like mold, metal, and something sharper—sweat, maybe. Or blood.

The light flickered overhead as he stepped inside.

And there you were.

Slumped in the same position as the photo, tied to a chair, your wrists bound so tightly they’d gone purple. There was blood at your temple. Bruises down your neck. A split lip. Dirt smeared your cheeks. Rips in your shirt.

But you were breathing.

Barely.

Alive.

He nearly collapsed with the force of the relief.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you. His voice cracked. “Hey. You need to be conscious right now,”

Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Spencer's voice dropped lower, to fend with a failed attempt at lightheartedness. “You’re at a higher risk of permanent brain injury if you’re unconscious, and I doubt you need that on top of all of your other issues—”

His hands trembled as he reached for the zip ties, too afraid to touch you at first.

Morgan burst in behind him. “We need medics! Now!” he shouted up the stairs.

JJ’s voice echoed from above. “They’re already pulling up!”

Spencer carefully cut the ties, his fingers brushing your wrist. Your skin was cold. Too cold.

He looked at you again, eyes searching for any sign of recognition. A flicker of life. Of you.

Nothing.

When the medics finally came, they moved with military precision, lifting you from the chair, strapping you onto a stretcher. You didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Low blood pressure. Likely concussion, threads pulse,” one of them said quickly, checking vitals.

They spoke in clipped medical shorthand as they wheeled you out. The words blurred in Spencer’s ears.

He didn’t follow.

Couldn’t.

He stood there, in that grimy basement, staring at the chair you’d been tied to. The blood smeared into the floor. The shredded zip ties left behind like bones.

He should’ve stopped you.

He should’ve known something was wrong last night.

He should’ve said something—anything—besides the venom he’d spat.

His hands curled into fists.

Upstairs, he could hear Morgan shouting at the unsub as he was dragged away.

“You think you’re clever? Huh? You think this makes you some kind of genius?”

The unsub just smiled. “She came to me.”

Spencer’s stomach turned.

—

Outside, the late morning sun was rising, casting long shadows over the front lawn as paramedics loaded you into the ambulance. JJ stood nearby, arms folded tightly, barely breathing.

Elle was silent, her eyes rimmed red.

Hotch was speaking with local police, organising statements and chain of custody. And Spencer stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, face unreadable.

He didn’t go to the ambulance.

Didn’t try to see you again.

He didn’t think he deserved to.

You were silent. Still unresponsive. Not out of stubbornness, not anger, but trauma. Something had shut off in you, and Spencer didn’t know how—or if—you’d be able to come back from that.

He hadn’t just pushed you away.

He’d left you alone long enough to almost die.

—

The hospital was a cold place. The sterile white walls seemed to hold no comfort, and the bright fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly, as if trying to shatter the fragile quiet of the room.

But the team couldn’t shake the relief.

You were alive. Not unscathed—far from it—but alive. The doctors assured them you would recover physically, though they hadn’t made any promises about the mental scars.

But there was a sense of something else in the air, something they couldn’t quite name yet.

Gideon paced outside your room, eyes shadowed by a tiredness that went deeper than just the case. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face taut with unsaid words.

Elle was in the hallway, sitting on a chair with her head in her hands, her phone still in her lap. She hadn’t spoken much since they left the house. JJ hovered near the nurses’ station, keeping herself busy with menial tasks, but her face was pale—gripped by some invisible weight.

And Hotch, though outwardly composed, carried the same heavy air of guilt.

But no one felt it as sharply as Spencer.

He was pacing in the hallway, arms stiff at his sides, a muscle in his jaw twitching with every breath. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since they’d arrived at the hospital, and though he’d checked in with the doctor, he hadn’t really listened.

Spencer’s mind was still replaying the look in your eyes when you were pulled from that basement—the emptiness, the unspoken words, the brokenness. And for the first time, he was painfully aware of the distance that had been wedged between you.

The anger, the insults, the barbed exchanges—it hadn’t been just his defence mechanism, and he hadn’t realised how much damage it had done until now.

But now you were silent, and Spencer could feel the full weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like a vice. You were the one who’d been hurt the most—physically—and still, it was his words that had broken you.

—

When he finally pushed open the door to your room, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

You were propped up in bed, the sterile white sheets bunched around your body. Your face was bruised—still swollen—but your eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing there. No emotion. No spark. Just an emptiness that he didn’t know how to fill.

Spencer hesitated, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room.

You didn’t move when he sat in the chair next to the bed. You didn’t acknowledge him at all. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, unfocused, distant.

For a moment, Spencer just watched you. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come.

It was only when he spoke, his voice sharp and broken, that the silence shattered.

“What you did was reckless and idiotic,” he said, his tone colder than he intended. “You could’ve died. You left without backup, without even thinking about the risks.” He swallowed, forcing his words to keep coming. “You could’ve—you should’ve—asked for help.”

He paused, waiting for some kind of response. Something—anything—but there was nothing. You didn’t even blink. You just stared ahead, lost in the haze of your own mind.

Spencer’s fingers clenched into fists. “You think this is some kind of game? You think you’re invincible?”

Still nothing.

He leaned in slightly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to help. But you need to stop acting like you’re the only one who matters here. This isn’t just about you.”

Nothing.

The silence stretched on, a taut wire between the two of you, the gap between him and you feeling like an abyss. Spencer couldn’t stand it. His gaze dropped to the floor, a wave of shame crashing over him.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know how to fix it.

For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid felt like he was completely and utterly lost.

—

The team began to gather in the waiting room outside your room, and no one spoke. Even the air felt thick, like the stillness before a storm.

It was Elle who finally broke the silence. “I can’t…” she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. “She… she won’t even look at us.”

Hotch, though normally composed, looked exhausted. His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes shadowed by the weight of the situation. “She’s been through hell, Elle. We can’t just… expect everything to go back to normal.”

Gideon looked up from his place near the door. “No, it’s not that simple,” he said quietly, voice low but unwavering. “But I’ve seen this before. Trauma like this… it changes you.” He paused, eyes flicking toward the door to your room. “She’s going to need time, and we’re going to need patience. But we also need to acknowledge what we did wrong,”

The room grew quieter, each member processing the truth in their own way.

Morgan, who had been pacing with his hands in his pockets, spoke up. “Spencer’s not handling this well. But none of us are.” His voice was strained, but it held a sense of certainty. “We didn’t see it. We didn’t see how bad it was getting for her.”

JJ closed her eyes briefly, guilt flooding her expression. “We should’ve known. We should’ve stepped in. The way she and Spencer were fighting—it was too much. We should’ve told them both to stop before it got to this point,”

“I’m just…” Elle’s voice wavered. “I’m just so angry at him. How could he say those things to her? He was the one who pushed her.” Her eyes were wide, a mix of disbelief and hurt. “He acted like he didn’t even care, like she didn’t matter

Hotch sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “We all failed her in some way.” His eyes flicked to Gideon. “And now Spencer’s struggling to process the fact that it’s his words that have hurt her the most,”

Gideon nodded slowly. “There’s no way to fix it right away. But what matters now is how we move forward. For her. Not for us.”

[reidology13]

Reader goes to the triathlon w Jack and everyone's like 'omg is this ur gf' and he's like nooo this is my babysitter but they're like doing heart eyes the whole time and she's being rly cute w Jack and the whole team is like shipping them xoxoxoxoxoxo

you really got a hold on me

Aaron Hotchner x fem babysitter!reader

cw: age gap, canon typical lack of boundaries??? fluff, fluff, and more fluff wc: 1.6k a/n: this is my first req, which is a little bit terrifying, I hope it lives up to your expectations! I moved the triathlon so Jack's still around 4/5 just bc my girl has been pining for years and I don't want to stretch that out too much <3

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You kept Jack close, hands on his shoulders to keep him from disappearing into the crowd, although you knew he would be unlikely to stray from your side either way. People had started crossing the finish line about half an hour ago, and your best guess was that Aaron would cross it any second now. You were correct, as it would happen, and a few minutes later he appeared in the stampede, sweat-covered and grinning as his eyes locked on yours.

“Jack, look!” You crouched down beside the boy, pointing in the direction of his father, jogging towards the finish line.

“Daddy!” He cheered, and you whooped as he crossed the line, starting to slow down as he made his way to the table with water and medals.

Once he had navigated a route out of the crowd, you walked with Jack over to him, waving to try and catch his attention again now that you were both in different places. He met your gaze, walking to you, breath heaving.

“Hey, bud.” He leant down to hug Jack, picking him up and swinging him around before placing him back down and turning to you.

“You did amazing.” You smiled up at him, almost in awe, and he did something completely unexpected, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you into him, “Get off me! You’re all gross and sweaty.”

“Never.” You didn’t put up a fight.

“Should we leave you two love bugs alone?” A familiar voice rang out, and he released you, allowing the blonde to enter your field of vision.

“Garcia.” He said slowly, that stern, stoic mask slipping into place over his handsome features, and you couldn’t help but ogle when he looked like that. There was something about it, the way it set into the sharp lines of his jaw, suiting his strong facial features so perfectly. 

“Sorry, sir.” She said, although you had a feeling she wasn’t apologetic in the slightest, mainly from the broad grin spread across her face that promised trouble.

And then the pack descended.

A wolf whistle, “Hello, gorgeous. You the lady our man’s been seeing?”

“Um, no, I’m not-” You tried to clear up the obvious miscommunication, fueled by Penelope’s meddling, but you were interrupted, this time by a female voice.

“If he ever hurts you, feel free to call me.” She winked, and you felt your cheeks grow warm, becoming more embarrassed by the second.

“No, we’re really not-” Apparently, Aaron’s entire team had a thing for not listening, no wonder he was so tired all the time.

“Way to go, Aaron, but isn’t she a little young?” You rolled your eyes at that.

“I’m standing right here, you know.” You looked up at him, silently begging him to get his team in line.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” They went silent, and you breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning into him as you realised he still had an arm around you.

“I’m Jack’s babysitter.” You introduced yourself to each of the group, besides Penelope. You wished JJ was there, but she’d had a baby roughly a week ago, marathons weren’t exactly her mood right now.

You decide that you liked Jordan and Spencer the most, because they had stayed quiet while the rest of the team teased you about your nonexistent relationship. Once everything quieted down, and the novelty of you had expired enough for them to turn their attention to food, you turned to Aaron. You realised that in all of the excitement—first of the race, then the team—that you hadn’t really gotten to speak to him.

“Hi.” You beamed, feeling awkward after the team’s fast paced attack of moments earlier, worse because part of you wished it was true. Scratch that, every single bone, muscle, ligament, every cell in your body, wished it was true.

“Hi.” He smiled back, and you were completely oblivious to how you were just standing there, staring at him and his stupidly handsome features, until a pointed cough broke through your daze. You weren’t sure you liked Spencer anymore. The rest of the team’s eyes shot to you immediately, and you knew you were never going to hear the end of it.

“Aaron, can we go? I don’t like these people.” You groaned, the second part mostly joining. Mostly.

“Anything for you. Jack, are you okay with celebrating at home?” He tugged the boy’s hand lightly to capture his attention, and Jack nodded, smiling as wide as ever, entirely unbothered by the change of plans.

“I’ll make your favourite.” You grinned up at him, “And we can buy ice cream on the way home.”

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Emily piped up, and you glared at her, taking a step away from Aaron, as if to prove a point.

“I’m very sure.”

“She’s half my age, Prentiss.” 

“Okay, I’m not half your age, please, you make me sound like a baby.” You scoffed.

“No, of course you’re not, I just happen to be very old.” He rubbed your shoulder gently in a silent apology.

“You’re only thirty-eight, Aaron.”

“Aww, you even fight like a couple.”

“Please stop, he pays me to be here. I would rather not lose half my paycheck for fleeing right now.” Technically, he wasn’t paying you for this, the outing with Jack was completely voluntary, which had nothing to do with Aaron post-run. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, so it’s a sugar daddy thing?” She smirked.

“It’s a babysitter thing.”

“Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed you by the arm, commandeering you away from the group, and you heard a few loud comments about manhandling, as well as the word ‘daddy’ thrown around fairly liberally. “I’m sorry about them, they’re incorrigible.” He murmured against your ear, giving your arm a squeeze.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind it.” He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, Jack piped up, calling your name, “Yeah, bud?”

“I wanna hold your hand, too.” You could have cried, standing right there in the parking lot, only a few feet from the car.

“Oh, of course.” You and Aaron rearranged Jack so that he stood in between you, each of you holding one of his hands.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too, buddy.”

“It might take me a bit too long to cook…” You trailed off, swinging Jack’s arm, “There’s a great barbeque spot about ten minutes from here?”

“Sounds great, Jack, what do you think?”

“Yes.” He seemed very sure for someone you were pretty certain had no idea what a barbeque was. Aaron loved to use the grill when he had the chance, and yet no matter how many times the word was said, Jack would still be surprised at dinner. You figured he would pick it up in a year or two.

You reached the car, helping Jack into the child car seat in the back as Aaron slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Once Jack was safely secured, you circled around the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Do you know the directions? Aaron turned to look at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

“I think so.” You nodded as he pulled out of the parking space, the way he turned his head to double check the space behind the car made the tendons pop out from under the skin of his neck.

You did your best to direct him, although you missed one or two turns, courtesy of Aaron’s side profile looking a little too good. It took about ten minutes longer than it should have to pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant, and the sheen of sweat that had covered his skin had dried by the time you walked in. You were seated in a booth next to a window, and Jack insisted on sitting on your lap until the food arrived. You helped him with his restaurant-branded colouring page, a drawing of a pig cooking sausages on a grill, which was rather grim to anyone over the age of eight.

After lunch, Aaron drove you back to your campus, parking outside your dorm building. You hopped out of the car, walking around to the other side to hug Jack goodbye, then turned to the driver’s door. Aaron rolled down the window, and you leant against the windowsill on your forearms to talk to him.

“Did lunch live up to your expectations?”

“I preferred the company.” 

“So, I guess I’m never getting to choose where we eat again…” You pouted, trying to distract yourself from the warmth that blossomed in your chest at his words, at how casually he could say something so disastrous. 

“Of course you can, it was wonderful.” But you were better. He reached out, one of his hands gently running down your upper arm as he spoke, and maybe that was why you did what you did next.

“Thank you for the ride,” You smiled at him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. You stood there, leaning into the car, and time seemed to slow in a moment where everything was perfect. You stepped back, and reality crashed over you like a wave, a lump in your throat as you stumbled away from him.

“Have a good day.” He waved, and you nodded, licking your lips nervously, tasting the salt of his skin on your lips.

“You too.” You waved back at him, walking backwards from the car, “And shower! You taste like sweat!” You called out, hands cupped to your face to project your voice as you got further away from him, choking on your words.

He shook his head, an amused grin gracing his face as he pulled the car away from the sidewalk. You stood there, like a love stricken schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss during a game of spin the bottle. 

Life changing.

Inconsequential.

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tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast @selmasdaydreams - Comment to be added <3

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic offers you a smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

[keirareidss]

summertime girl - a.h

♡ summary: reader wears a sundress. hotch goes insane pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, reader wears a dress, p in v, slight description of readers body wc: 1.5k

The sun was out, the weather was hot, and the BAU was on vacation. They all had the day off so they were spending it at Rossi's mansion, in his backyard for a barbecue.

The smell of burgers, hot dogs, and summer wafted through the air. Rossi stood at the grill, swatting at anyone who tried to come too close to his precious meat with his spatula. Emily and JJ sat in folding chairs, drinks in hand, sunglasses on as they relaxed. Spencer sat cross legged on the grass, teaching Henry chess while Morgan sat on the porch with Hotch.

You... well you were definitely entertained. You and Jack were playing some made up game, a cross between tag, hide and seek, and the floor is lava. Currently, you were chasing him across the lawn, sandals left on the porch next to Aaron's chair for him to dutifully watch over. Your sundress flowed behind you in the wind, fluttering around your legs when you stopped. You caught up to Jack, wrapping your arms around him and laughing as the both of you tumbled to the ground. Your fingers danced along his sides, tickling him as he squirmed on top of you. You stopped, letting him rest as his giggles became more breathless.

"You've been caught. The tickle monster wins again!" You cheer as he smiled wide. He lets his head drop down to your shoulder, huffing out a breath, tired from all the activity. "You hungry bud?" You asked, rubbing his back gently. He nodded.

"Uh huh."

"I think Rossi's almost done at the grill. What do you want, burger or hot dog?"

"A hot dog!" Jack sits up on your stomach. You glance over, seeing Rossi start serving out burgers.

"Well, go get one before they're all gone." You smile and he climbs off of you, running over to Rossi. You lay on the grass, staring up at the sky and breathing in the fresh air for a few peaceful moments. Soon, a face appears above you. Your lovely boyfriend Aaron Hotchner.

"Having fun?" He asked, smiling down at you.

"Loads of it." You grinned. He holds out a hand to help you up and to take it gratefully. He pulled you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your waist. "Mm, handsy today, Hotchner." You grinned at him.

"It's hard not to be when you're wearing that." He murmured lowly, leaning close so only you can hear him.

"You like it? I had you in mind when I picked it out."

"I love it. You look gorgeous. Are you hungry?" Sweet, sweet man.

"I could eat."

"Let's get you some food." He says, holding an arm out to guide you towards the grill. Once you pass him, Aaron spares a quick glance to make sure the others aren't watching before he plants a firm smack on your behind.

"Aaron!" You giggle, looking over your shoulder at him. He wears a smug grin as he follows you to the grill.

That fucking dress. He couldn't stand it. He hated it. He loved it. He loved the way it fluttered around your ankles. He loved the way it hugged your curves so well, accentuating your form. He loved the pattern, the length, the cut, everything. It was absolutely perfect. And he despised it.

He watched from the porch, where Morgans chatter was drowned out into nonsense, as you chased his son around the yard. He felt like a perv for staring but he absolutely couldn't help it. When you and Jack toppled to the ground, his jaw clenched at the way the hem off your dress rucked further up your thighs. The wind blew it up high enough that, if he were close enough, he might be able to see your panties.

"Yo, are you listening?" Morgan's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Yes."

"What'd I just say?" Derek asks, but luckily Hotch is saved by Rossi's voice calling out.

"You two! Burgers or hot dogs?"

"Burger for me!"

"I'll have the same." Hotch agrees. He watches Jack get off of you and run towards the grill, faintly hearing him say 'can I have a hot dog please?'. Hotch gets up, making his way over to you. You look angelic, laying on the ground, hair splayed out around your head, your chest rising and falling softly. He helped you up and you went to get burgers from Rossi, the team all sitting down to eat together. A few bites in, you stood up from the table.

"I'm gonna run and get napkins, does anyone need anything?" You asked politely. They all declined so you headed inside. You were searching Rossi's kitchen to find some extra napkins when you heard the door open. You turned to find Aaron entering the house, the door swinging shut behind him, blocking the others from seeing or hearing the two of you. "Hey, what do you need?"

"You." He said huskily, striding over to you, pushing you against the island and capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands grip your waist, yours moving to wrap around his neck. "You look so beautiful." He trails his kisses down your neck, sucking a patch of skin between his teeth and biting down. You let out a small gasp as he leaves a mark on your neck. His lips trail further down to your chest, pressing firm kisses onto the skin of your breasts. He brushes the hair off your other shoulder, moving to that side to press kisses to the other parts neck.

"Aaron," You say breathlessly.

"Shh. Now, turn around and bend over." He murmurs into your ear. You turn, pressing your hips against the counter as you lean onto it. "So pretty." Aaron hums, his hands gathering the fabric of your dress, lifting it up. He rucks it up your body until its collected above the curve of your ass. The hand that's not holding your dress up starts undoing his belt buckle. He unzips his pants, pulling them and his boxers just low enough to free his cock. He pulls down your pretty lacy panties, his eyes landing on the slick between your legs. You're already wet for him. He moves forward, holding his hand under your chin. "Spit." He orders. You comply, spitting into his hand. He moves his hand back down, slowly pumping himself.

"Aaron, please." You whined, pushing your hips back towards him.

"Be patient, honey." He grabs your hips, slowly inserting himself into you. You let out a moan as he sheaths himself inside you, pausing to let you adjust to his length. "Shh. Don't want to get caught, do you?" Aaron teases. "We have to be quick, sweetheart, or else they'll come looking for us." He starts moving, pulling himself nearly out of you before slamming back in. You moan again and his brings his hand back to your mouth, muffling your moans. He keeps a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you, pressing you against the counter. He lets out a few low groans, stifling the louder ones through clenched teeth. His hand pushes your dress further up your back as he fucks you against the counter.

"So good for me. So, so pretty." Aaron grunts, quickening his pace. You moan out against his hand, yours coming up to pull it away from your mouth.

"I'm close. 'M so close, Aaron." You whined, the symphony of skin slapping against skin, the scent of arousal encasing your words.

"Me too. Almost there, honey." He fucks into you harder and faster, sweat dripping down his brow. He leans down, kissing you sweat slicked spine, his hand trailing down your side, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. His grips your ass harshly.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" You cut yourself off, moaning his name as your orgasm washes over you. Aaron follows soon after, his upper body collapsing onto yours with a grunt. He kisses behind your ear before standing, tucking himself back into his pants. He pulls your panties back up, snapping the elastic waistband against your skin teasingly. He pulls your dress back down, fixing it so it sits nicely. He spins you around by your waist, checking you over.

"How do I look?"

"Ravishing. How do you feel?"

"Ravished." You grinned, slipping past him on wobbly legs to find your purse. You pull out your compact concealer, covering up the fresh hickeys on your neck and chest. You meet Hotch's gaze over the top of your compact and notice the smug look on his face. "You are something else Mr. Hotchner." You shake your head smiling. You flick the compact shut and drop it back into your purse, taking his hand. You walk back out of the house together, heading back over to where the team was eating. Derek looks up, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Hey, where are the napkins?"

a/n: this it my first time writing smut, what do we think? I have a lot more planned so stay tuned! let me know if you think I should start a tag list or something :)