#jj jareau fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rynbutt · 7 months ago

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safe. | spencer reid.

You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.

my masterlist!

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3

now playing... Fare Well by Hozier

This was really starting to piss you off.

You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.

Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.

Because you swore this baby had it out for you.

You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore.

You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.

“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.

“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”

“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.

Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly.

Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.

“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.

“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.

“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”

Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”

“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”

“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.

“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were.

“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.

“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.

“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.

“...How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.

“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.

You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”

“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom.

You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.

You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.

“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.

“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile.

“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”

“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”

“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand.

You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour.

Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.

“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.

The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.

“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos.

“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”

“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.

“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.

Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”

“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.

“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied.

“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around.

You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team.

“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”

“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh.

“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone.

“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat.

Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”

Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”

Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.

You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.

“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.

“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.

“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”

“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”

“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth.

“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”

“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.

“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”

“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”

You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”

“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again.

“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”

“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”

“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.

You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”

Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”

You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.

The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house.

You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.

You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–

“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.

“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”

You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”

“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.

Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”

Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”

“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.

“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”

“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”

“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.

You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”

He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”

“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.

“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.

“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.

“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.

“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard.

“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”

“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.

“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”

“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”

“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.

“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”

“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”

Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”

“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house.

Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”

“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car.

Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child.

You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this.

“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”

You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”

“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.

“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that.

Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.

“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.

“Yes?”

“Is your son Peter here?”

“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.

“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.

It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.

You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers.

“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.

“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.

“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.

“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him.

“It was an accident,” you replied softly.

“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.

“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”

“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”

David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”

“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.

“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.

“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.

“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator.

“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”

“We’re going to get an ambulance–”

“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”

Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.

Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.

Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.

“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”

“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.

“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.

“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression.

Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.

Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”

Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.”

Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.

Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.

A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.

“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway.

You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”

Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”

“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”

“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.

Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.

“I’m sorry–”

“You don’t need to–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile.

“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.

“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”

Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.

You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.

“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.

“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.

“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.

“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.

He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”

“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”

a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!

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forhappysake · 10 months ago

Text

We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you.

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head.

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation.

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop.

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes.

* * *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened.

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you.

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.”

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.”

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked.

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said.

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response.

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.”

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat.

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements.

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue.

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.”

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression.

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you.

“Why?” you asked.

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.”

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice.

“More than,” Spencer whispered.

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

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cuddleprofiler · 23 days ago

Text

STITCHES — When you save Aaron and land in the hospital.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader

Genre: Fluff, Whump & bickering

Warning: Kidnapping, getting shot, daddy issues (tell me if I missed any)

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Even if it's 3rd Nov officially here but I wrote this for Hotch's bday. It's not based around bday but I couldn't get an idea for that, so....Positive criticism is welcomed.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON HOTCHNER

“Y/L/N.”

“Y/L/N. Wake up.”

You heard a displeased sound, but all you could see was darkness.

“Y/N. Wake up!”

You heard the sound again.

“Y/N, as much as I would have wanted to let you sleep, this is not the situation.”

What is he talking about? Oh! Wait a minute. Who is he?

You tried to open your eyes, but it felt as if you had just returned from an exhausting shopping spree, stuffed to the brim and struggling to wake up. But that wasn't the case; there was no time for shopping now.

Your attention drifted to the sensation of someone's fingers wrapped around yours, pressing gently. The pressure wasn't hard, but it was enough to pull you from the depths of your subconscious, urging you to wake up and resist the temptation to whine for “five more minutes.” Suddenly, the memory of what happened rushed back, and your eyes flew open as if you hadn't been trying to wake up at all.

You glanced around frantically. The scene was tilted at an odd angle; everything seemed askew. That’s when you felt something—or rather, someone—shift beneath your head.

As soon as you attempted to move, you were hit with the familiar ache of someone who had just completed their first day at the gym.

“Y/L/N! Y/N! Calm down, calm down,” Hotch urged in his ever-composed voice.

Your eyes locked onto his warm, chocolate-brown ones, filled with care and concern. His irises darted left and right, never leaving yours, even for a moment.

Your gaze then fell on your wrists, turning red from the ropes being tied too tightly around them. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was the fact that your right wrist was tied to his left, and his right was tied to your left.

“Who ties hands this way?” you exclaimed, looking up at Hotch with the innocent curiosity of a child in kindergarten, eagerly seeking answers from a teacher who loomed over you.

“I think it’s part of the ritual they perform before disposing of their victims. They want to create an emotional connection before they end their lives by manipulating them.”

You nodded in understanding, trying to focus your vision, blinking several times to clear the fog from your eyes. Suddenly, everything faded to black.

When you came to again, your head rested on Hotch’s shoulder, and both of your hands lay haphazardly on your thighs.

“It’s a symptom of the drug—losing consciousness for a few minutes,” he said.

“You let them drug me?” you questioned, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, sure that he would protect you.

He looked at you in confusion, his expression scrunching up as if you were an alien rather than the agent he had known for months—someone he had never fantasized about(why would you think that?)

“We’re being kept captive,” he said, as if he were reminding you.

“We're kidnapped.”

“You could say that.”

“Being formal about this doesn’t change anything, Aaron. We are kidnapped,” you insisted, your voice rising as you widened your eyes to look into Hotch’s, which had narrowed as he stared intently at you.

Hotch had never seen you like this. You were usually the one to shy away from confrontation, avoiding discussions as if you were facing a gallows. You would opt out of outings with promises of future plans, crafting convincing lies that most believed—except for Rossi and him, who saw through your facade. He didn’t know you had this fire within you.

“You said this would be safe. We’d go to the party to meet your colleagues and return home soon,” you said, accusation lacing your voice, making Hotch set his eyes on you, anger evident in them.

“Yes, but you also knew the dangers lurking around in the city right now, didn’t you, Y/N/N?”

“But you didn’t put a sign saying ‘idiot’ in front of your name, did you? You have years of experience dealing with danger; you walk around with that stoic ‘I am the boss. Don’t mess with me’ vibe, and you’re saying you didn’t know what you were getting into?”

“Like you knew what you were getting into? You came in with roses to propose that day, right before I was leaving, with your enchanting face and beautiful wide eyes. Yet none of those things told me about your lack of common sense and respect.”

“Oh, please! Like you have a lot of common sense. You know what? You should drink your coffee with some sugar. Maybe it will help sweeten your bitter tongue.”

“Yeah, like the amount of sweets you consume did yours?”

“Don’t go after my sweets.”

“Then don’t comment on my coffee.”

“Then what should I comment on? Huh? How you can’t keep your hair in place? Seriously, how do those strands keep falling on your forehead?” Your gaze drifted toward the way his hair fell, then back to his eyes, and finally to his lips.

He noticed where your eyes wandered but kept his expression neutral. By “neutral,” he meant hiding how his heart plummeted at the brief longing in your gaze.

“Y/N, have some dignity when it comes to my hair. You use serum to tame the jungle of your morning madness and keep it presentable throughout the day.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Hotch’s unexpected remark. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, a spark of connection flickering before you both returned to the weight of the situation.

How does he know I wake up with a jungle for hair?

Your mind wandered back to the other day when you were telling the girls about this, who then suggested you get some hair products while Hotch and Rossi walked by.

He remembers such trivial things about me.

Stop it! He’s a profiler. It’s in his nature to remember things about people. Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.

The team had profiled the unsubs to be from the upper class; they had the means to enter these sorts of parties without striking to anyone as odd. The way the victims were disposed of spoke about the unsubs being used to ostentation without meaning to, fitting into the norms of upper-class society.

You and Hotch knew you would be abducted. It was part of the plan; you basically set the stage to lure the unsubs in. Initially, you and Hotch were reluctant to go—more you than him because you found him attractive. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him the whole night, especially as the people at elite parties dressed to the nines, and you were sure the way the whole team was looking at you would make you drool all night. You pressed your lips together, trying to stop yourself from imagining your handsome boss in a tight shirt, flexing his arms, showing off his muscles.

No, no, no! There’s no way I would be able to focus on catching the unsub.

However, none of them accepted your “no”—not even Hotch. He told you how you would be the perfect choice, seeing the pattern of female victims remained the same—one that you would fit. He turned you slightly toward himself by your shoulders, looking you right in the eye, promising that nothing would go wrong and that he would be there the whole time with you. Promise!

What you didn’t know was that they would hurt you to make you comply. The female victims had fought back; you would have to do the same. But none had been hit in the head—either they weren’t, or you were the unfortunate one. If so, the coroner made a grave mistake, and you would deal with him when you got out of here because your head was pounding like crazy. You were sure you had at least a mild concussion

You and Hotch had strategized in his hotel room the previous night, reviewing case files and delving into the plan to demonstrate a temper akin to that of the unsub and to display behavior contrary to the victims.

“What if we don’t show fear?” you suggested.

He raised an eyebrow, and seeing his expression made you gulp. You hadn’t thought much before speaking; it was a bad habit, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“Elaborate,” he prompted.

When he nodded, you continued, speaking slowly to avoid waking the sleeping bear that resided within Hotch—the one that got angry and lectured people.

“So what if we show other emotions? Throw them off? They’re organized and live for perfection. Fear is part of the torture they perform, but they won’t be able to if we don’t let things go their way.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

He seemed impressed, his tone hinting at approval. You looked down to hide your blush, and as you pondered your next idea, you began pacing the floor while Hotch sat in his chair. After a while, he realized it had been too long since you started pacing and opened his mouth to stop you.

“Argue!”

Hotch widened his eyes in disbelief. “You want us to argue while we’re kidnapped?”

“Yeah!”

He was trying to match your enthusiasm, but he struggled to comprehend your willingness to argue with him—let alone with anyone. “Are you sure?”

You turned to him, feeling a seed of insecurity beginning to take root. “I think the idea could work well, sir. However, there’s a chance it won’t be effective with me. You can choose someone else from the team if you’d like.”

He immediately recognized that he had done a poor job of reassuring you. “I want you to be there. With me.”

“Are you really su—?”

“I am, Y/N. We will go to the ball and execute the plan.”

You nodded your head, without any further arguments. He used anyone's first name on the team only when he was quite serious.

Before you could speak again, one of the unsubs struck both of you, causing you to flinch in pain.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” one of them yelled, his brows knitted in frustration.

If anyone asked them, they would surely return the two chuckleheads they had kidnapped. You two were effectively ruining their game.

“All of the previous ones shivered in fear before us, begged us to spare their lives, but you two are… bickering?” He toyed with the knife in his hands—the same knife you suspected had been used to stab the female victims multiple times. Stuffing down the feeling of emptiness inside, you forced a sweet smile.

“See, first of all, we were arguing, not bickering,” you huffed, feigning annoyance at their mislabeling rather than genuine fear.

Things I do for this job!

“Exactly. And what are you saying about fear? Try living with this woman—she's a walking nightmare!”

He means dream, actually.

You gasped. “YEAH! You didn’t see the nightmare when you happily accepted my proposal. Oh! Or at the altar?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be here, wearing the ring, would I?” he retorted, giving you a fake smile—more mocking than sincere.

The team had taken care of the rings for the whole undercover mission and made you guys wear them in front of them.You closed your eyes slightly, suddenly remembering the embarrassment of that moment, the heat rising in your cheeks.

The way your cheeks were turning red, Hotch was glad this was a mission and he was not actually married to you; otherwise, he would never be allowed to set foot in the house after the stunt he just pulled. He was definitely sure of that. You were clenching your fists. He wondered whether they were for beating him up or controlling your anger.Your eyes betrayed your frustration, the one you were trying to hide.

She’s a wonderful actor.

“I’m telling you, Aaron. Shut up!”

The way your name rolled off your tongue sounded so soft and fluffy that he could hardly believe it. He knew his heart would ache when you went back to Hotch. He pursed his lips.

“You always complain about me not giving you enough time,” you said, your voice harsh. He nodded in acknowledgment.

You and Hotch could see the team surrounding the room, clad in FBI vests with guns trained on the unsubs. When you glanced at Hotch, he signaled for you to proceed with the plan.

He knew it was risky, but it was a solid strategy to shock them. You were against it. Your face had turned horrified the night before when he explained his plan. It felt as if he had promised you paradise and then snatched it away. You were hesitant at first; he understood, but eventually, you warmed up to the idea.

“Tell me, why should I make time for you when you're always busy at the FBI? In your office, having an affair with your case files,” you said, your tone dripping with feigned anger.

“Like you aren’t in the office, working so hard that you don’t even remember your husband works in the same place.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. You mentally squealed at his use of the term ‘husband.’

How much I wish it were real!

“Wait, what?” one of the unsubs asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

“What?”

“What did you guys just say?” His tone was low, likely from the shock of realizing he had kidnapped two FBI agents.

“You’re FBI?”

“From everything we’ve said, that’s what you gathered?”

As the realization hit him and he raised his gun to shoot you and Hotch, Morgan and Emily barreled into the room, swiftly disarming them. Thus, ending your and Hotch’s plight.

“You know, for being a parent, you are quite adventurous.” You said to Hotch as you walked down the stairs, who in turn moved his head toward you. You were so close that one move and your noses would touch.

“What can I say? Being with you brings out my inner talent,” he answered back, continuing the funny banter you had begun.

You chuckled quietly. “Oh really? Then I probably should tell Garcia about this. She would be really happy for you to try new things.”

“No. I’m pretty happy that those types of adventures are out of my comfort zone,” he added.

“Getting kidnapped comes in your arena, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he let out a laugh.

Lost in the bickering, neither of you noticed anything else. You were so invested in winning and being lost in each other’s eyes that you paid no heed to your surroundings.

The team and the detectives were searching the place for any other evidence or things that needed their attention. Hotch, being the boss, should have been there. He knew that. You knew that, but neither of you made any attempt to move, staying in your place and bickering like an old married couple.

Unbeknownst to you, the hours spent in captivity had forced you out of your comfort zone with him. You were trying to retreat back to your ‘before-you’ self, but it was proving to be a challenge. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Hotch was grappling with similar feelings.

He didn't interact like this with anyone on the team, except Dave, but he had known him before he became Unit Head. When he transitioned from prosecutor to agent and had a wonderful life—not the broken one like now—Dave had been a part of that life. It was easier to share things with the man who had seen him evolve into the man he was today. He would always understand where he was coming from.

On the other hand, the others were too young to be burdened with his matters. They didn't know much about him, and it would be foolish to share too much with them. However, you were the exception.

Suddenly, your gaze landed on a figure at the top of the stairs, his finger poised on the trigger. You instinctively pushed Hotch aside, but you couldn’t move yourself.

Though you had some inkling of what was happening, you felt no pain. Instead, you saw shadows moving around you, felt a shove, and then you were falling, like a ragdoll.

For a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar fluttering stirred in your stomach—not the kind that came for him, but something more alarming.

What the hell? Why does it hurt?

You closed your eyes, wishing the pain would vanish as if it were a fleeting thought. When you opened them again, you found yourself in someone’s arms, both of you on the ground, the ceiling above seeming impossibly high. Your head rested on his forearm.

Honestly, it was getting hard to put together what was going on. You closed your eyes again. But soon, someone was patting your cheeks, asking you to wake up!

Rude! What happened to manners?

As you opened your eyes to scold the intruder, you were met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen. Had you been more lucid, you might have noticed the worry and glistening tears in those eyes. You raised your hand to touch Aaron's face, but it felt impossibly far away.

I need to eat more. I have no energy.

Aaron caught your hand in his.

“It's okay, Y/N. It's okay,” he said softly, a tone you had never heard from him before.

I want to hear his soft voice every day.

A sharp pressure at your wounds made you gasp. You gripped the person’s wrist, trying to stop him, but he didn’t flinch, continuing to apply pressure. Pain shot through you, relentless and overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

He was feeling the pain of getting you shot. One minute, you both were talking, and the next he was on the floor while Reid shot down the assailant.

Hotch grabbed you instinctively, lowering your hand to keep you safe before you could fall hard. His focus was solely on you, blocking out the chaos around you. Just moments ago, he was teasing you, trying to draw you out, and now he was fighting to keep you with him. He never saw the attack coming, but you had, and you had acted heroically to save him.

This moment shouldn't have happened. He took off his jacket hurriedly.

Your darting eyes and panicking face pulled him out of his train of thoughts—more of a train of depressing thoughts. He clutched your hand, trying to provide some comfort, some sort of… anything to keep you from feeling only numbness. To keep you here.

Your breathing grew shallow, and he could feel your heartbeat racing beneath his fingertips.

“Y/N, listen to me. Look at me,” he urged in a firm yet gentle tone, and you complied.

“Take a deep breath. Copy mine.”

He guided your hand to his chest, demonstrating as best he could.

“I know it’s hard. Please, just try,” he said, watching your eyes flutter open and close.

His sole purpose was to comfort you, to ensure you lived. You had to— for the team, for your family, for him.

He pursed his lips and scanned for the paramedics, who should have been there by now. He fought the urge to shout for them as your blood soaked his clothes at a pace that terrified him.

Your groans sent a chill through him, a reminder of the stakes.

How could I have made such a mistake? What did I do?

Dave appeared as if summoned, taking the jacket from Hotch and applying pressure to your wounds. You winced at the pain, squeezing Dave's wrist to distract yourself.

“It’s okay, it's okay, it's okay, Y/N. Don't worry. I need to do this. I’m sorry, but it's required.”

“It hurts,” you said, tears in your eyes.

“I know, I know, Bambina. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve called the paramedics. They’re stuck in traffic,” JJ rushed in, her voice laced with frustration.

“Tell them to hurry!” Hotch snapped.

“I have, but they said it’s going to take time,” JJ replied, anger and helplessness evident in her tone. ��

“It’s okay, JJ,” you said, trying to comfort her despite your own pain.

Hotch’s mind immediately wandered to Kate. Just how similar the situation was. So much blood had been on the road in New York, and he was trying to stop the bleeding while Kate spoke whatever came to her mind. How he tried and failed! Failed Kate. Failed in protecting you. Today again, he had been placed in a similar situation. However, he wouldn't let you lose your life today.

“Make it stop, Aaron. Please, please, please.”

“I’m trying, Y/N.”

He was sure your cries would forever haunt him. The pleas to save you would plague his mind like how Hayley's death did.

“Hotch.” He looked at you.

“What happened?” you asked him, dazed.

“You were shot.”

He could see the delirium in your eyes, the blood still flowing, your head tilting to the side.

“Hey, hey, Y/N. Open your eyes. Keep them open.”

“You're being mean.”

“I would rather be mean than let you lose your life, Y/N,” he said in a desperate tone, wanting you to stay conscious until the medics arrived.

“WHERE ARE THE MEDICS?”

He yelled, succumbing to his instinct to urge them to hurry.

“Don't yell, Aaron, please.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I won't.” Neither of you noticed the slip.

As sirens wailed in the distance, he gathered you into his arms, pressing his jacket to your wounds, and rushed outside, placing you on the gurney. He relayed the necessary information while clutching your hand, reassuring you both that everything would be alright. It had to be.

He looked down at his hands. Covered in blood—your blood—they were crimson, reminiscent of a child's crayon used for innocent drawings. Yet today, the red staining Hotch's hands and sleeves, which he had dismissed, marked your act of sacrifice to save him. Save him. He chuckled bitterly at the thought.

Why on earth would she save me?

He thought about the numerous times he let someone down in various ways. Hayley always topped the list. He had ruined the one good thing in his life back then—the thrill of their early relationship.Guilt wrapped around him like a suffocating embrace every time he was away on a case.Not being there with her, even for a day, felt like a punishment.

However, as time flew, he gained more responsibilities, going from being a newbie on the team to being the Unit Chief when Gideon took the teaching job at the Academy. From worrying about not being home for a day, he became worried about how to solve cases and how to tell his wife he wouldn't be there again.

It was a mess. His life was a mess. He was a mess. And you put your life on the line to save the man who didn’t have anything in his life to live for except for his son.

He could feel the coldness of the hospital’s black seats, on which he was adamantly made to sit. While he tried to give a stare, he was no competition for Dave, who just raised an eyebrow in response.

“How on earth do you plan to help her if you constantly try to land in the hospital, Aaron?”

With an audible sigh, he dropped into the seat beside Garcia, who muttered words that sounded like “She’s going to be okay” and “Don’t worry, Penelope. She’ll come back and confess her love.” Hotch had no idea what she meant.

His eyes drifted toward the operating room. He didn’t know how long he had been staring, lost in thought until he felt a hand resting on his knees. Morgan had placed his hand there, a silent reminder to stop bouncing his legs.

“She’ll be alright,” Spencer said, his voice filled with such conviction that it ignited a flicker of hope in Hotch’s heart, warming the void that had settled since he had held you in his arms, your blood and life slowly leaving your body.

He was struck by how quickly you had integrated into the team, despite having joined not long ago.

He couldn't help but reminisce about the first time you entered the bullpen. He always laughed at that memory. You looked like a child who had entered their favorite toy shop, looking around in the hope of buying the whole shop, even if it was impossible. He could see the way your eyes lit up at every scene they captured.

He concluded that it was probably due to being in the BAU, chalking it up to your dream. If you had such wide, radiant eyes at the prospect of meeting unsubs, then he needed to order an evaluation, stat.

Lost in thought, he didn't realize when he stopped and was basically in your path until you bumped into him and jumped two feet back as if you had just been electrocuted. Maybe you did, because he felt a spark through his body when you made contact. He shook his head slightly, hoping not to be noticed, and focused on your apologizing self.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn't see you there, Sir. I was—”

“No worries, Agent. It happens,” he reassured, sensing your anxiety and hoping to quell the panic rising in you.

He didn't know why, but the way you reacted stuck with him. As time went on, he couldn't help but notice how you reacted to things. It was rather wrong of him to profile you, but after being on this job for so long, he did it naturally. He sensed that your fidgeting stemmed from some past trauma, a lingering shadow you carried.

Once, Garcia and Reid came into the office, looking downright nervous.

“Sir, we want to ask you something, and we don't know if you’re gonna get upset, but we need to ask. We don’t mean it in a negative way—”

“Yeah, it’s just we’ve noticed things and thought we should clarify. We know you couldn’t do it, but—”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, hoping to get them out of the awkward situation they had placed themselves in.

“Have you said something to Y/N?”

“In what context?” He didn't know where this was going. He talked to you about many things—from cases to asking about your mental health to your godson’s picture, which you kept on your desk, and whose soccer game you attended where you met Aaron—and he knew they could be talking about anything.

“Sir, we’ve seen the way she fumbles and the constant fidgeting with her bracelet. So, we thought you had scared my new favorite pookie,” she said, now herself looking scared to stand in front of her boss.

“No, I didn’t, Garcia and Reid,” he said, addressing the genius as well, who looked at him with fear, the expression screaming, If you scare my friend, I won’t leave you. “I am not aware of the reason she does it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not behind it.”

At that moment, the reason for your anxiety walked onto the floor, flanked by a cadre of guards. He was a significant figure, an employer who provided for many—but to you, he was the man responsible for your fear.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor called out.

“Yes.” The answer came in unison, and the team exchanged glances as Hotch stepped forward.

“The operation was successful. We’ll keep her under observation for a few days, but she’s going to make a full recovery.”

They sighed in relief at the news and thanked the doctor, who walked away smiling. Hotch felt his knees ready to collapse with the sheer amount of relief he experienced. He shuddered, thinking of everything that had happened during the last few hours. Hearing the news about you brought a smile to his face. His professionalism faded into something more intimate, a shared feeling of happiness growing inside his chest at the thought of you being okay again.

Suddenly, a commotion drew their attention—doctors, senior staff, arriving to greet a man Hotch didn’t recognize.

“She’s doing okay now. The bullets went through, but we repaired the damage. She’ll be just fine,” one of the doctors assured.

Then the gruff voice reached him. “Are you SSA Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Arthur Y/L/N, Y/N’s father.”

“Hello, sir.” Hotch extended a firm handshake.

“And I assume this is the team, right?”

Everyone either nodded their heads or, in some cases, gave a little wave. However, the common factor was that they all looked confused.

“None of you got injured?” he demanded.

Hotch maintained his stoic demeanor while Emily replied, “No, sir.”

Arthur snorted. “Shows Y/N’s incompetence, doesn’t it?”

The team stiffened, sensing the tension. Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I know, I know. She isn’t cut out for this agent thing. I’ve known her since she was a child. I know her capabilities.”

Morgan and Reid exchanged incredulous glances, fully aware of your remarkable capabilities in fighting, learning, and prioritizing. Rossi shot them a warning glance, suppressing the urge to confront the man standing before them.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the audacity of Arthur Y/L/N cut him off, allowing the tirade to continue.

“Her decision-making ability was nonexistent from the very beginning. If I hadn’t guided her, she wouldn’t have even finished her studies—she’d probably be stuck with a GED or something. I know, Agent Hotchner, it takes a great deal of skill to thrive in this field.”

No, you don’t, Hotch thought, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Mr. Arthur Y/L/N sighed as if he couldn’t help but stop, having so much to say but not wanting to expose his problem child.

“I hope, Agent Hotchner, you make the right decision now. You’ve seen how she ended up in the hospital. What good could it do for her to stay? If she leaves the FBI, your headache would vanish. I have my son handling my business right now—he could do something for her.”

Listening to him talk about you—a friend, a daughter figure, perhaps even a future lover—filled everyone with rage, yet no one dared to speak. They knew Hotch would take care of it; he didn’t need their help.

“Listen, Mr. Y/L/N. Y/N is the most hardworking and dedicated agent I’ve ever encountered. So don’t you dare speak ill of her,” Hotch said, stepping closer, his anger simmering as he examined the features you had inherited from this man. The thought of you living under his shadow sickened him.

“The decision I’m about to make is to have you removed for speaking against a federal agent and trespassing when she doesn’t want you here.”

“How would you know that?” Arthur challenged.

“I’m pretty sure she never contacted you after moving out. You must have people watching her closely; you got here too quickly for someone who wasn’t even contacted. By the way, I just remembered—you aren’t her emergency contact.”

Hotch was. A fact he was pretty joyful and grateful about, despite how he felt he had broken your trust.

“A father having his daughter trailed just to know about her speaks volumes. Do you know she’s afraid to speak because she doesn’t want to be a bother, doesn’t want to be scolded just because you used to talk to her like that? She cut all contact with you so she wouldn’t have to be near you, so it would be best if you leave before I take drastic measures.” His voice rose, startling Garcia.

Now, everything fell into place for everyone in the room, and their hearts broke.

How could a father be like this?

They had encountered many men like Arthur, but they had hoped that beneath your caring exterior lay a loving family—something none of them had ever known. But they forgot that none of them had any chance of that; otherwise, they wouldn’t be in the BAU.

“Jack is lucky to have you as his father.” Your comment now made more sense in Hotch’s mind.

“She’s just another agent to you. You can dispose of her. No need to make a fuss,” Arthur continued with a crooked smile.

“She’s not an item you can dispose of. She’s a person, an individual. She’s special to many people.”

“Oh yeah? Who is she important to? To you?”

“Yes. And if I ever see you near her without her permission, I won’t hesitate to get a restraining order. I’m letting you off this time because you’re her father.”

“I will end your career, Agent Hotchner,” Arthur threatened, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Try your best.” Hotch turned and walked toward your room, leaving Arthur to simmer in his anger.

“What a pretty face to wake upto.” you said, making him move his head from the window he had been looking out of, thinking about your father. You looked at him with a soft smile.

As you offered the compliment, Hotch felt an unexpected warmth flood his cheeks, a rare blush creeping up beneath his usually stoic demeanour. His heart quickened, betraying the calm facade he so often maintained.

It was a warmth that contrasted sharply with the wan smile Arthur had worn. Hotch felt a surge of protectiveness. Hotch was sure he would have done something if your father hadn’t left quietly. However, he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t have regretted it. He would never regret standing up for any of his teammates—especially not for you. Hotch smiled softly.Yes, you bore a resemblance to your father, but you radiated warmth and humanity that set you apart. And you had a very pretty smile.

When you finally woke up, it felt surreal. Before you sat the man of your dreams, the one who had invaded your thoughts for months.

I know I have a crush on you, but geez! Stay out of my dreams!

You squinted at him, still dazed.

“Was he here?”

“Who?” Hotch feigned ignorance, but you shot him a look that he recognized as one Dave had taught you.

“How do you know?”

As far as he knew, no one except the medical staff had been in your room.

“Your face. I have a talent for reading expressions, especially yours.”

“Seriously?”

“No. The nurse mentioned you argued with him earlier.”

“I’m sorry for—”

“Don’t. You did me a favor, Aaron.”

“Wow! Your name sounds nice,” you mumbled, and Hotch felt his heart swell. He knew the medication had you loopy, but he was genuinely flattered.

“Then also—”

“Shhh. Just listen. I would have fought him too.”

Your gaze held his, and he felt the weight of everything between you—the unspoken connection, the shared warmth. His usually stoic expression softened as he grasped your hand.

“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. I’m here for you.” He smiled, and you returned it, a spark igniting in the air between you. For the first time in a long while, there was hope.

From the doorway, the rest of the team watched, unable to tear their eyes away from the chemistry crackling between you and Hotch. It was a warmth that cut through the sterile chill of the hospital, a bond forged in adversity.

“What just happened?” Prentiss whispered.

“I believe we just witnessed the start of a love story,” Rossi replied with a knowing smirk.

“Bossman is in love,” Morgan added, grinning.

“Well, it’s better than watching them steal glances at each other and be awkward,” JJ said, smiling at the prospect.

“Actually, it’s going to be more. They’re bound to evolve into more affectionate gestures,” Reid chimed in.

“Nooo. It’ll be cringeworthy, but the blackmail potential would be priceless,” Morgan teased.

“Oh my! We can use this for their wedding speech!” Garcia exclaimed.

“Wedding?” Rossi raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” JJ admitted.

“Yeah, probably they won’t even start dating anytime soon,” Prentiss added.

“You haven’t been in love, Em. I’m telling you, they’re going to get married soon,” Garcia insisted.

But in that moment, as Hotch stood by your bedside, he felt the flicker of hope—perhaps even love—beginning to ignite in the space between you. A new chapter was unfolding, filled with promise, support, and a chance for happiness.

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softestqueeen · 1 month ago

Text

✧*̥˚ emily prentiss fic recs *̥˚✧

a/n: omw to spread the lesbian agenda with the queen.

✨ favourites

my criminal minds masterlis

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

full of wonders by @foxy-eva

after hours by @badathumanemotions (feat. spencer reid)

tease by -//-

the getaway by @thir10th

oh make me over by @cxrrodedcoffin

ring ring by @sykoangels

touchy by @illdowhatiwantthanks

have a taste by @rainydayathogwarts

✧*̥˚ fluff *̥˚✧

Dating Emily Prentiss Headcanons by @pinkponyglitter

lethargic by @emilys-bangs

midas touch by -//-

clingy emily blurb by -//-

sweet nothing by -//-

coming out by @illdowhatiwantthanks

drunk in love by @catssluvr

✧*̥˚ jemily x reader *̥˚✧

picture mail by @msschemmenti

✧*̥˚ honorable mentions *̥˚✧

@emilys-bangs I her masterlist

if you want your work removed, dm me!

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dalamjisung · 3 months ago

Text

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 2: He's not yours to keep

genre: more angst than fluff, but I swear fluff is coming up next!

word count: 5562

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you are trying to make sense of all this mess, but it's time to learn that, sometimes, things are just messy and chaotic and you have to learn to look for the silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: I am absolutely over the moon with the response I've gotten on this series and I'm really thankful for all the love and support <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

You don’t usually dream.

Well, actually, if you tell Spencer that, he will say that you’re wrong– you do dream, you just don’t remember it. It’s common, not really recalling the scenes your brain conjure, Spencer would say; it can be due to a series of factors including high levels of stress and poor sleep. He would then tell you to stay home for a day, read a good book, and drink one of his fancy teas Penelope got for him a long time ago.

But the thing is, Spencer can’t really tell you any of it.

Not when you seem to be avoiding him even inside his own home.

It starts after you wake up still in his armchair, feeling exhausted and disgustingly sticky, you finally have a couple of moments to yourself. Spencer is still sleeping, and you’re actually surprised to see him stretched out on the couch– his tie is throw on his coffee table, the purple colour suddenly too bright in the dim apartment, but otherwise, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. You don’t understand why he didn’t change into pyjamas, but then again, you don’t understand much of anything right now.

So you go through the facts.

One by one, you list them in your mind– and little by little it dawns on you just how bad this really is. It’s hard, conceptualising that this is reality; that you really do have a psychopath targeting you. It’s the kind of thing that you only saw in those TV shows you loved to binge on late night, the kind of thing you read on the newspaper, happening to other people, but never really you. Except, it is happening to you, and you are not sure what to do next. Do you just sit and wait for her to make a move? Do you continue to live your life normally? How? How are you supposed to ignore the fact that a, as Agent Hotchner had described her, ‘prolific serial killer’ might know who are?

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, head falling in your hands. The watch on your wrist, an old, analogue thing your mom had given you before you left New York, is pointing to a time you would never have been awake before. 5:23 in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and you have hours before you have to open the store, but then again, you have to clean the mess that was left behind due to your rushed departure from it. You wince, disgusted at the thought of having to clean old vomit from the floor, and disgusted with the bitter taste it left behind. Right now, you are a shell of a human being and you need to get yourself back together.

You follow a familiar routine of recovery. It’s something you’ve done before and something you will surely have to do again, and it all starts with a simple list.

Firstly, you need to get up. You need to stretch your legs, throw them to the side, and stand. You need to walk, remind your self that you can still make your own path even if it’s only to the bathroom down the hall.

Then, you need to brush your teeth. The bitter taste stuck to your mouth makes you wince with memories that you want to bury.

Showering would be your third step, but this is not your home. This is not your space, and these are not your things.

A pettier side of you, one that is bothered and angry and irritated in a superficial level, wants to march back out to the living room, as loudly as you can, and shake Spencer away. You want to wake him up at the crack of dawn and make him share your torment, because in some level, even if you try to push against it, you blame him. Deep inside, you know that there is a big difference between the two– between blaming him and it being his fault. One is purposeful, conscious; it’s a decision you take and lay on his head. If you blame him, you commit yourself to hate him. The latter, however, is a fact. It’s irrefutable and immutable as the fact that you need air to live. It is his fault, but it was not his goal.

“He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault,” You whisper to yourself, pushing yourself off the sink to try and figure out his shower. It is his house, that’s a fact. But you also deserve a nice, warm shower, and that is another fact. He pushed you to come stay with him, so you need to also push yourself to feel comfortable in this space that feels so foreign to your senses. “He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault.”

The words become your mantra. He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault. Somewhere in you, you know you have what it takes to forgive, but you just don’t have what it’s needed to forget. By repeating those words, you allow your brain to slowly process this situation as what it is– something that happened because of him, but not by him. As much as you want someone to blame, someone to scream at, Spencer Reid just isn’t that person.

It takes you a moment to realise you don’t really have a towel or any of your products here, and using Spencer’s shampoo just feels… odd. Like an invasion of his space almost. “Oh thank god for you, Spencer,” You sighed, happy to see the pairing of shampoo and conditioner sitting perfectly on the corner. His hair had been one of the first things you noticed about him, all chestnut and shaggy and longish, but you are aware that not every man knows the basic of self-care. There is something about the way his smell takes over the bathroom, floating with the evaporation of the warm water hitting your skin, makes you smile. You feel closer to Spencer than you’ve ever been, and that is when your sense of danger hits. Your heart starts speeding, and your breathing is suddenly really shallow, and you’re trying to come out of the shower, to breathe in cold air, but all you get is humid mist and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe at all, you can’t–

“Spencer!” You gasp, eyes wide in desperation once your legs feel like they might just give out. Scrambling to hold yourself up, your hands knock over some things in the counter, making more noise on top of the running shower. “SPENCER!”

“What? What? What– oh my god,” The door slams against the wall and back, almost hitting him on the side when he crouched down next to your naked, curled up body. It’s quite unnatural for you to witness, him jumping into action so fast, like he is trained to make these decisions in a split second. But then you remember that he actually is trained to make these quick choices– like grabbing the towel before anything else, covering you without a single quip about your nakedness; like sitting you up and putting your back against the wall; like turning off the shower and sitting back down right next to you, breathing deeply and loudly. It’s unconscious, how you let your breathing fall in line with his, and it takes a moment to realise he’s doing this on purpose. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“No,” You whisper, shaking from either the cold or the nerves or both. There are goosebumps all over your legs, the towel not covering you much from the top of your thighs down. “Spencer, I’m not okay. I’m… Until yesterday, you were just the adorable guy who shared my love for books. Y-You’d come into the store smiling and we’d talk and talk and– and now I have a serial killer possibly tracking me. How am I supposed to be okay? I’m so scared… oh god, I’m so scared, Spencer…” The one thing you are proud, amidst your utter embarrassment, is that you are not crying anymore. You still sound a bit rough, throat tired and hurting, and there is no energy left in you and he can hear that, you know he can, because when your voice echoes in the silent bathroom, kicking from wall to wall, you hear it too– the exhaustion and the numbness and the emptiness left behind.

“I-I’m still that guy,” He stutters, head falling down in shame but voice still twinged with something resembling hope. “I love books. I love talking to you about books, I love going to your store first thing in the morning. I’m still this guy, I just… I just happen to work for the FBI.”

“Yeah, but I… I think that after having my life turned upside down because of a serial killer who has a crush on you, I’m just not that same girl.”

That is the last time you talk to him that day.

—————————————

Actually, that was the last time you talked to him that entire week.

After he dropped you at the store that day and you were forced to face the embarrassing remnants of your lowest moment in life, moping old vomit from the floor, that feeling of turmoil in your chest died down. It settled. And it hardened.

He tried making conversation on the walk back to his, but you’re clearly not up for it, so his voice slowed down, getting lower and lower, until it stopped altogether. This time, you shower before bed and make a beeline to the armchair again, letting Spencer’s begs and pleas for you to sleep on the bed fall in deft ears.

For five days, you two don’t talk.

It’s a dance of chaos, how you step around each other at the apartment, and seeing him biting his words back or catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes makes you feel guilty; of course it does. But you know that you can’t help him right now. Even if you were to forgive him, to force your mercy onto the situation, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would give him a false sense of relief while you’d forever be uncomfortable next to him, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to feel on edge next to Spencer, you don’t want to feel nauseous and scared when you’re with him. You want to talk about books and coffee and favourite places to order take out from. Instead, all you get to do is talk about her.

It would be a lie to say you don’t feel slightly jealous with the way that his mind seems to be so wrapped around Cat Adams. The imposed talking ban is hard on you both, that much you know, but the more Spencer let it happen, the more he let it stretch out and continue, the more you feel like maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe what is hard for him is the awkward tension trapped in his own apartment, rather than the pain of seeing each other so close yet not being able to laugh like you used to. And you know– you know how ridiculous your thought are, how childish you’re acting, but you can’t really blame yourself for being so on edge lately, not when your emotions are so zip and zapping through your body like thunder and lightening.

There are exceptions, though. In this case three exceptions, three moments in a day in which he brakes the ban, and you, for once, allow yourself some weakness.

“Good morning,” Is moment one. He says that every day, when he blinks himself awake on the couch. Ever since you’ve been there, a total of six days now, Spencer has slept on the couch, right next to the armchair you’ve claimed as your own. For these, you meet his eyes and nod, as if saying same to you.

Breakfast is quiet. He makes coffee and you make eggs, because despite you being there under forced circumstances, you are not going to be ungrateful and so you pay him back by getting groceries and cooking most meals. Which leads you to exception number two– the moment when he drops you at the bookstore.

You two walk there at 8 and he’s gone by 8:07, giving you enough time to mumble a “Be safe,” and give him his lunch for the day. He tried telling you that you didn’t have to cook for him, but you don’t really listen. As pathetic as it seems, this is the one way you’ve found to keep what you two had before, alive.

The third exception is the one that truly breaks your heart, again and again. It’s when he gets home, and he looks exhausted, and his hands fidget with the files he holds close to his chest. You are the first thing he looks for, and you almost melt at the way his shoulders visibly relax when he spots you– always ready for bed, always in the armchair. He stopped trying to come get you at the bookstore at night once you’ve agreed to let the officers walk you home. The spare key he added to your keychain should hold a bigger meaning than it does, though it feels like it does hold a bigger weight. A means to an end, you tell yourself every time you unlock his front door. This is just a means to an end. “Thank you,” he will then say, before he even moves to the kitchen to see whatever it was on the plate you had made and set in the microwave for him. “And good night.” By then, you’re already semi-asleep and you don’t really say anything.

You never thought you would miss these forbidden exceptions when they’re gone.

You know that travel is a big part of Spencer’s job, but with all that is going on, you never really considered the fact that he might need to leave for a few days. At least not until he calls you, right before you lock the store. The irregularity of it all has you scrambling to pick it up. “Spencer?” You barely whisper, voice cracking in half as little by little, you freeze up. The sensation is like ice running through your veins, burning it’s way to your heart until it makes it stop. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” He quickly answers, voice rushed in a way that makes you relax. He always talks fast and you find it incredibly endearing, even during these times apart. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m calling because we got a case.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Y/N, that means they need us in Ohio. Today.” He seems almost hesitant to tell you he needs to leave the state.

And you are as hesitant to accept it. “Oh,” You mumble, suddenly needing to making sure the officer assigned to you is still outside and ready to go. “Okay. Do… Do you need clothes or something?”

Spencer’s chuckle almost makes it all okay. Almost. “No, thank you. I just– I want you to be comfortable, okay? Feel free to sleep in my bed and do anything you want to do, I don’t mind! Feel at home! Just… be comfortable.”

For a second you nod, forgetting he can’t see you right now. “Okay. Thank you.”

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You started biting your nails when you were twelve and middle school was kicking your ass. To this day, right now, you still bite them when you’re nervous.

“It’s good hearing your voice.”

Going home and knowing he won’t be there is not as comforting as you thought it could be. The two of you are not speaking and the constant walking on egg shells does get tiring, so you try to rationalise this as something that is just not that bad. Maybe Spencer going on his mysterious trips is not that bad anymore. Before, your curiosity was your downfall– you worried he had gotten sick or worse. However, you don’t think knowing the truth is much better. The nature of his job is incredibly dangerous, and you don’t even know much about it. Now, you still worry, that much hasn’t changed. What has changed, though, is that getting sick would be considered lucky. Right now, you worried about the ‘or worse’.

Your mom’s voice fills the empty space for a while. She texted you a couple of days ago and you just now got around to calling. “Sweetheart, how do we switch to video again? I want to see your face.” Alarm bells sound off in your mind and you immediately shut down the idea. “Sorry mom, I can’t right now. I’ll video call you tomorrow, okay? I’m cooking dinner right now.” Her worry is that of a mother, comforting like a blanket and familiar like a home. It is not, though, the worry you want.

For obvious reasons, you don’t tell her what’s going on, much rather preferring to tell her about the mundane things that keep you going. “And I sold out of the book!” You say, a short-lived excitement running through you. “It’s quite exciting, mom– since I opened the shop I have never sold out of anything! This is a first!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She says, and you can’t help but wonder how Spencer would’ve reacted to the news if he was there. It’s only then that you realise you’re halfway through making him a plate for when he comes home, except he won’t be back until the case is complete and you gulp, too aware of the common noises you hear around you.

This is when you realise how much you miss you Spencer. And how much, even if unconsciously, he makes you feel comfortable and safe. You thought it was the apartment, but now, by yourself, laying on the armchair yet again, you feel vulnerable and exposed. Footsteps can be heard from time to time, neighbours getting home or leaving for the night, and every time, without a fault, you hold your breath and wait. Maybe the door will open and she will be there, or maybe it will be another delivery. God, it could be anything– a letter, flowers, another box. Knowing that Cat Adams had such easy access to Spencer’s apartment is enough to get you up and running to his room.

Green. The walls are green, muted and cozy, and you smile even when your eyes sting with tears. There is a hole in your heart right now and it’s Spencer shaped. “God,” You groan, rubbing your tears clean so aggressively that it hurts. “When did things get so fucked up?”

There’s no real answer to that, and you if you think any longer about this, your brain might just implode. For now, all you need is to sleep, but that won’t happen for a while; not with the way your heart speeds up at every crackle coming from his old, metal heather. Still, the chill air of Autumn seeps in through the walls, and you shiver. I want you to be comfortable, Spencer had said before leaving, and you might be crossing some boundaries right now, but you need him close to feel comfortable. You might not be able to get him, but the next best thing you have right now is one of his sweaters, and you have no qualms about opening his wardrobe and grabbing the first thing you find. Ironically enough, it’s an FBI Academy hoodie, though you can’t really imagine Spencer and all his formal glory in a hoodie. You put it on, nonetheless, shutting the door with your foot and just as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of something. Something big, and beige, and bone chilling.

The box.

In the heat of the moment, you simply thought he had throw it away. Hell, it would’ve made sense to throw it away! What the fuck was that box doing there…? With a shaky breath, you open the wardrobe door again, hoping, praying, that you were actually hallucinating and that what you saw was nothing but a shoe box or a bag. “God, please, be a bag, be a bag…” Safe to say, your words are in vain. “Fuck, Spencer, what is wrong with you?”

You’re shaking when you pull the box out of its hiding place, breathing shallow and fast. Reason escapes you as you quickly open it, not worried about how it was or even about putting it back in place; if it was up to you, this box would’ve been gone a long time ago. Clearly, it had not been up to you. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.”

Expectations are a tricky thing to deal with. When it comes to your life, you never expected anything big. You know your limitation better than anyone and the largest you’ve dreamt before was the store. You didn’t expect an FBI agent. You didn’t expect a serial killer. And you certainly didn’t expect a box full of sex toys. “What the…” You don’t want to touch them, not with your bare hands, but it looks like there are tens of toys in there, varying in shapes and sizes and colours. It makes you wonder… last he told you, her games are psychological and manipulative. From what you are seeing, though, this is incredibly physical. This is about touch and intimacy and… fuck. This is about connection. You don’t have to be a profiler to know that, not when you are so secretive about your own toys, hidden in the back of your besides drawer away from unwanted eyes. It’s a private thing, and only people you trusted, people you let into your life, knew about them.

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush to find your phone. It’s somewhere in the house, and you need to find it, you need to call him. “Pick up,” You whisper when you finally find it in the living room, under your favourite blanket on the chair. Even your fingers are shaking, vision a bit blurred from the adrenaline rushing through you– you feel like you’re in danger, and you don’t know what to do. “Spence, pick up, pick up, please pick up–“

“Hello?” You almost cry when you hear his raspy voice on the other side. It doesn’t make you feel any better to think that you might just have woken him up.

“Spencer,” You whine, embarrass with how needy you sound. The nice officer that brought you home is standing outside the door, and you could’ve gone to him– could’ve opened the door, asked him to stay inside, talk to him a little. Or you could’ve called Penelope. She had given you her number with promises that more often then not, she stayed behind to work from the BAU office. There is no place safer than my office, she had promised you, but how do you tell her that the problem is not your environment, it’s not where you are or what you’re doing… how do you tell her that the problem is you? She might not understand it so you don’t even dare try to explain it. You don’t dare to give her and the team this part of yourself too and you shut your mouth with a firm hand over your lips.

Memories of a life you left behind flash behind your eyes, and you whimper, hugging your knees to your chest while you hear him desperately calling for you. As far as you can, you kick that godforsaken box away from you. “Y/N?! Y/N, say something, please! Are you okay? Y/N!”

“I’m here,” You whisper, pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.’

“What’s going on?”

“Spencer, I–” A moment of regret and hesitation makes you pause. What can he even do all the way from Ohio? “I want to go home.”

You’re not his priority.

You’ll never be his priority.

There is no point to this.

“…did something happen?” This is the Spencer you know– voice soft and guarded– and for a second it feels like you two are getting to know each other all over again. “Did officer Kaper make you uncomfortable? I’ll ask for a change of guard, I’ll–“

“N-No,” You cut him off with a shaky exhale. Your head falls on your free hand, finger tangled with your messy hair, and you tug on it. Sharply, the tingly pain on your scalp grounds you for a second, brings you back to this situation you created. “No, Spence, no no no, I just want to go home, I need to go home, I–“

“Y/N, breathe,” He coaches you as gently as he can, voice stable and strong, everything you seem to be lacking. “You’re going to set yourself off in a panic again if you don’t breathe. You’re safe in my apartment, okay? I know it’s not the same as being home, I know, but you’re safe there!”

“You’re not here, Spence!”

There is a moment of silence for both of you. “You’re not here and you didn’t throw that fucking box away,” You whisper, keeping the moment something in between just the two of you. It’s enough that you are falling apart like this in front of Spencer, you don’t need officer Kaper bursting in the door to witness this too.

“You found the box,” He sighs. This is the first time you notice just how tired he sounds.

“I found the box,” You confirm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to not start crying all over again.

“It’s evidence. I can’t throw it away, Y/N.”

“Why is it here?”

“I’ve been working on the case on my free time and it just made sense to keep it at home…”

“Spence, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe,” You admit, shaking your head. “I don’t feel safe here when you’re not here, Spence, I want to go home.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“Spencer…” He has a point, though, and you know it. This is the first time you two speak in days, the first time you experience this type of comfort again, but it’s still not enough. He’s still not here, next to you, watching over you. He’s still not with you. “Spencer, I’m sorry.”

“Silly girl, why are you apologising?” He asks, chuckling on the other side and you can picture him– you can see him shaking his head, hair falling around his pretty face like a perfect picture frame when his eyes, pure honey with specks of green, search for yours. Yeah… you can imagine it to perfection, almost like you are the one with eidetic memory. “This is all my fault. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N and I’m trying to protect you, so I need you to stay there, okay? I need you to stay in my apartment, please.”

You don’t know what to tell him. Your eyes wander around the room, looking at all the details he left behind without even noticing. There is a copy of Dostoevsky on the bed side table. I hate Russian literature, you remember telling him once. He was in the shop, bringing you coffee, when you caught a glimpse of a book you certainly didn’t sell him. And I’m appalled you’ve been buying books somewhere else. The way he laughed then, like his biggest problem in the world was explaining to you that this had been a gift from a friend and that he would never betray your trust like this. What do you hate so much about it?, he had asked, leaning over the counter and into you, eager to debate this topic he loved so much. I hate that it’s all about suffering. Even the moments of realisation and self-improvement, they are all through suffering and misery. And of course he had a retort to that, fingers twitching with his enthusiasm. But it’s contextual, you see! Those were written in time of civil unrest and political chaos, and it makes sense to have characters and plot lines that revolve around suffering when that is all you know from the world around you. To this day, your answer paralyses you. I’m a believer in silver linings and happy endings. And not because I’m naive or ignorant, but because the world around me has made me believe that there must be something better out there. Isn’t that nicer?

“Y/N, please tell me you’ll stay there, I need you to stay there.”

His words almost escape you, but you catch them in the very last minute. It gives you a glimpse into a side of him he has yet to show you, and it absolutely shatters your heart in bits. I need you to stay there, he had said. Not you need to stay there, but I need you to stay there. Suddenly, you realise that this– all of this, the relocation, the involvement of the FBI, the dropping off and picking up– is not just for you.

“I’ll stay here,” Whispering with him like this helps. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy you called.”

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, but Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe. I need you back here.”

“I’ll be home in no time.”

For a second, you trust him. You trust everything will be okay, that you can make everything okay until he gets back, and then you’ll pass the responsibility onto him. For a second, you trust him, but you also trust yourself.

Everything will be okay.

You fall asleep like this; wearing his hoodie and hugging your phone, nose buried on his pillow in hopes to dream of him. The sun wakes you up, and there are birds chirping at your window. Despite the heaviness you feel in you and dooming headache you know will settle soon, the romantic in you believes that today will be a good day. That today will be an okay day.

“Miss Y/L/N? It’s officer Kaper.”

The knock doesn’t scare you anymore. On days one through three it had you jumping on air, heart about to stop from how fast it was beating. Days four and five were easier, less scary and more anxious, waiting for the punctual 9AM knock. From day six onwards, it was a welcome start to your day, knowing that someone is looking after you.

You check the fisheye like Spencer told you to, and then you open the door only when you recognise the face on the other side. “Good morning, Officer,” You smile, nodding at him a bit stiffly. The two of you had been formally introduced by JJ, but it didn’t make this any less awkward for you. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” He nods, smiling as he comes inside with his usual stack of mail. Everyday, without fail, someone picks up your mail and brings it to Officer Kaper. “Here’s your mail for the day, ma’am.”

“How was the night shift?” It’s almost like a scripted conversation, these back and forth questions you throw at each other, and you’re finding that you hate this. You hate the stiff conversations and the self-imposed bans. But this is day two, and in just more two days, Spencer would be home. And you would talk to him, just like you used to before, just like you did over the phone. Nothing will change; you’re not going home any time soon and Cat Adams isn’t going to just magically disappear. It’s time to accept it and learn how to live with it, as hard as that sounds.

Sifting through your mail has to be your favourite part of the day. It’s normal, slightly boring, and a peek into the routine you used to have and love. No one ever sends you letters, so it’s just bills. “Water, electricity, marketing, marketing,” The coffee is brewing in the background and Officer Kaper is telling you about his daughter. She’s a tiny girl, just two and very, very shy, but apparently, she loves stories. “I might have a book for her,” You get distracted from the letters for a second, smiling at the kind officer. “I’ll bring it to you later tonight!”

When you look back again, it’s the one on top.

The envelope is white, like any other letter, and it has no thing in the back but your name and address scribbled in red, a big heart right next to it. “Uh, Officer, this is… this is weird.” You’ve been instructed to let someone know if you received anything unlabelled or unexpected. This letter is certainly unexpected. “It has no return address.”

“May I open it?” He asks and you nod. He opens it with a knife, pulling a small piece of paper inside. “Okay, it seems like a normal letter. There is no signature of any kind.”

“What does it say?” You’re nervous now, walking around Officer Kaper to read over his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“Does this mean anything to you?”

Nodding, you’re dialling Spencer’s number already. “It means I’m fucked.”

On the table, laid a message you’d never forget.

He’s not yours to keep.

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

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unseededtoast · 1 year ago

Text

When Was It Over? | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: You had suspicions that another woman was receiving Spencer’s affections, and one night your worst fears are confirmed. Heartbroken, you try to move on but find yourself contemplating when things went wrong, and when it was all over. Inspired by “Is It Over Now?” By Taylor Swift

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.7k

content warnings: infidelity, angst, mention of blood

a/n: thank all of you lovelies for taking the time and reading, I appreciate each and every one of you. But especially to @mirdnightmass who suggested this, thank you🫶🏼 and if you have any suggestions please send them my way!

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

Reading the words on your phone screen cause you stomach to turn with anxiety. Spencer had texted you that he will be home from a case tonight, and that he'd like to come over. Usually, this wouldn't be an issue and you'd be overjoyed to see him. But lately you suspect that there might be someone else entering the picture.

Your suspicions started small. He'd take phone calls that weren't from his boss, he would purposely order an extra coffee in the mornings to take to work, and he started working later than usual. Though you had no concrete proof of anything, it was a gut feeling that you just can't seem to shake.

But you push your anxiety aside and text Spencer back, letting him know that he's more than welcome to come over tonight. And as soon as you send the message, you put your phone away and clean your home to occupy your thoughts.

All too soon, Spencer's knocking on your door and you let him in with a smile on your face. He kisses you as he comes through, smelling oddly sweet. Fighting the urge to throw up, you convince yourself not to overreact until you're certain there's someone else in his life.

Throughout the evening, while the two of you are tangled together on the couch, you peek at him out of the corner of your eye and wonder where things started going wrong. There's a tension between the two of you, and though unspoken, its presence is well known.

You remember how only a few short months ago you would have been beyond excited to spend an evening with Spencer, and now you find yourself counting down the minutes until he leaves. He used to shower you in love and affection, but now his hand barely grazes your thigh.

When Spencer leaves for the night, he kisses your cheek and wishes you a goodnight. You realize as you shut the door that he hadn't told you that he loved you once.

- - - - -

Two weeks pass and Spencer has once again come back home from a case. This time his message asks you if you'd like to come over to his apartment. And you tell him you'll be there, but there's an odd sinking feeling residing in your chest.

Later in the evening you go to Spencer's apartment with distant memories dancing in your head. It seems like just yesterday you came here for the first time, bright eyed and head over heels in love with your boyfriend, who couldn't have been more perfect.

You walk in and place your coat on the rack beside the door, smiling at Spencer who stands with his hands in his pockets. Biting the insides of your cheeks, you wonder if he's even going to lay a finger on you tonight.

"How was your day?" He finally breaks the silence and you nod your head,

"It was okay. Just went to work and now I'm here." The conversation feels like one between new coworkers, not significant others of three years.

"Come on in, I rented your favorite movie and dinner should be here any minute." He finally takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head atop yours.

Feeling his arms hold you for the first time in almost a month is almost enough to drive you to tears. You take in his scent as it comforts you, and you nuzzle your head into his chest, wishing that whatever was happening between the two of you would pass and things would go back to normal. You miss Spencer's affections, your heart yearns to hear him declare his love for you.

After dinner, the two of you retire in the living room where you take your usual spot on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped over the back, and you pull it over top of you, but your heart stops once it lands in your lap.

Spencer walks into the room after getting a glass of water, but he falls short of sitting beside you. He must've noticed something was wrong in the way you're sat on the couch.

While Spencer watches, you grab the hair between your thumb and pointer finger, pulling it through the fabric and hold it in front of you, eyes meeting Spencer's. Your hand shakes as adrenaline pumps through you, Spencer's jaw falls slack.

"What is this?" Your voice is oddly even and calm given the situation. Spencer's mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat and answers you.

"A friend had to crash here for a few nights." He admits, and you wonder why you're just now hearing of this.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

"JJ, I work with her." He says, eyes casting down to the hair still in your grasp. Your heart wildly pumps in your chest.

"So you weren't going to tell me that a woman was staying the night with you?" Finally releasing the hair from your grasp, the realization dawns on you and it's like the puzzle pieces you'd collected over the last few weeks have suddenly put themselves together.

"No, she just needed a place to sleep for a few nights." He says, like he's also trying to convince himself of the same thing.

"Spencer don't lie to me. I know you've been taking coffee to her in the mornings, you've been staying later, and the last time you came over you smelled like her." Your voice starts to shake and you step away from Spencer. Tears well in your eyes and you beg your body not to betray you right now.

"She's just a friend." Is all Spencer refutes your argument with. Your head shakes back and forth, the reality setting in.

"Spencer you've taken better care of her than you have me. Hell, last time we saw each other you barely touched me and you didn't even tell me you love me. And tonight you're doing the same thing." Your throat feels like it's closing up from battling your emotions.

As you wait for him to say something, anything, your bottom lip trembles. Where did this all go wrong? Was there anything you could've done? Could you have held him tighter or kissed him more? The questions race through your mind but are cut short by Spencer.

"I'm sorry. We were on a case and she told me she loves me. But, I promise you that she is just a friend." The words that leave his lips are like knives being dug into your eardrums. And with his words, the tears resting in your lash line fall over and cascade down your cheeks, one right after another.

"How could you? Spencer, how could you? We had everything going for us. I love you with every fiber of my being. I thought you were the love of my life. But now you're just, you're just a lying traitor." You force the words out before you completely break down. Turning away from him, you rush to collect your things.

You're not even sure you put your shoes on the right feet but you don't care. The door of Spencer's apartment swings open and you take one last look at him. His mouth is open, eyes wet, but he says nothing.

He doesn't try to stop you as you leave his apartment, and that makes you sob even harder on your way home.

Is this really how things are ending between you?

- - - - -

"Come on have some fun!" Your friend, Sarah, nudges your shoulder, interrupting your daydream. It's a Friday night and the weather is nice, so she's begging to go out.

"I don't know Sarah, I'm not really in the mood." Your tone is melancholy, and all you want to do is crawl into bed. With a huff, Sarah steps in front of you and grabs your shoulders so that you're forced to look at her.

"You need this. I haven't seen you smile in weeks. Come on, go get ready. It'll be good for you." Her voice is kind, and soft, and you know she's only trying to help. As your lifelong best friend, she's always been in your corner with support and love.

"Fine." You relent, and go find something to wear. You're in no mood for anything uncomfortable or flashy, so you settle on a loose button up and a pair of ripped jeans.

"You look so good!" Sarah tries to hype you up as she grabs her keys, but it doesn't really work. You can't feel good while you're suffering on the inside. With her arm slung around your shoulder, you accompany her to whatever she has planned for tonight.

"Really?" You deadpan ask her as you stare at the neon light adorning the front of the building. This is quite literally the last place you wanted to be tonight, but here you are.

"Yes, it'll be fun, come on." Sarah grabs your hand and drags you alongside into the bar where the music is too loud and the people are even more annoying.

Against your wishes, you line up at the bar and wait to gain the bartender's attention. You figure if you're going to be here you'll need something to numb the experience. Sarah knows you've never been a fan of crowded places so you're confused as to why she even brought you here in the first place.

Once the two of you have your drinks in hand, you find an empty table and take a seat. As you sip, you look around at the patrons; people watching has always been quite enjoyable for you. Your eyes scan the bar and land on a tall man across the way. His smile is wide, hair dark and curly, eyes bright and soft.

Blinking rapidly, you pull your eyes away from the man and order another drink. Guilt eats you from inside as you realize you had been checking out another man; albeit one that looks oddly familiar. And surely another drink will help numb the guilt as well.

Hours later and two drinks turned into four. You feel your cheeks warm from the alcohol, and you're keenly aware that your eyes are back on the tall, handsome man from earlier.

"You should go say something." Sarah says, leaning on the table as she nurses her drink. Shaking your head, you disagree.

"No, I can't." You say, almost as if convincing yourself of your own answer. You're not even sure if you and Spencer are over, you can't possibly go introduce yourself to another man.

"Come on. He's been looking at you all night." She nudges you out of your seat and through the power of liquid courage, you relent.

Turning away from Sarah, you find the man easily and take a quick deep breath. It doesn't take you long to cross the bar and in seconds, you find yourself staring up at the man's green eyes. He's got a small smile on his face, his eyes gleam with curiosity.

"Hi." You smile up at the man, who smiles back.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing talking to a man like me?" He smiles wider, showing off his perfectly white teeth. Your eyes dance from the man's smile to his eyes, relishing in their familiarity.

"My friend said I should come say something." You tell him, having nothing actually prepared to say to him beyond an introduction. The man finishes off his drink and looks over to where Sarah is. He nods,

"Well I'm glad she did. Can I get you another?" He raises the empty glass in his hand. While you feel a little tipsy, you know one more wouldn't hurt.

"Sure." You smile up at him and watch as he goes to order the two of you another drink.

While he's away, you glance over to Sarah, who's smiling at you and giving you a thumbs up across the bar. You suppress your smile, but you're thankful she's still here; she wouldn't leave you alone with a stranger and you know she'll be here to make sure you're okay. Her reassuring presence is probably why you agreed to approach the man in the first place.

The man comes back with two glasses in his hands, and he gives you one of them. He invites you back to his table, which is only a few feet away from where you are standing, and the two of you get to know each other. You learn that he's from the area, he works in finance for a fortune 500 company, and he recently got out of a long-term relationship.

You share how your relationship status is hugely unknown at this point, but spare him the details for your own pride's sake. Thankfully, he doesn't inquire and the conversation flows easily. He even makes you laugh a time or two, which hasn't happened in weeks.

As the night goes on, you find yourself sitting closer and closer to the man, drawn in by how he reminds you of someone you dearly miss. It's entirely clear to you why you're attracted to the man, but you push all of those thoughts away, the alcohol working diligently to cloud your logic and judgment and all you can focus on is the man's lips.

Not even twenty minutes later, you're pulling him in by the front of his shirt, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands hold your waist securely, and his lips move in tandem with your own. The taste of sweetness lingers between the two of you. Your body moves on its own volition, and in the heat of the moment you find yourself practically sitting in the man's lap. Thankfully, the table you two are at is tucked away in the corner, but you're still entirely visible to everyone else. However, that doesn't seem to matter as you place kisses on the man's jaw and down to his neck.

His hands move from your waist up to the first button of your shirt where he expertly undoes it. Your wet lips place another kiss on the man's neck, just underneath his ear like you're used to doing with someone else, and the feeling of another button being undone makes you realize what's happening.

Backing away from the kiss abruptly, your heart drops to your stomach. Your fingers work quickly to clasp the buttons on your shirt and you get off of the man, who looks confused and hurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't- I shouldn't have..." You trail off, giving him no specific answer as you turn around and find Sarah.

She must have been able to tell from the look on your face that you're ready to leave. And thankfully she doesn't ask you a single question on the way back to your house. The entire trip back, you stare out the window and wonder why you let that happen, and how you could've let yourself kiss another man. But mostly you just think about how it should've been Spencer.

Sarah drops you off and wishes you a goodnight, and you half-heartedly tell her goodbye.

Your mind is too preoccupied as you go through your nightly routine and by the time your head hits the pillow, your thoughts have shifted from the unknown man's lips to Spencer's.

You remember how his hands would map out every curve of your body and how his lips would kiss your tender skin, as if you'd break if he wasn't careful. Spencer would always hold you close to him as he showered you in love and affection, his hands unable to get enough of you. Even if the two of you were relaxing on the couch, he would always find a way to touch you, whether that meant you were cuddled in his arms or barely touching his shoulder.

A lone tear drips down your face as you try to sleep, missing having Spencer beside you, missing the feeling of his arms around you, and you know you'll miss seeing his gemstone eyes first thing when you wake up. You mourn the relationship, and can't help but wonder if your actions tonight were the final nail in the coffin.

That night, all you can dream about is Spencer, and how in love you used to be.

- - - - -

Awaking earlier than wanted, Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes the best he can. It's still dark outside, but he knows that he's not going to be able to fall back asleep. And even if he did, he knows that the only thing he will dream about is you.

The past few weeks all of his dreams have centered around you. At first, they were about how you two met and your first few dates. They were vivid, almost as if they were happening all over again. He could clearly see the tulips he picked for your first date, and he remembers the shade of lipstick you wore that brought out your eyes in the best way possible.

As he makes his way through his morning routine, he's distracted by the traces of you that remain in his apartment. You still have clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush still sits on his bathroom counter. And most noticeably, your scent still lingers on his sheets.

But, his apartment now has traces of JJ too. Her blonde hair sticks to the blankets draped over the couch, her perfume embedded in the material. She had left a hair tie on his coffee table and the mug she used for coffee sits untouched in the sink.

Spencer knows that her confession of love was mainly spurred on by a life or death situation, but he would be lying if he said it didn't reawaken repressed feelings. Back in his early days at the BAU, he had been head over heels for her, but he moved on when she got together with Will. And truthfully, when he met you it was the happiest he had ever been, and he was convinced that you were his soul mate.

That was until JJ told him that she loved him.

A heavy feeling of guilt has taken residence in Spencer's chest since you walked out of his apartment. He knew that you had every right to be upset, and truthfully he doesn't know if the two of you will ever reconcile. As you walked out of the door he wanted to stop you, to beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't. He had to let you go.

Staring at the couch, he can't help but wonder if your relationship had died the moment he let JJ stay over, the moment she laid on his couch could've been the exact moment your relationship took its last breath. Had that one decision been the beginning of the end?

And he can't help but wonder why he agreed to let her stay in the first place, after a confession of that magnitude, and why he hadn't told you. Was it his subconscious way of admitting he also has feelings for JJ, and that by allowing her to stay in his home it was an acknowledgment of that fact? Had he not told you because of the feelings he harbors for her? Would telling you force him to confront those emotions?

No matter what it may have meant, he can't help but to regret it. The look on your face as you called him a lying traitor will forever be ingrained in his mind. Spencer had never meant to hurt you, no, he loved you dearly.

As each day passes by without hearing from you, Spencer wonders if things are truly over for the two of you. His heart aches from your absence and he yearns to have you back in his arms. But he can't help but feel guilty as he realizes that he may have some of those same feelings for JJ.

- - - - -

Months had gone by since you last saw Spencer, and you finally feel like you can begin to heal. It took some time for you to process what had happened, and now you've come to be at peace with his decision. If he wanted to search for something greater, and found it in her, then there's nothing you could've done.

On a regular routine again, you enter your favorite coffee shop on your way to your new job, needing the extra caffeine. The warm air inside greets you and the rich scent of coffee fills the air.

After you order your usual, you stand off to the side to wait, pushing yourself up against a wall so that other people have room to move around. The lightly falling snow outside catches your attention and from the warmth of inside you can appreciate the beauty.

The barista calls your name out as the front door bell jingles. Grabbing your drink, you relish in how the warmth gives life back to your fingertips before turning to leave, preparing yourself to brace the bitter cold that awaits you outside.

But as your eyes land on the people who had just walked in, it seems as if the wintry cold followed you in after all. Spencer stands at the counter with a blonde haired, blue-eyed, woman next to him who looks like she just walked out of a magazine. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold, but you feel yours drain of all color. And if that wasn't enough, it's like your feet have been superglued to the floor, forcing you to watch as he orders for her with a smile on his face.

It seems he found something greater after all.

After the initial wave of sadness washes over you, you feel a familiar fire within you. Jealousy is an ugly beast, but you can't help the way your eyebrows knit together as you watch them, your thoughts consumed with how that should be you next to him, how it used to be you.

In fact, your jealously goes so far as to create hundreds of impulsive plans to earn his attention away from her. If you spilled your coffee, surely that would do the trick. Or if you tripped on your way out, that would be sure to make him look. Even the fleeting thought of jumping from the roof makes an appearance; the only consequence you can think of is how he'd surely come running straight to you.

But your imaginative plans are all for naught, as they grab their drinks and leave together. She laughs at something he said as the door shuts behind them. And you're still stuck in the middle of the coffee shop with one question floating around in your mind.

Did he really choose her over you?

- - - - -

Staring out of your window that's been frosted over with fresh snow, you can't help but to ponder how exactly you got to be where you are right now. In three days it'll be Christmas, and you've never dreaded the holiday more than you do in this moment.

A few evenings ago you had been rummaging through your closet and found the gift you planned on giving Spencer this Christmas. It was simple, but you knew he'd love it. He had always worn a purple scarf during the colder months, and when you saw this one you just knew he needed it. It was another scarf, but the seamstress who was selling it offered to stitch something on the back of it, and so you had asked her to stitch your initials on the back, so that even while he was away on cases he still had a piece of you with him.

Now the gift lays wrapped on your coffee table, where it silently taunts you with thoughts of what could've been. You stare at it, wondering if you should give it away, throw it away, send it through the mail, or do nothing with it at all.

Unable to look at the box any longer, you take it and put it with the rest of Spencer's things you intend to give back to him soon. Having his belongings in your home is slowly starting to drive you mad, and you know that in order to have any shot of getting over him, it all has to be gone.

In a momentary burst of determination, you grab the box of his belongings that sits in the back of your closet and you take it out to your car, despite the fact that the air is so cold it burns your face and that the snow is coming down at a considerable rate. You figure he's had you in his grasp for too long now and it's time to start reclaiming your home, your life, and begin piecing together who you're going to be after Spencer Reid.

The box is haphazardly shoved into your back seat and your hand quickly grazes the side of a book he had left on your nightstand, and as your luck would have it, you managed to give yourself a papercut. You hold your hand out of the car so you don't get blood on any of his things before closing the door with haste.

Your eyes cast down at the bright, crimson red blood that dots the pristine snow below your feet. Drops of blood roll down your finger and drip from the tip, each drip creating its own prominent mark in the snow. And you can't help but feel like it's more than just blood on the snow, that somehow it symbolizes how you may have very well killed what remained of your relationship with Spencer.

But he gave you no other choice.

- - - - -

Your insides twist and turn with anxiousness as you park your car along the street of a familiar curb. Looking back down at your phone screen, you confirm that this is the time you're supposed to be here before getting out of your car and picking up the box from the back seat.

After Christmas you had sent Spencer a text asking if you could come by and get your things that you had left in his apartment, and thankfully he agreed. You hadn't told him that you were bringing his things, and he hadn't asked for them, but you figured it was just common courtesy to bring them anyways. Plus you can't stand looking at the box any longer, all it does it resurface memories of a better time, one where you were happy and in love. Neither of those things are true anymore.

Walking up the stairs, you remember how excited you were the first time to come over and how you were awestruck by how well he decorated for a man. Of course you added a few things here and there over the years, but soon there will be no trace of you left. Your heart sinks with the realization that Spencer's apartment will no longer be your second home, his arms will no longer be your safe haven.

Once you reach his door, you knock lightly. You had partially hoped that he would just leave your things in the hall, and that the exchange would be easy, but of course he wouldn't do that. And within seconds of knocking on the door, he answers. His hair is messy and he's opted for his glasses today, your favorite look on him. Swallowing hard, you hold the box out in front of you.

"I think this is everything." Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. He steps further inside his apartment,

"Come on in." He invites you, and you wonder if you should accept. You know that if you walk in that a plethora of memories will invade your mind, and you know that if you don't that you may never receive the closure you need. After a few moments of contemplation, you step inside.

You place the box on the ground and put your hands in your pockets as you look around. The decorations you had placed around various locations are no longer there adorning the shelves or the walls, your spare coat no longer hangs from the rack beside the front door, and your handwritten notes are no longer on the front of the fridge. You swallow again and avert your eyes, pleading with yourself to not cry in front of him. But as your eyes move elsewhere, you spot a photograph that still hangs on the wall in his living room.

It was a sunny day in the early spring, and the two of you had just celebrated your one year anniversary. The two of you agreed that a nice picnic would be more than enough of a celebration, and honestly you were just happy that he wasn't being dragged away on a case that day. The two of you laid side by side on the blanket in the plush grass, content with one another's presence, fingers interlaced as his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. Before the sun went down you had asked him to take the picture, and you always loved how bright his smile was that day.

"This should be everything." He comes back into the entryway with a box in his arms. You spot every little decoration you had ever brought over, along with your clothes that you had almost forgotten about. Spencer places the box on the ground as well, and you nod, clearing the emotion from your throat.

"Thank you." You say and go to pick up your box and get out of his apartment. Truthfully, there's a part within you that wants him to beg you to stay, you hope that he will profess his undying love for you and that you won't have to leave.

No matter how heartbroken you are over his decision, you know that you would take him back in a heartbeat. Your soul still aches for his touch and you're not sure that feeling will ever fade. The intensity with which you love him is passionate and all encompassing. For just another moment in his arms, you can't even begin to list everything you would give and sacrifice. His hugs were always the most comforting, his words always sweet and honeyed, his lips always soft.

Until they were for the blonde-haired woman who came in and took everything from you.

Once the box is in your hands, you give him a weak smile and are almost brought to tears just by looking at his face. Your sweet, sweet Spencer is so close yet has never been farther away. Feeling tears well in your lash line, you commit to memory just how beautiful he is for what is very well the final time you'll ever see him.

In an instant, flashes of what your future could've been runs through your mind. You see the two of you hand in hand at the end of an aisle, long nights of waiting for him to come back home only to be greeted with the most loving kisses, and countless mornings waking up in his arms. You were prepared to give him everything, but now you're left with nothing except the memories of when he still loved you.

Giving him one last chance to say something, your hope begins fizzling out. There's only one thing you want to hear him say, and you're coming to understand that you'll likely never hear those words come from his mouth.

When it's clear that there's nothing left to say, you turn and open the front door. Before the door gets closed on you, you turn to look at him just one last time. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you can almost swear you see a tear fall from his eye.

"Goodbye, Spencer." You say as a lone tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, unable to keep them at bay any longer. Feeling your bottom lip beginning to tremble, you make yourself walk away before you have a full breakdown in the hallway right in front of him.

The ride back home is silent, except for the occasional sound of your sniffles. Before the exchange of belongings, you had held out hope that it meant that there might still be hope. But now there's nothing left to give you hope.

It seems things are really over now.

- - - - -

Spencer's phone lights up on his counter, catching his eye as he was walking by. Glancing at it quickly, he sees your name attached to the message. He picks the phone up and reads the message that reads less like a text and more like a cordial email.

"Hi, hope all is well. I was wondering if there is a time that I could come by and collect the rest of my things?"

The words make his heart sink, but he replies and lets you know when he'll be home. He knew that this day would eventually come, but he wasn't prepared for it to be so soon. Placing his phone back down on the counter, he looks around and notices just how many traces there are of you everywhere he looks.

In every part of his apartment he can easily recall a memory the two of you made there. The kitchen is where he remembers making cookies together on a friday night, the living room reminds him of the times you fell asleep in his lap, and the bedroom reminds him of all the mornings he was lucky enough to be awoken by your gentle kisses.

But he respects your wishes and begins collecting your things, committing each one to memory. With each and every little item he packs away, he finds himself becoming more and more angry with himself. He can't understand why he jeopardized the love of his life for JJ. Sure, he thought he loved her, and the two of them had spent extra time together after her confession, but after you left Spencer realized that he could never love JJ the way he loves you. And so he came to the painful conclusion that he could only ever love JJ as a close friend, but only after breaking your heart and shattering your relationship he cherished so dearly.

Spencer knows that he has forfeited every right to be with you by making those series of poor decisions but it doesn't make it any easier for him to accept.

As he packs away the rest of your things, he finally finds himself at his dresser, where some of your clothes remain. He remembers the day you brought some of your wardrobe over and he was happy to make room for you. You had told him that by keeping some of your things here that you two could spend more time together as you wouldn't have to go back and forth between homes when staying over or going out. But he never needed convincing, he would've let you do whatever you wanted as long as it kept that smile on your face.

And all too soon, you show up at his apartment with a box in your arms, filled to the brim with his belongings. As soon as he sees your face behind the door, he feels like he wants to collapse to his knees and beg for you to forgive him.

But instead, he gathers your things and returns them to you when you should be staying here. You should be wrapped up in his arms for the rest of the night. He watches as the photo on the wall catches your eye, and even he can't help but to look at it as well.

Seeing the two of you so happy together in a moment frozen in time makes his throat constrict with emotion, and he feels the tears well in his eyes. What he wouldn't give to be able to see you smile like that again, to hold and love and cherish you until the end of time.

Instead, he watches as you turn and leave his apartment. The realization hits him like a brick wall that this could very well be the last time he ever sees you, and he can't keep his composure. A tear escapes his eye and falls as you turn around and wish him farewell.

Once the door closes behind you, Spencer finally collapses to his knees, sobs wracking through his body while he mentally curses himself for not saying more, for not fighting harder for you.

His chest hurts from crying, but he can't find it within himself to care about anything other than you. He wishes he could forget, things would be easier that way. But instead he's sentenced to a life where he has no choice but to remember everything.

That night while he lays in bed, throat raw and eyes sore, all he can think about is you. The way you fit in his arms like you were made just for him, how you would rake your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and how sometimes, after particularly hard cases, you would hold him close.

As the hours pass and he gives into sleep, he can almost swear he feels your arms wrapping around him while you whisper for him to "come here", like you always did. Your voice was always soft and understanding as you took him into your warm embrace.

But now the room feels colder than it ever has before, and there's nobody to blame but himself.

- - - - -

A warm spring breeze blows your hair and with it comes the sweet smell of budding flowers. The sun is shining brightly through the puffy, white clouds and for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.

Once the snow had melted and signs of life began springing back up, it seems your spirits rose as well. Sure, some days are harder than others and you still miss Spencer, but you're able to live without the constant ache in your chest.

You've taken the time to reflect on what happened, and you have come to accept that there was nothing more you could've done. You had given him your entire heart, but that just wasn't enough for him. He searched for something better, something greater, and it seems like he found it. You only hope she makes him happier than you could have, and that she loves him well.

But no matter how hard you work on healing yourself, you can't silence the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you of just how badly you want to see him again. You yearn to even just see him from a distance, and you desperately crave to hear him tell you that he still loves you.

You wish that he could be here sharing this wonderful afternoon by your side, hand in hand and you wish that things had played out differently. Maybe you two would've been engaged, or even married, by now. After all, tomorrow would've been your five year anniversary.

No matter how much time passes you still don't think you're ready to try to get back out there, much to Sarah's disproval. It just wouldn't be fair to the other man, the way you would still see parts of Spencer in him.

With a sigh, you can't help but think of what could've been, how your future with Spencer could've been filled with happiness, laughter, love, and so much more. But no, instead you sit alone on a bench in the middle of a busy park.

After hours of soaking in the warm sun, you decide it's time to go back home. As you walk down the street you recount memories you've thought of a hundred times before and wonder if maybe your path will cross with Spencer's again someday.

Before you open your front door you stop and take a deep breath. The looming anniversary date has made you a touch more melancholy and sentimental than usual and after a long day of reflection, you're finally ready to admit something to yourself that you've been pushing away for far too long.

It's over now.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #mgg #taylor swift #hurt/no comfort #angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #jj jareau #taylor swift inspired #Spotify

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halfwayhearted · 2 months ago

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I seen that you did a lot of Criminal minds stuff could you do one for JJ please😄

Super Crush — Jennifer Jareau.

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Reader

Summary: Unable to stop yourself from sharing your future plans, you notice JJ’s eyes wandering unmistakably.

Word Count: 425+

Disclaimer/s — WUH LUH WUH + established relationship! :3

A/N: Truuuuuuuuuuuust, I need her expeditiously. Also, I got back to this sooo late, that’s my bad… hey…

One question, just one, had you rambling. A lot.

The blonde in front of you didn’t seem to mind. As soon as she asked the question and you answered almost immediately, she turned toward you, tilted her head, and crossed her arms.

That was one of the reasons why you loved her.

If anyone was truly attentive, it was her. She was more than happy to listen whenever you spoke. If asked, she’d claim it was because she found your plans intriguing. But in reality, it was so she could bask in the sound of your voice—the way it’d rise with excitement when you talked about something even remotely riveting, or the way it’d soften tenderly when you mentioned something that clearly upset you. She could always, always understand you through those subtle nuances.

Maybe you were… too excited. Deciding to calm down a bit, you slowly wrung your hands together, finally taking a deep breath and the chance to actually look at her as you continued.

That’s when you noticed. Her gaze had wandered down to your mouth, and she seemed completely unaware that you had caught her in the act.

Could you even say that you caught her? What if something was distracting her? You suddenly felt a little self-conscious, “Did my lip gloss smear?” Your fingers swiping at the corner of your lips.

With that, she stiffened, eyes locking onto yours in an instant. “Did it—what? No, no, it's good.”

‘It’s good.’ It’s good. Right… why was she looking?

That question lingers in your mind when you speak, your eyes narrowing playfully. “You are so not subtle, do you know that, Jennifer?”

She sputters at the accusation, “I am subtle.”

“No, you’re not!” You laughed, “You were looking at my lips for a solid three minutes before I even said something. That’s creepy, you’re creepy.”

“Oh, so… what, I can’t look at my girlfriend now?”

Well! Well. “What do you want for dinner, hm?”

A short laugh escapes her lips while her body instinctively leans toward yours, her hand sliding around your back. “Huh, that’s what I thought… and it doesn’t matter. It’s your day to choose.”

“It’s either take-out or I make something. Oh! How about tacos? It’s Taco Tuesday. That okay?”

JJ hums, “Sounds good, I’ll get what you get.”

“Okay! I’ll go order,” you paused, “Love you.”

Placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, she plops down on the couch, her eyes sparkling with affection as she smiles and says, “I love you, too.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

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reedmurdock · 10 months ago

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“You know, Spence…” -Spencer Reid

Y/N: You know, Spence, you’re kinda like cocaine. Once you start it you can’t stop, you always need it. I’ll never stop loving and needing you, Spencer.

Everyone: *staring concerned at Y/N*

Spencer: Thank you, sweetheart, but I think it time for that therapy session you’ve been putting off

Reader: *staring lovingly at Spencer*

#reedmurdock #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds incorrect quotes #derek morgan #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jj jareau

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foxy-eva · 11 months ago

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Morning Shower

Summary: JJ looks irresistible after her workout so you decide to join her in the shower

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut, Fluff

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) showering together, heavy kissing, fingering, oral

Word count: 1.3k

Masterlist

JJ was an incredibly attractive woman, there was no doubt about that. Those past few months you had seen her in all kinds of circumstances and not once did you think that she was anything less than absolutely flawless. It almost sounded cliché, but you found her especially alluring in times where she would expect it the least.

Right after waking up, when her eyes were barely open and her hair was messy, she looked like an angel to you. After long days of work with a subtle shadow under her eyes and her mascara a little smudged, she was still so, so beautiful.

And oh, when she came home after a workout, you could barely look at her without your cheeks heating up.

She had just entered your apartment after her morning run, her skin glistening with sweat and the swell of her chest still heaving. Her cheeks were tinted in a rosy shade and with the sun peeking through the windows, she almost looked like she was glowing.

You watched as she stretched her arms over her head. Unabashedly you let your eyes roam over her body, your sight lingering on her soft curves. She knew how much you enjoyed seeing her wearing sports clothes but she had no idea how quickly your thoughts turned indecent.

JJ caught your staring, a smirk forming on her face as she chirped, “Good morning!”

“Good morning, indeed. You look beautiful,” you cooed as you found her eyes.

“I’m all sweaty and gross,” she laughed as she walked towards your bathroom. “I need a shower.”

You listened to her footsteps as she disappeared from your sight and took the last sip of your coffee. When you heard her turn on the shower you decided that you could not hold back any longer. Every fiber of your body was yearning to feel her skin against yours.

When you stepped into the bathroom the glass of the shower had already steamed up but you could still see her outlines. As you let your clothes drop to the floor JJ seemed to have noticed your presence. She opened the glass door of the shower before you had a chance to touch the handle.

“I was hoping you’d join me,” she purred as you stepped in.

The sensation of the warm water against your skin shocked your whole system but it was nothing compared to the feeling of finally having JJ’s hands on you. You found her lips in a kiss that quickly deepened while your hands began wandering over her back.

Kissing her ignited a flame inside you only she could tame. Heat rushed through your entire body as your arousal began pooling between your legs. You broke the kiss only to turn her around and press your body into her back while your lips attached to her neck.

Your hands became curious as they moved over her breasts, washing away the soap she must have put on before you entered the shower. You were thorough in cleaning her, even long after any remains of her morning workout were washed away. Her skin felt so soft under your fingertips, it was almost surreal.

The sound of her moans as you played with the hardened peaks of her chest was addicting and you started to feel light-headed. One of her hands reached back until it could grab the flesh of your hips, making you sigh against her neck.

One of your hands remained on her chest while the other slowly descended down her body until your fingertips made contact with her silken folds. Her desire for you was almost dripping into your palm when you began moving your fingertips along her slit.

Her hips began grinding against your hand as you focussed on her most sensitive spot. It wasn’t enough for you though. You needed to worship her fully, wanted to experience all the glory her body had to offer.

“I need you, JJ,” you breathed against her neck before gently biting it.

“Then have me,” she sighed in response.

The confinements of the shower didn’t leave room for much movement but you still managed to turn her around again and push her against the cool tiles of the wall to make sure she wouldn’t slip. You kissed your way down her body until you were on your knees for her. Your hands wandered over her thighs as you placed feather-light kisses against her hip.

When your hand moved to the back of her thigh, she lifted one leg and placed it over your shoulder to give you better access. Without breaking eye-contact, you let your tongue glide through her crevice, collecting her arousal as if it was the last thing you were ever able to consume.

Her heady scent began clouding your mind as you explored her, almost as if you could imprint her uniqueness on your tongue. When JJ threw her head back against the wall, her hands fell to your hair, urging you where she needed you the most. Having her desperate to find relief was exciting you more than you could ever put in words.

You focussed your attention on her little pearl and were rewarded with her praise in the form of moans falling from her lips. Guiding her into an euphoric state was all that mattered to you then, even when your knees started to complain about the harshness of the tiled shower floor. Two of your fingers found her entrance and pushed into her, finding no resistance from her body.

When relief washed over JJ in waves, her entire body quivered as you felt her walls pulsing around your fingers. You guided her through her high with your tongue against her core until she tugged on your hair hard enough for you to let go of her. Still on your knees, you looked up and admired the goddess standing in front of you, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath.

She reached out a hand for you to help you up before wrapping her arms around you. With your chests pressed together you could feel the accelerated pace of her heart drumming against her ribs and imagined it could somehow touch your own heart through those layers of skin and bone. After she had caught her breath, her lips found yours in a soft kiss while one of her hands made its way down your body. With your legs slightly parted, you granted her access to your delicate parts.

When she felt how much you desired her, she snickered, “Someone’s excited.”

“Can you blame me?” You giggled. “I mean, look at you!”

“I’d rather look at you,” she purred as she started to move her fingertips along your core.

And she did look at you, even when it became almost too much for you to keep your lids from closing. Her eyes always reminded you of the ocean, azure blue and mysterious. The depth of her irises made you feel like you could drown in the love she had for you.

“I love you,” you muttered before you lost your ability to form words.

“I love you, too.”

A gasp fell from your lips when her fingers entered you, moving rhythmically inside you just the way she knew you liked. It felt like you were floating, surrounded by the warm water pouring from the shower head and embraced by your lover, keen on guiding you into pure bliss.

“Come for me, my love,” she breathed.

And you did. Your hands grabbed her waist for balance when your body began shaking as she worked you through your climax. Before it became too much, she removed her hand from your center to place her arms around you instead.

JJ then began washing your body, carefully and with tender motions she rid you of the evidence of your arousal before you did the same for her. As you stepped out of the shower you dared to glance over JJ’s bare body one last time before handing her the towel, determined that morning showers like that would definitely have to become part of your Sunday routines from now on.

If you enjoyed this story you should check out my other sapphic Criminal Minds works here!

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @gaelic-symphony @lovelyy-moonlight @rustyzebra @iameternallylonely @sapphicprentiss @storiesofsvu @multifandomlesbianic @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @guacam011y @snapeknot @grumpyy-bearr @pleasantwitchgarden

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fluff #jennifer jareau smut #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jennifer jareau fanfic #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #criminal minds jj #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff

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alana-reid-2005 · 4 months ago

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choose your character

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spencerrsmopbucket · 3 months ago

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When It Rains, It Pours | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: After a frustrating and long case, Spencer walks you home from a late night of paperwork. To your luck, it starts pouring. But are you really so unlucky? Word Count: 3,065.

Normally, you had nothing but good things to say about your line of work. You loved it, in all honesty. You loved helping people, you were interested in the inner workings of people's minds, and you enjoyed the fast paced energy of the job. Even more, you loved your co-workers. They were your best friends. But sometimes.. Work got frustrating.

You hated when things were slow. You hated when you couldn't figure things out. You hated when you felt time slipping through your fingers, feeling helpless. And this last week had been all of that combined. You'd been in Maine on a case; the most frustrating case you'd ever been on. It was a week long, spent mostly in offices staring at information you'd already read fifteen times. And when you finally got into the action, you had to go hand to hand with some greasy farm hand with no backup.

You'd even been spit on by the Unsub. And even worse? It got in your mouth! And now, you sat in the bullpen at your desk, filling out piles of goddamn paperwork.

You were almost sure you were going to go crazy. It was eerily silent in the bullpen, besides the slight noise of Spencer Reid, your colleague and friend, beside you. You were so bored that you began to study him.

Every so often, he'd make a slight hum or a 'tsk' at something on a file. For someone that could read 20,000 words a minute, he worked quite slow. But at least he was thorough. You couldn't lie; he wasn't the worst person to spend time looking at. In fact, Spencer was rather cute, though you'd never admit it to anyone.

You were attracted to his mind, before anything else. He was so incredibly smart, so much that it made you swoon. And he was playfully dorky. And witty. His wit went hand to hand with his humor. And after his mind, he was physically attractive. He had dark, curly hair and pretty brown eyes, combining well with his gorgeous smile and straight teeth. He dressed clean, in a dress shirt usually paired with a sweater or a vest. Sometimes, to your delight, he rolled his sleeves up to the creases of his elbows, showing off his strong forearms. And he--

Stop, you reminded yourself. You were supposed to be working.

To put it lightly, you had a massive crush on Spencer. It was something you battled with daily. You had to keep your swooning under wraps.

To interrupt your secret thoughts, Spencer cleared his throat, looking at you curiously.

"You okay?" He asked softly, noting how you'd zoned out. "If you’re zoning out, it’s actually your brain’s way of conserving energy. It shifts into a sort of default mode, which is why you might find yourself lost in thought. Studies show that the brain is almost as active during these periods as it is when you’re focused—just on different things." He explained, a half smile on his face.

You coughed, clearing your throat. Of course he'd noticed -- Spencer notices everything. It was just a bit awkward that he had noticed while you were thinking about him.

"Yeah." You smiled back, looking back down at the file you had been working on. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Spencer lets out a hum of acknowledgement, quickly reading something over on his own files before answering. "I understand. I'm tired too. I didn't expect to have so much paperwork for such a.. A lackluster case." He lets out a breathless chuckle.

You snort, leaning back in your chair.

"Me either. And of course we'd be the ones stuck here doing it."

Spencer shrugs, a half smile on his face.

"Better us than Hotch, I suppose. He'd be grumpy in the morning and we'd be paying for it."

Spencer was speaking the truth -- late night paperwork was Hotch's biggest downfall. It was becoming a thing for your colleagues and yourself not to even entertain the idea of letting Hotch do it. If he didn't, he'd have no reason to be so brooding in the mornings.

You and Spencer continued working in silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of typing filling the air and the quiet scratching of a pen. As the hour dragged on, the room grew quieter, the only noise coming from the occasional rustle of paper or Spencer’s soft hums of concentration. Eventually, you looked up at the clock: it was nearing midnight.

You groan, rubbing your temples. Being out this late sucked for you. You always woke up with a headache and wanting to throw yourself back under the covers; you weren't really a morning person to begin with.

Picking up your noise of frustration, Spencer glanced up at the time himself. He winced, and then his expression softened into one of thoughtfulness.

"It's getting pretty late," He said softly, glancing at you. "I know you don't live far, but.. I know you don't love the route so much. I could walk you if you like." He offers, a soft smile on his lips.

You could've actually swooned and dropped dead. You would've died happy. But you felt that it would be an inconvenience for Spencer to do this; he walked too, but his apartment was the opposite direction of yours.

You smiled back, a small blush spreading across your cheeks. You cursed yourself, but turned to answer Spencer.

"Um.. That's okay, Spence. You live the other way and I don't want to keep you out any later than you have to be."

Spencer pursed his lips.

"Actually, it’s no trouble at all. I know it’s a bit of a detour for me, but it’s more important to me that you get home safely with decreased anxiety," he says, offering you a soft smile. "Plus, it’s a nice break from paperwork, and I could use some fresh air myself. Consider it a small favor from a friend."

You inhaled to speak again, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Spen--"

"Name. Let me walk you home. Please?" He persisted, looking at you softly. "It would make me feel better. It's midnight and walking home alone in the dark can be risky."

You exhaled, nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, it would be great actually. Thank you."

He gave you a small smile, and you both gathered your things. As you walked out of the bullpen and into the night, the crisp air felt refreshing after hours of being cooped up inside. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the city was unusually quiet.

You walked in a comfortable silence. Spencer was right; you hated walking this route at night, in the dark. Despite being a federal agent, after hours, you didn't love the idea of being alone in situations like this. Surprisingly, you weren't even judged for it. It seemed that a lot of the team had the same hesitations with certain things.

You felt even better with how Spencer had positioned the two of you. He was doing something called the "sidewalk rule," usually typical of couples. He walked on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from the street and anybody on it, including the cars passing by. You were on the inside; the scariest thing you came into contact with were untrimmed hedges on apartment lawns.

Your position threatened to make you blush, but you somehow kept it down. You felt like a schoolgirl; it was like everything Spencer did made you want to kick your feet.

You and Spencer chatted casually eventually, the conversation drifting from case details to your mutual love of old detective novels. The night seemed to be winding down peacefully until dark clouds began rolling in, and a sudden crack of thunder startled you both.

“Looks like we’re in for some rain,” Spencer observed, his tone almost scientific, as if he were analyzing a weather pattern. Just as he finished speaking, the first heavy drops began to fall. You cursed under your breath, eyeing the dark clouds above you, the difference in color between the black sky and gray clouds.

"Damnit. I'm sorry, Spence.. I shouldn't have had you walk m--"

Spencer snorted, nudging you.

"Name. You have no reason to apologize unless you can see the future or make it rain. It's fine. It's just water." He said matter-of-factly.

It was as if your acknowledgement of the rain made it come down harder. Soon, it was pouring.

You both quickened your pace, but it was too late. The rain poured down, soaking you both within seconds. You laughed, the sound mingling with the patter of rain. Spencer looked over, his hair plastered to his forehead, and grinned back at you, clearly enjoying the unexpected adventure. Even in the horrible rain, he looked so attractive. The water traveled in drops down his face, the humored grin on his face shining in the street light.

“Let’s find some cover,” he suggested, his voice barely audible over the rain. He took your hand, rain making his grip slippery as he led you towards a nearby gazebo in the park, its structure providing a welcome respite from the downpour.

You blushed at the grip of his hand on yours, heat contrasting the coldness of the rain pouring around you.

Once inside, you both shook off as much water as you could, though you were still dripping wet. His hand left yours, almost making you shiver at the loss of his body heat. You couldn't help but feel disappointed. The rain continued to fall heavily outside, creating a soothing, rhythmic noise on the gazebo’s roof. The cool, damp air and the close proximity made the situation feel oddly intimate.

Your clothes were plastered to your body, soaked and dripping onto the wooden floor of the gazebo. You looked outside of the gazebo at the sky. It was covered with clouds, an occasional bright flash of lightning exposing them to you. You bit your lip, frowning.

Turning to Spencer, you found him already looking at you.

"Spence, I'm--"

He interrupted you, a small smile on his face.

"Don't apologize. This is kind of nice, in a way," Spencer said, shrugging. "You know, the rain, the quiet. It’s… peaceful. After a week of dealing with such grim things."

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a silence that spoke volumes. You could see the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the rain-soaked air, casting a warm light on his face. He was so pretty this way, you thought. His curls dripped water and his warm brown eyes were just as expressive as usual.

Realizing your silence and your staring, you cleared your throat to speak. A blush spread across your cheeks yet again.

“Yeah, it is. Thank you for walking me home. Or trying, at least. I really appreciate it.” You mumbled, looking up at him.

A flash of something crossed his face, but you couldn't quite catch what it was. Spencer could sometimes be a difficult person to read. Probably because he was so different.

To your slight shock, Spencer’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, his usually awkward demeanor replaced with something more confident, more vulnerable. “I’m glad I could. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you outside of work. It’s nice to see you like this, just… relaxed.”

His words caught you off guard. Your face immediately resumed the blush you'd tried so hard to fight off; Spencer was unintentionally trying to kill you. But a flutter of hope and excitement spread through your chest, though you were sure he didn't mean it the way you wanted to perceive it.

The air between you and Spencer felt thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. The rain outside created a serene backdrop, making the moment feel softer. More approachable. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the stutter of nerves in your chest. It felt like this was an opportunity to finally be honest, to stop crippling yourself by stuffing everything Spencer made you feel inside.

"Spencer.." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you tonight, even if it was under these… circumstances."

A beat passed. You almost began to regret what you'd said, hoping it didn't reveal too much, so that you could reword yourself if he didn't feel the same way about things.

Spencer’s gaze softened, his own nervousness evident in the way he avoided eye contact. Finally, he spoke. "I’m glad you feel that way," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been wanting to… well, I’ve been wanting to get closer to you, but I didn’t know how to say it."

You felt your heart stutter, a mix of hope and apprehension swelling in your chest. Closer? He wanted to get closer?

"Closer.. What do you mean?" you asked, your voice almost too quiet to hear over the rain.

Spencer hesitated, his hand reaching out slowly to gently touch your arm. The touch was light, almost as if he were afraid to impose. You almost would've thought an alien had taken over his body; Spencer was usually so avoidant of touch, a germaphobe and far too awkward for it. His eyes were soft, shyly looking at you in the hazy darkness.

"Like… this," he said, his fingers brushing against your skin. "I didn’t want to make things awkward or anything, but I’ve felt something more between us for a while. I just didn’t know how to… express it."

You couldn't believe it. If you weren't trained to keep things inside to avoid being exposed (FBI agent things), you would've squealed. You'd never dreamed that in a million years Spencer would be having this conversation with you, let alone touching you without being held at gun point to do so.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing as you felt the warmth of his fingers tracing your arm softly. "I’ve been feeling the same way, Spencer. I just didn’t know if you… if you felt the same." You admitted, exhaling shakily.

He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I do. I really do. But I didn’t want to rush things or make you uncomfortable," He explained, his fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes on your upper arm, hesitantly like he expected you to pull away. "And I was, uh, a little bit.. Afraid, honestly. Scared of rejection."

You smiled back, feeling a rush of warmth on your face despite the chill of the rain. "I appreciate that. And I’m glad you told me. I’ve been wanting to… to get closer to you too. I just didn’t know how to start." You reply, struggling not to lean into his body, to receive more of his touch. "And if it's any consolation, I've been terrified to make any indication of.. this." You snort.

He chuckles, his touch spreading further across your arm. His full palm now rubbed up and down your bicep, spreading its warmth. The touch was innocent and soft.

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a gentle silence between you. Then, in a classic Spencer move, he spoke up again, his tone almost matter-of-fact. "Did you know that according to studies, sharing physical closeness with someone you care about can actually lower stress levels? The brain releases oxytocin, which reduces anxiety and creates a feeling of safety and comfort."

You blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected fact, and then chuckled softly. You knew better than to be shocked. This was Spencer. "That’s… actually really comforting."

Spencer’s smile widened sheepishly, still looking a bit shy. "I thought it might be relevant. So, um, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to be closer to you, both physically and emotionally." He admits, a soft look in his pretty brown eyes.

Your feet moved before you could really register what you were doing. The rain created a soothing rhythm around you, seeing to match the stuttering beat of your heart inside your chest. The air was thick but cool, almost difficult to inhale. Bringing yourself even closer to him than you were seconds ago, you slid your hand over his, the warmth just as heavenly as it was when you'd first been running to the gazebo.

You felt Spencer's hand squeeze yours, a silent reassurance, though hesitant. Looking up at him, you met his eyes. God, you loved his eyes. They were so pretty. Soft, warm, comforting. Now, they were so much more telling than usual, as if he'd let you in. They showed fondness.

You stilled immediately, feeling him lean towards you. Your brain struggled against your heart; it told you to stay still, but your heart told you to lean forward to meet him.

Before you could make your choice, he was too close. Your face burned as he captured your lips in a soft, shy kiss. It was delicate, as if it was his first time ever kissing someone. You paused for a moment, realizing slowly what was happening, but then leaned into him; your dreams were coming true.

You pressed yourself closer to him, inhaling. He smelled like clean laundry and something light and fresh, a subtle aftershave or just one spritz of cologne. His lips tasted like coffee. He parted them slightly, deepening the kiss; the move was hesitant, but heavier than the softness from before. His hand slid from yours to your waist, gently pulling you tighter into him, as if giving you the choice to step away if you wanted to. Nothing about kissing Spencer was forceful; he was gentle, hesitant, as if every move he made was a silent question. It was a sweet, hesitant gesture, as if he were afraid to impose but hopeful that you’d respond positively.

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were slightly breathless, faces flushed with shyness and glowing with excitement.

Spencer looked at you with a hopeful expression. "Was that okay?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You felt like you were going to explode. You were so happy, probably happier than you'd ever been in your life. Nodding, you smiled widely at Spencer, a breathless giggle falling from your lips.

"Yes. Absolutely."

Spencer’s smile widened, though he still looked a bit shy. "I’m really glad. I'm.. I'm not exactly the best with things like that," he explained, his hand still resting gently on your waist, warmth traveling through your cold, soaked clothes to your skin. "But I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that I.. I feel that way."

You soften, reaching up to push his soaked curls from his face. He leaned into the gesture.

"I feel that way too."

"We feel that way together. We're.. We're together."

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forhappysake · 9 months ago

Text

"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness, not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib.

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was.

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed.

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern.

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.”

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.”

Spencer.

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces.

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked.

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends.

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours.

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.”

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.”

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath.

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked.

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-”

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt.

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other.

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said.

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped.

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping.

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.”

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him.

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.”

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply.

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.”

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked.

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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cuddleprofiler · 7 days ago

Text

A SECRET IN YOUR SMILE - When Spencer and you go on a date and end up dancing in the rain

Word count: 3.4k approximately

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I have written this fic for @pathologicalreid 's Margovember. I hope you like it Margot <3

I have tried to change my writing style.

“That was nice,” Spencer says, looking at you like he’s trying to send a secret message through his eyes. You swear he’s about to pull out a satellite dish and try to communicate via telepathy. Seriously, if he could figure out how to do that, he’d be the first person to turn it into a PhD thesis.

You smirk, leaning slightly toward him. “Then would you say I made your night, Dr. Spencer Reid?” You say it playfully, your voice light and full of sweetness. The night air is cool against your skin, and the moonlight casts a soft glow over the empty street around you.

Spencer turned his head to you, a smile tugging at his lips, but it was the way his eyes lingered on you that made your heart flutter. The gentle curve of his smile didn’t just come from the joke—it came from something deeper, something unspoken that was hard for him to name.

When you said his full name, Spencer felt a stirring he wasn’t used to. It was as if, in that moment, you had torn down all the walls that usually kept him safe from his own vulnerability. You didn’t just speak his name—you made him feel as though it had purpose, as if it meant something. Maybe it was because no one had ever softened it like that before. Not since his mother.

His breath caught as you looked up at him. You always made him feel safe in a way that nothing else could. There was no judgment in your eyes, no expectation, just an openness that let him be who he was—broken, complicated, and sometimes unsure. Yet with you, he never felt any of those things were reasons to pull away. With you, they were just pieces of him, and you loved them anyway.

“Spencer?” Your voice gently pulled him out of his thoughts. He had been lost in them, but it was a place he didn’t mind being—especially when you were there.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little breathless, as if you had caught him off guard. He glanced over at you, eyes wide, and a quiet smile spread across his face. “You did. Yeah.”

You smiled at his flustered response, though you sensed a deeper current beneath it. There were things in his past, things he didn’t share with anyone, but you knew—he knew—he didn’t have to say them for you to understand. Your smile softened at the thought. You knew that this—this moment, this connection—was something more than he ever let himself believe he deserved.

“Actually, no one has done something like this for me,” he said, the confession coming out quieter than he’d intended. A flicker of shame, maybe. Maybe just self-doubt. His voice wavered, but there was something else behind it—something that told you he had more to say but couldn’t quite get it out.

You can tell he’s thinking about something deeper — about how no one has treated him this way before. And you can’t say you’re surprised. Spencer Reid is the type of guy who doesn’t get a lot of praise or affection, at least not in the way he deserves. You know that. He’s always had walls up, and yet, somehow, you’ve always managed to slip past them without even trying.

You smiled, but it was gentler now, aware of the weight of his words. Your heart twisted slightly, but you masked it with a softness in your expression that only Spencer would recognize. You knew this wasn’t just about the date—it was about the history he carried, the unspoken scars he hid.

“So you hadn’t been corrupted yet?” you say with a dramatic gasp, raising your fist to the sky. “YES!” You almost trip over your own feet, but you recover and strike a pose like you’re the hero in a cheesy action movie. Spencer cracks up, shaking his head, but the way he looks at you? Like you just won the gold medal in charm.

“Alright, now I’m gonna teach you how a real woman treats a handsome, insightful, gentleman like you,” you tease, winking at him. Spencer’s laughter is pure, his whole face lighting up at your theatrics.

You raised an eyebrow. “Actually, you’re more insightful.” You could feel the pride in his gaze, in the way his eyes followed you with quiet admiration.

“That’s not possible. You profile people, Spence, and you have three PhDs,” you said with a playful grin, but there was an undertone of sincerity in your voice. It was so easy to get lost in Spencer’s brilliance that sometimes you forgot how rare it was for someone to be this passionate, this dedicated to something they loved.

Spencer’s gaze softened, and he tilted his head as he met your eyes. “And you’re a Quantum Computing researcher. You’re more insightful than you’re giving yourself credit for, Y/N,” he said. The pride was still there, but now it had grown into something more personal, something that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be.

“Your field is amazing, Y/N. It has so much potential to grow—mixing quantum mechanics with computers. It has huge research potential.” His words were earnest, but it was the way he said them—like he meant every syllable like he was truly captivated by what you did—that made your heart swell.

You blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be so… fascinated by it,” you said, genuinely touched by his interest. You smile, feeling a little self-conscious but secretly thrilled. “It’s not exactly a field a lot of people understand.” You laugh softly, thinking of all the men you’ve met who couldn’t even look past your work to see you as anything other than ‘too smart.’ Spencer, though, he sees you. Really see you.

"Honestly, I don't know how Emily Prentiss managed to get us together, but thank god she did," you murmur under your breath, sending a quiet prayer to whoever’s listening.

"Your field is amazing," Spencer says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Mixing quantum mechanics with computing? That's huge. You’ve got so much potential to change things."

You smile at him, feeling both proud and a little shy at his praise. "Well, thank you. You're not so bad yourself, you know." You wink, and his grin stretches wider.

"I’m just lucky I found someone who actually gets me," he says, glancing sideways at you with that quiet intensity. "You're the most intriguing person I’ve ever met, Y/N."

You laughed softly, but the warmth of his words lingered. "And not all men would be interested in their girlfriend’s field," you say, your voice softening. "I mean, I've had more than a few dates with men who... just couldn’t handle it, you know?"

Spencer laughs softly, a fondness slipping into his tone. "Well, they’re all missing out. They can’t see the full picture like I can."

You looked at him, captivated by his words. A small laugh escaped you, but it was warm, touched with something deeper.

“You know, the shine of your words would brighten your reputation in any girl’s mind, right?” You asked, teasing him, but your eyes searched his face, hoping to gauge whether he knew how much power his words held over you. His tilted look made you laugh out loud.

“You’re so adorable, Spencer,” you said, your voice softening with affection. “You know not all men would be interested in their girlfriend’s field. Many women face those who belittle them for their intelligence, who don’t appreciate them for who they are.”

You leaned closer, your voice quiet but sincere. “If they got to know I have such a great boyfriend, they might try to snatch you away.” You winked, playfully swiping your hand across his arm.

“Well, they’d all be disappointed,” Spencer said with a smile, his fondness slipping through his words. “I have a very gorgeous girlfriend who I’m not gonna leave. No matter what.”

You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity that lingers in the air between you two, and it makes you pause for a moment. Like he’s offering you a secret promise only the two of you understand. It feels like home.

You freeze for a second, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said “not leaving.” It’s casual like he’s just stating the obvious, but for some reason, it makes your chest feel a little tight. A warm little bubble of emotion rises inside you, and you blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “I swear, Spencer, you keep making these ‘I’m-not-going-anywhere’ declarations, and I’m gonna need to see a cardiologist.”

Spencer, utterly unaware of the havoc he’s wreaking on your heart, just grins. "I’ll go with you if that’s what you need. We can make it a date.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection.

“What if she drinks your whole pot of coffee?” you asked, your voice taking on mock seriousness.

Spencer’s eyes widen, his voice going up a pitch. “You wouldn’t!” He looks at you, half horrified, half playful, and it makes you laugh again.

“What if I eat all the sugar as well, Spencer?” You asked with a sly grin, your words teasing him as you shot a glance over your shoulder to gauge his reaction. You could almost feel the weight of his answer hanging in the air, a playful, stormy tension crackling between you two.

Spencer stood there, motionless, his gaze unreadable. His hands were at his sides, and there wasn’t even a twitch in his expression. You stopped walking and turned back, brows furrowing in confusion. Was this really bothering him this much? Your eyes searched his face, waiting for something, anything to give you a clue.

“Spencer?” You poked him on the cheek, once, then twice, your eyes searching for any flicker of expression that would tell you what was happening in his mind.

“Spencer!” A third poke, this time more insistent, and still, nothing—just that maddening stillness. “Did I break him?” You muttered under your breath, a small, teasing laugh escaping as you wondered if your mention of sugar had been too much of a blow to his senses.

The moment you saw him raise his hand, a smirk threatening to escape, your eyes widened. With a sharp, playful shriek, you bolted in the opposite direction, knowing exactly what was coming.

“I trusted you,” you called over your shoulder, eyes wide in mock outrage as you sprinted down the street, your heels clicking loudly against the pavement. Spencer was right behind you, his long legs easily closing the distance.

“Y/N, you made a mistake by telling me.” His voice was steady, almost teasing, but the underlying tone of warning was clear.

“I shouldn’t have told you about tickling.” You slumped against him, your arms folding over your chest as you surrendered to the inevitability of his grip. His strength was a comfort—one you never minded giving in to when it came to moments like this.

“Technically, you didn’t tell me.” Spencer’s voice was light, but there was that mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. “You just made it obvious. You feel ticklish when someone touches your shoulder. It was kind of hard to miss.”

“Not always!” You half-yelled, the protest feeling more like a playful challenge than an argument.

“Mostly, honey,” he said with a shrug, his smile knowing, the corners of his lips curving in a way that made you want to melt and run at the same time.

But before either of you could continue your teasing back and forth, the weather—so far so quiet—suddenly began to shift. A few drops fell, small at first, almost apologetic, but then the heavens opened, and rain poured down in torrents, soaking everything in its path.

In an instant, you were both running, your hands still clasped together, trying to keep your balance in the downpour. You could hear the echo of your footsteps against the pavement, the soft splash of rain on the street. Spencer had his cardigan out, draping it over your head to shield you, but it was a losing battle. Within moments, both of you were thoroughly drenched, your clothes clinging to your skin, water running down your faces.

As you reached the bus stand, you pulled the cardigan tighter around your shoulders, seeking any relief from the cold. The yellow lamplight flickered overhead, casting a soft, golden hue on the wet world around you. The sound of the rain hitting the ground was the only thing that filled the space between you, soothing and quiet. The storm raged, but here, in this small patch of light, you were safe.

You tilted your head back slightly, taking in the sight of the rain pouring down, your lips parting in a gentle smile. There was something about it—the rawness, the purity of the moment—that filled you with a kind of peace.

“I love rain,” you said, your voice soft, almost a secret shared with the world around you.

Spencer’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes searching your face, as though trying to understand this new piece of you that had revealed itself. “You do?” His voice was laced with both curiosity and admiration, his smile widening as he took in your fascination with the moment.

“Yeah,” you answered, simply and truthfully.

Spencer thought about it for a moment, weighing his options. And in that quiet pause, you saw his heart make a decision. With a gentle pull, he took your hand, his fingers warm against your chilled skin. “Come on,” he said, his voice firm, but with the warmth of someone who only ever wanted to see you happy. “Come on, we’re going out there.”

You blinked, laughing incredulously as you looked at him. “What?”

“You love rain, right?” He didn’t hesitate. His grip on your hand tightened as he gently tugged you further. “Then come on.” His gaze softened, something more than just fondness there—trust, perhaps.

“But you don’t…” You hesitated, still unsure.

“Not exactly. I don’t love getting drenched, but you do. And besides,” he shrugged, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “I love the solitude it brings. The quiet.” A little smile tugged at his lips as his eyes danced with a deeper affection. And I love you, he thought, but didn’t say aloud.

The way his confidence shone through told you everything you needed to know. Without another word, you let him lead you out into the storm.

The world felt quieter now, as you both stood in the middle of the street, drenched and laughing. You closed your eyes, the rain falling around you in a symphony of gentle sounds—earth and water and life—all mingling together.

You extended your hand toward Spencer, a silent invitation, a beckoning that pulled him toward you as you both began to move together. The rain no longer felt like a downpour, but like an invitation to something new, something shared, something simple. You danced together, the rhythm of the rain matching the beat of your hearts, your spirits blending into the quiet, beautiful chaos of the storm.

The rain fell harder, but neither of you cared. You spun, and he spun with you, not perfectly, but it didn’t matter. You were together, lost in this simple, beautiful moment of joy. Spencer pulled you close, his hand around your waist as his other arm snaked around your back, holding you steady. You could feel the warmth of him, even through the rain.

And in that moment, Spencer Reid, for once, didn’t feel different. He didn’t feel out of place or disconnected from the world around him. He felt... home. And he knew, without a doubt, that you were his home.

Spencer realized that everything he once thought wasn’t possible for him was now right here in his arms. Your presence was his answer, his unspoken dream come true. And for that, he could never express enough gratitude—for you, for this life, for Emily, who had brought you to him.

He continued to gaze at you, his eyes intense yet somehow full of wonder, as if trying to read the hidden depths of you. The air between you both felt different now, charged in a way it hadn’t been before. Something had shifted. Something that neither of you had anticipated, but both felt with a quiet certainty.

You flushed under his steady gaze. Normally, you avoided staring directly into Spencer’s eyes for too long. You preferred glancing at him, quick little moments of connection, but right now, his gaze felt like too much—like it was peeling back layers you weren't ready to share.

You looked away, awkwardly focusing on something else—anything but the intensity of his eyes. But before you could settle on the car parked nearby, you felt his hand gently lift your chin, guiding your face back toward him. His thumb traced a small, tender circle on your skin, and you couldn’t help but shiver slightly.

“You keep looking away, honey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, almost like a quiet confession, and it shot warmth straight through you. His words curled inside your chest, grounding you in a way that left you speechless. You tried to break the silence.

“There was something there,” you muttered, attempting to save yourself from the teasing look he was giving you. But you knew there was no escaping that playful glint in his eyes.

The two of you continued down the path, but the sharp pain in your feet that had been there before seemed to disappear. The moment was too perfect to think about anything else. Still, the quiet frustration over your heels persisted. “Damn, these heels,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your aching feet.

Spencer, ever the observant one, heard your soft exhale and noticed the slight wince as you walked. “What happened?” His voice was concerned, gentle.

“It’s just these heels, nothing much,” you replied, but you couldn’t help but shoot the shoes a look that spoke volumes. Spencer, ever the mind reader, saw through your act.

“What if I pick you up? You wouldn’t feel any pain,” he offered, voice laced with genuine care. The thought of you in pain hurt him more than he cared to admit, and he wanted to do anything—anything at all—to ease that discomfort.

“Spencer, it’s okay. I’ll manage,” you reassured him, but the look on your face, part stubbornness and part affection made it clear that you weren’t fooling him.

But Spencer, always the one to offer help even when it wasn’t asked, didn’t wait for permission. One moment, you were standing on your own two feet; the next, you were in his arms, effortlessly lifted by the man who could do anything in your eyes.

“Spencer!” You laughed, your voice a mix of surprise and mock protest, but you knew from the look in his eyes that nothing was going to stop him now.

He smiled, clearly proud of himself. “Did you know that red carnations symbolize love, admiration, and deep affection?” The words tumbled out, a sudden shift in conversation that you knew was leading somewhere. “While roses are associated with purity and innocence, they also symbolize respect and sincerity—”

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself a little closer to his chest, knowing exactly where this was going. You’d heard him talk about flowers before, but this time, it felt different, like he was trying to say something beyond the simple meanings of petals and stems.

“—and their combination together—”

You finished for him, smiling up at Spencer with a playful glint in your eyes. “Means passionate love, respect, and pure affection.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, his lips parting slightly as if he hadn’t expected you to finish the thought. You smirked, delighted at how easily you could read him.

“I was seeing how long it would take you to notice the significance,” you teased, the corners of your mouth tugging upward.

He studied you for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “You really thought about today a lot?” His voice held a note of amusement, mixed with affection.

You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening. “Sweetheart, when one has a lovely boyfriend like you, they ought to put in the effort. I’d put thought and effort into you every day.”

His heart swelled, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just the two of you, standing together, entwined in the quiet love you’d both found—something Spencer had never believed would happen, but now couldn’t imagine living without.

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wolfstardaughter-jj · 5 months ago

Text

The brain rot is r e a l, people. I started watching the show for the plot.

The plot:

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #tara lewis #criminal minds x reader #i love this show #i love it too much #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #jj rambles

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demonicbaby666 · 1 year ago

Note

Can i pls request, Reader and JJ are arguing, Reader confesses her feelings in the heat of the moment, and JJ kisses her. (Jennifer Jareau x reader)

Flirt

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff and bit of angst

Words: 4k+

Warnings: swearing and that’s about it

Summary: You and Emily flirt. It’s never amounted to anything and you’re more than happy about that because it’s all fun and games. Though everyone on the team seems to enjoy the laughs that come from all the interactions the two of you share, one person has never seemed that amused. JJ.

A/n: I’m not sure if this is the vibe you wanted but I hope you enjoy nevertheless! <3

It’s standard, expected even. Friends flirt, and it’s an unspoken agreement, but very much known, it’s all fun and games. The fact that Morgan and Garcia had subjected the whole department to a workplace seminar on appropriate work etiquette - chocolate thunder is not nearly heard as much these days - made you feel a hell of a lot better about the one-liners you and Emily throw at each other on a daily/hourly basis.

The work-wives dynamic you have going isn’t just fun. In truth, it makes workdays easier. The heavy loads brought on by cases take their toll on everyone, and, it’s fair to say, a laugh never hurts. No one on the team minds, well, almost everyone. Hotch, Morgan, Rossi and even Spencer all laugh along, encouraging nicknames, adopting them at times, but not JJ.

She’s never outwardly said anything. Then again, she never needs to. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she never laughs, smiles, or gets involved in the flirtatious banter you and Emily have. At first, it was easy to push aside and ignore, but after around four months of cheeky remarks from Emily and yourself and six months of working with the team, it’s hard not to pick up on the less-than-subtle eye rolls and disdain.

When the two of you are alone, it’s okay. It’s nice. You’ll joke, and now and then, she’ll throw around a particular comment that’ll make you blush, and it’s something you do in return. It remains a rarity, though. And you’re glad for it. Not because you don’t like JJ in that way. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. When JJ compliments you, you feel it all over your body, and you’re sure she sees it. It’s not nothing, and that’s dangerous in a place where workplace relationships are more of a no-no than a yes-yes.

In the office, no matter how hard you try to avoid her, you always bump into her, sometimes quite literally. The coffee you spilt on her white shirt you can still smell. It’s a fond memory, which is unexpected, but that’s only because the moment JJ looked at you, her lips curled up at the sides, and you’d both burst into fits of laughter before she asked to borrow a top from your go bag, a top you’d yet to get back, you never ask though.

JJ mainly keeps to her office, buried in mountains of paperwork. The few times she ventures out to talk to Hotch or visit Garcia, and you happen to run into her, it usually results in you stammering and sounding like a complete idiot, your words running away from you. It’s astonishing how easy it comes to you with Emily and with JJ, nothing. How it is you have blossoming feelings for JJ and can barely function and would sooner hit Emily over the head with a frying pan than kiss her - though you know she certainly wouldn’t disappoint - and can charm her to your wit's end, you don’t know. You know for sure that it’s inconceivably and utterly torturous.

“Hey, short stack,” Emily calls out when you're in her eye line. She’s carrying what is probably, her third coffee of the morning, if not her fourth or fifth, judging by the pep in her step at 9 am. She drifts towards your desk, wafting memories of laughter through rising steam.

“Where’s mine?” You nod to the mug in her hand and try to avoid yawning.

It’s a joke, and maybe it’s the early morning, or the caffeine has fried her brain, but Emily doesn't register that. She looks down at her coffee, back at you, repeats the process another two times, and then unceremoniously shoves the piping hot brown beverage at you. It spills over the rim, she hisses, and you chuckle. Compassion doesn’t come easy when you’re uncaffeinated and sleep deprived.

“Nuh-uh. That has enough sweetener in it to kill a small child.”

“Good thing you only act like a child then,” she playfully jabs, still holding out the coffee. It’s a generous offer, spur of the moment offer, but generous nonetheless.

Alas, you decline. Dropping your bags and shaking your head from side to side, you let out an amused sigh, “I’ll make my own love.”

The coffee machine isn’t far, and it’s non-negligible that you’re in dire need of caffeine, so you start walking over, assuming Emily is following close behind as usual. “Do we have a case?” you don’t bother turning, knowing she’ll be craning over your shoulder any second.

“Yup.” It’s not Emily, though, “I’ll be coming with you guys on this one.”

Turning slowly, you smile at JJ. With her sudden presence still registering, you don’t even want to think about how forced your smile may appear, even if it is genuine, “It’ll be good to have you around.”

She steps closer to grab a stirrer, and you ignore the tension working its way down your spine.

“It'll be nice to be around.” she smiles, and your knees go weak. There's something about her smile. Big, small, soft, forced, it’s never mattered. Every time your legs become jelly, and your heart beats faster.

It's a mystery how she has this much effect on you after six months. It's like the whole world goes hazy. All that matters is JJ, then before you know it, words aren't wording, and you're not, well, you-ing.

You’re saved by Hotch catching your eye as he darts from his office to the briefing room. He waves a file, and the team makes their way over. You try not to stare at JJ walking in front of you. Her hair’s swaying, and if you don't avert your gaze, she's sure to turn around and catch you. There's a little voice inside you. It's telling you not to look away because if she does turn around, you'll see those eyes again, and your tummy will do that weird flippy thing that you'd only ever admit to yourself you've grown to love.

Pull yourself together! You scream to the insipid voice in your head.

You manage to look away. Appreciate the clarity of not being lovesick for two seconds before Emily swoops in, loops her arm through yours and forcibly skips you both into the room. It gets a chuckle from the team, and you glance at JJ to see she’s already got her head down, looking through the case file. She shuffles in her chair, you can only assume sensing your leering eyes, and without raising her head, she looks at you through her lashes.

There's nothing remarkable about how she looks at you; it’s rather ordinary, which motivates you to sigh and slump down on the nearest seat available. Everyone grabs a case file, and you spend that time contemplating who’s feeling more deflated, you or the indented cushion beneath you that is teetering on the brink of death.

It takes a particular type of subtly and poise to mask your rising self-pity, the likes of which you can only hope you possess. Around the table, everyone is listening to JJ, and you ought to do the same. It’s choosing the lesser of two evils, you either focus on what JJ is saying and risk looking like you’ve just been gut punched, or stare blankly into the space between JJ and the projector and come off as a well-rounded put together human.

The latter worms its way on top, the main victory point being that it’ll result in fewer questions asked. Through the garbling, a few words make sense, it’s enough to piece together, and you’re sure time on the jet will equip you with all you need to know.

“Wheels up in twenty.” That, you register.

You’re standing, then you’re walking, then you’re in an SUV, and someone’s talking next to you or, rather, at you. It’s hard to mind, though. Emily makes good background noise, and she seems to drown out the looming thoughts, leaving you to the blur of people and buildings passing by.

Footsteps soon reach your ears. Rossi’s perfectly polished shoes smack against concrete, then metal, as he ascends the stairs to the jet. You know you should get out; your legs, however, ignore this. Emily pulls the keys out and opens her door. Any second, she’ll pick up on your hesitance, and it’s game over. For the duration of the next two days, knowing her, she’ll be on the lookout for any suspicious activity regarding your behaviour if you don’t start moving.

So you move.

Following Emily, the hairs on your neck tingle, and a shiver runs down your spine, despite the warm spring breeze. The signs point to someone looking at you. Turning, you see JJ and Reid walking behind you, neither looking anywhere in your vicinity. JJ seems suspiciously interested in the jet's exterior. Nothing to call home about, though. In her defence, whenever anyone speaks to Reid, they find it hard not to let their mind wander, no matter how hard they are listening.

Nothing outside of the usual occurs when you get on the jet. You sit across from Emily as she slumps down on the first seat available by the front of the plane. It's not that you don't contemplate sitting anywhere else. Who are you kidding? It's not like you don't consider sitting next to JJ, but with all the awkwardness - self-perceived or very much real - you can't stomach the thought of infringing on her and precipitating another chance for you to make an idiot of yourself.

Chancing a look back at JJ, there's the faintest slither of disappointment that comes with watching her haphazardly throw her bag on the chair next to her. It’s unlike JJ to be so indirectly direct in deterring physical closeness.

It’s twenty minutes into the flight, and you and Emily are at it again. In both of your defences’, it wasn’t unsolicited. On the stand, you’d confidently plead you were rabbit holed into discussing how many times you’d had to pretend to act like a couple to deter leering men away, and on top of that, describe, in detail, how you’d mastered the fine art of always getting away with it. Apparently, small talk isn't a thing anymore.

It's been ten minutes of this, and you need to relieve yourself before the next onslaught of laughter results in a change of trousers. You nudge Emily, let her know you'll be right back and turn to head to the back of the jet.

It seems the new norm; whenever an opportunity to glance at JJ’s appears, you take it. Maybe it’s that you’re only just picking up on the habit, something to think about for the duration of the flight, perhaps.

JJ has scarcely moved, one knee up, head turned, eyes out the window. The bag remains unscathed, sitting idly and just as lonesome as the blonde. It's out of respect, for the booming thoughts going through JJ’s head and the physical presence of an ‘I don’t want company’ sign, you stay on your path. However, when you return, her bag is gone, her knee is down, and her attention draws to the direction of the toilet door closing.

The empty seat is beckoning you, calling to you, and though you have enough willpower to return to your own and pretend you haven’t seen anything, laugh about stupid late drunken nights, you choose to save the willpower for a rainy day and sit next to JJ instead.

“Hey,” it’s light, friendly and casual. Smashed it.

Blonde hair, partially bathed in unfiltered sunlight, glides over toned shoulders, and your stomach lurches. “Hey there,” she says. There’s a smile present that’s timid and, for some reason, making you feel a little uneasy because usually, JJ’s smile reaches her eyes, and this one doesn't. The blue orbs are illuminated only by the balmy glow slithering in through the window, and though they’re still as breathtaking as ever, there’s a sadness in acknowledging what’s not there that you can’t seem to shake. “You okay?”

A few seconds, a full minute? You don’t know how long you’ve been staring.

“Uhhh… ya, sorry,” you stammer over your words. There’s a curious look in her eyes, and her eyebrows knit together, “Tired, that’s all. I must have zoned out a little.”

The fingers lying over her knee twitch, and she inches forwards. There’s a split-second thought that maybe she’ll let them run their wanted course, seeking to provide some comfort by brushing over your arm or leg. They remain in her lap.

She’s touring your face, and it's hard to stay impassive when you’re starting to feel more self-conscious than a preschooler entering the lunch hall for the first time. There may as well be turbulence because your body is acting accordingly. You fidget. The paws of your fingers rub over the lines of your palms.

“Are you sleeping?” She’s settled on staring into the dark expanse of your under-eye circles that are half-hidden under shitty concealer.

The worry in her eyes that continuously search your face for an answer to her question is starting to drive you mad. You shrug and turn, relieved that the sinking in your stomach is less vomit-inducing, “Not really, but I manage,” you mutter, eyes wandering over the coffee pot and idle mug.

Whether she believes you is up for debate. A cold chill runs down your arms, and you can tell she’s still staring. A weight suddenly falls on your thigh. With enough speed to snap your neck, you turn.

It’s on fire. You’re sure that your thigh is about to burst into flames, along with your scorching cheeks. No. Your whole body is on fire because JJ’s smiling at you again, and her eyes have stopped searching for evidence of lack of sleep, and they are brighter, gentler and more compassionate.

“This is prime napping time,” she says suggestively.

“Tempting.” you chuckle, or more accurately choke out, shaking your head and paying attention to her hand now moving in circles. Yes. You’re sure. You are on fire. Scorching burning molten lava is slowly replacing the blood coursing through your veins, and you’re going to die on this plane.

Your eyes aren’t the only pair on JJ’s hand placement. As you lift your gaze, JJ’s flickers up too a moment later. Her smile hasn’t faltered. In fact, it may have even grown wider. But you aren’t sure because, at this point, you’re convinced this is all a hallucination.

Finally, she removes her hand to tap her shoulder, “I’m pretty comfy, you know.”

It’s baiting a child with candy, and it’s working. “Well…” you lower your head to the side, and you rest it on JJ’s shoulder, smiling at how easily and perfectly you fit together, “I’ll test that theory out and get back to you.” The end of the sentence is partially yawned out, sleep already weighing heavy on your eyelids.

Sleep hasn't come easy to you over the last week, and it’s a curious thing to ponder upon that JJ is the answer, yet, also part of the problem. Plaguing your mind with her incomparable beauty and so forth. For now, you were too delirious from waking up from the best nap you’d had in… forever…

It isn't hard to admit that JJ was right, she’s inexplicably comfy, more comfortable than your bed, but the brain fog that accompanies your light sensitivity, forcing your eyes closed again, has rendered you incapable of communicating that intelligently.

“I wish I could sleep on you every night.” you sleepily slur, nodding right back off to sleep.

It’s two seconds for you and twenty-three minutes for everyone else. You wake up, jolting your body upright. The words you’d said are still fresh on your lips.

“I-” turning to JJ, dread starts to set in. She’s got the most shit-eating grin on her face that she’s trying to cover with the palm of her hand, and if you weren’t morbidly embarrassed, you might have considered punching her.

She’s snickering now, her hands thrown up in mock surrender. “Theory proven.”

If looks could kill, she’d be stone-cold by now. The worst part is none of this is necessarily her fault, and you know it. She only tugged at a loose string you easily guided her to. Yes, it was pointed out to her in a state of delirium, but that is on your head.

“Bedhead,” JJ coughs, the sun hitting the side of her face angelically.

Pursing your lips and keeping your accusatory gaze fixated on her, you comb your finger through your hair. “Now you're just trying to get a rise out of me,” you grumble.

“Pfff,” she rolls her eyes, smirks, then looks at the papers scattered across the table, “You’re cute when you’re sleeping. Drool and all.”

She’s so fucking smug that part of you dies as a wicked, treacherous girly smile forces the sides of your lips to twitch. “I'm leaving now.”

You drop down across from Emily. She looks at you with an eyebrow raised, then at Reid and Morgan, thinking they might have some insight.

“I need a new mattress,” you huff before looking out the window for the rest of the fight, leaving Emily more confused than when you’d first sat down.

~~~

“Emily, you already know who you’re with,” Hotch smirks, “You both head to the crime scene.”

“God forbid they’re separated,” Rossi lightheartedly quips.

“Oh god,” Morgan sighs, a second too late to warn you.

Emily’s behind you. Her fingers come to your shoulder and dig in almost painfully, “My precious,” she says with her best Gollum impression, then hisses because you’ve delivered a swift elbow to her rips.

She relaxes her grip on you, and while everyone laughs at the idiocy displayed, you mockingly pout at her, “Want me to kiss it better?”

She smirks, “Save it for later,” she slaps your arm and starts walking towards the car, “Come on, let’s get going.”

From the passenger seat window, you see the team, and it’s the same old. Everyone’s dispersing, still smiling and relishing in the small break they got from the morbidity of the job, even if it was only for a minute, except, of course, one person. She’s looking off distantly again, fingers thrumming against her thigh, bottom lip between her teeth, and mindlessly nodding at something Hotch says.

Emily hits the gas, JJ becomes a moving blur, and then she’s gone.

About an hour later, you and Emily are walking into the precinct. Everyone’s heads turn as you both walk in, bickering.

“What's happened now?” Reid asks.

You shove your finger in Emily's direction, “She wouldn't let me drive.”

“Because you're a maniac behind the wheel,” Emily tries to reason.

“And you’re a spoilsport,” you grumble, sitting on a free seat between JJ and Morgan.

“I swear, sometimes you're like an old married couple, the two of you,” Garcia remarks over the phone and nods scatter around the room.

“Excuse me,” JJ stands up and leaves abruptly.

There’s a split-second choice to make, compliantly sit back, as you’ve been doing for weeks, or get up and find out what’s going on with JJ.

It takes looking at the team's faces to realise that if you don’t go, someone else will. Maybe it’s selfish. You know you’re probably not the person she wants to see, and deep down, you know she’s angry, and she’ll lash out. But maybe she’ll reveal the truth despite her rage, and that’s motivation enough to get up and chase after her.

“JJ! Wait up!” You call after her, picking up a light jog, your laden footsteps echoing in the small corridor.

She turns a corner and slips out a side door, likely under the assumption you don’t see her. When you open the door, a small side alley comes into view, and then you notice JJ with her back resting against a wall. She looks utterly defeated, but there’s a resting fire there that you see when she looks up at you.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You walk towards her.

Wearing that distant look again, she says, “It’s the case,” it’s so painfully obvious it’s a lie you can’t stop your brow from rising. She notices and rolls her eyes, “What?”

“Oh, come on, JJ. We both know it’s not the case,” you lean against the wall, turning to the side to look at her. She peers out into the alleyway, “You’ve been acting off all week.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she huffs, pushing herself off the wall. She’s probably right, but there’s no point in either of you going back inside when there’s a big chance your minds will dwell on this interaction.

You reach out and wrap your hand around her wrist, “JJ, talk to me.”

“Will you just drop it!” She yells, yanking her arm away.

“What's your problem?!” you’re sure people can hear you from inside, but the heat is rising within you, and JJ’s bringing it out more and more with her pointed glare.

“What the hell is your problem?!” She sneers.

“Really, JJ?”

“Yes.” she crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows expectantly, enough to push you over the tipping point.

“You know what,” you start, stepping forward, “You are! You’re my problem, JJ.”

“Oh.” She drops her arms down, and there’s a flash of hurt flickering over her features that’s not quite settling but not entirely leaving either.

You let out a heavy breath, “That’s not-”

“Forget it.” she steps away, and it’s infuriating because you’re being stripped of the opportunity to explain, and even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, she’s not giving a chance to think.

And now It’s late to stop yourself, the words are coming out without your consent, and there’s nothing left for you to do, “I like you!” you blurt out.

JJ turns on her heels. Her mouth is hanging open, “What?”

“I like you,” you say, this time a little quieter.

It’s a shock that she’s surprised, given that you have been under the impression you’ve been indisputably evident with your affections towards her.

“Honestly, I thought it was obvious.” You channel your inner voice, it’s small and meek, and you’re not pleased with the fragility of your voice, so you lower your gaze to your feet. A small rock takes your interest whilst you wait for the inevitable sound of JJ’s footsteps fading away.

Instead, they grow louder until the small rock is joined by a pair of black boots and a finger presses to your chin, forcing your head up. Then she kisses you.

It’s light, her lips brushing languishingly against yours, willing you to match their slow rhythm. It takes a few seconds, and you’re back in your body. You part your lips, letting the warmth of JJ engulf you. The kiss is slow and passionate. JJ moves her hands to your waist, pulling you closer against her and a sudden hunger grows low in your stomach, promoting you to nibble at her lower lip.

Your hands are on her shoulders, and she’s moving forward where there’s nowhere to go. You’re only aware you’re moving when you feel the cold surface of brick hitting your back.

A groan tumbles from your mouth, and JJ takes the opportunity to plunge her tongue in. It’s all teeth and tongues from there. You’re both panting and taking in gulps of air where you can, yet still refusing to unfurl yourselves from one another.

Eventually, the need for oxygen mounts to an all-time high, and you pull back, resting your head against the wall as JJ peppers kisses along your jawline.

“How did you not see?” you say between soft moans.

“I’m not a profiler,” JJ mumbles into your neck. She lifts her head, and you see her eyes are shimmering with humour.

“You’re also not blind.” you smugly point out.

“Neither are you.” She smirks.

A few seconds are spent simply smiling sweetly and dotingly at one another, eyes darting to and from eyes to lips. Then you’re kissing again, and the alleyway and the world seem to fade away, leaving only you and JJ.

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