#rchpromptblurbs

[reidscanehand]

“No, sorry, that’s way too much physics”

“No, sorry, that’s way too much physics,” you whisper rather abruptly. And it’s this that cuts off Spencer, mid-info dump.

He looks down at you, his hand halting its pattern over the shell of your ear, which he’s been caressing for the better part of an hour. The cabin of the jet is quiet for the most part, the two of you tucked away on the sofa. Your relationship is only a couple of months old, and while not a secret from the team, is still in its early stages.

But even before you’d started dating, you’d never cut him off during one of his rambles. Hell, you’d asked him to tell you about something - anything he wanted. Apparently, the difference between the physics of the flight patterns of the albatross and the bald eagle is where you draw the line. He looks down at you, tucked into his side, arms crossed over yourself against the cold of the jet, eyes closed. Spencer’s hand moves from your ear to caressing your cheek and he swallows deeply, trying his best not to sound emotional when he quietly replies, “O-kay. S-sorry.”

Half a moment passes before your eyes snap open, “I should’ve said that better; I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he quickly corrects, “it wasn’t that important or-“

“Spencer,” you whisper gently, placing a cold hand over his on your cheek, “it is important.”

He shakes his head, embarrassed; this relationship still feels so delicate, and, while he’s pretty much decided that this is it for him, that your his person and he never wants to let you go, he’s terrified of losing you at any moment, over any small, inconvenient quirks of his that might push you away, “I know I ramble a lot and I can go overboard-“

“Spencer,” you cut him off again, rubbing small circles over the back of his hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You didn’t go overboard - I wouldn’t care if you did. I asked you to stop because I’m about to fall asleep and I want to be able to remember what you tell me, or, at least, appreciate it properly.”

He looks down at you, feeling as though the wind has been knocked out of him.

“Oh,” is all he manages to articulate. You moved your hand down to his wrist, your thumb skimming over the inside of it gently.

“Like I said,” you smile softly, “I should’ve said it better; I’m sorry.”

“It’s really okay,” Spencer replies, his thumb running over your temple. “I sometimes need to be cut off.”

“You really don’t,” you respond like it’s the most well-known fact in the world. You scoot in closer to him, your eyes fluttering closed with post-case exhaustion. “Especially not by me.”

“Why not?” he asks. “You’re the one who has to deal with me the most.”

“I don’t deal with you, Spencer,” you reply, eyes opening again. “I love you.”

You press a quick kiss to the palm still caressing your cheek before closing your eyes again.

Spencer can barely breathe. He’s never felt so elated in his entire life, even when being saved from the brink of death.

“Was that too much?” you ask suddenly. “Because I didn’t mean to-“

“You’re never too much,” Spencer whispers, his other hand coming up to cup the other side of your face. “Especially because I love you too.”

~~~

Thank you for this request - I hope you like it! Feel free to send in one sentence prompts or dialogue prompts! xx

[reidscanehand]

Based on this dialogue prompt: “I don’t want you to stop asking for help around here.”

~~~

It bugs him, really. It bugs him that she clearly doesn’t see herself how he does. It’s not hard to tell - he’s a profiler for a reason - but it’d be obvious even if he wasn’t. There’s a quality of unsureness, a hesitation in all things. A hesitation about herself that seems...innate. He noticed it one of her first days at work. 

“Um, Dr. Reid?” she’d asked politely from her desk, angled closest to his in the bullpen. 

“Yes, Y/N?” he’d turned to face her, already grinning. Because even then he’d recognized that there was something special about her, at least to him, and that’s really all that matters, anyway. 

“I-could I...um, could I ask for y-your help with something, please?” 

He’d stared at her then, perplexed by how uncomfortable she seemed. She’d been with the team only three weeks, certainly, but surely he couldn’t make her that nervous. 

“Only,” he replied quietly, rolling his chair to her desk, “if you’ll call me Spencer.” 

She swallowed intensely, but met his eyes, “Okay, Sp-Spencer.”

He smiled at her, hoping to make her more comfortable; hoping she’d realize he was proud of her for doing something that obviously caused her anxiety, “How can I help you, Y/N?”

“I need...um...I’m looking f-for a place to live,” she stammered out, nerves still edging her voice. “I just need to know, um, if you know of a-any safe places to live?”

“Where’ve you been staying?” Spencer asked, appalled that no one has helped her find a place to stay yet. 

“Um, a h-hotel,” she answered meekly. “It’s fine, just n-not permanent, you know? And I’ve been scared to find something more per-permanent until, um, until Hotch makes it official, but-”

“I thought you were already a part of the team?” he cocked his head to the side, eyes never leaving her face. 

“I...I guess I am,” she almost whispered. He wouldn’t have been able to hear her, had she not been right next to him. 

“You definitely are,” he replied to her statement. She hadn’t really asked a question, but rather stated something so sad and lonely and deeply upsetting that Spencer felt it necessary to reply. “You’re an excellent part of the team.” 

He added that - a genuine fact, not just a compliment - in hopes that it would make her realize that he truly meant it, but the slight tremble of her lip made him realize that she did not. And that maybe, perhaps, this was not the moment. But it was this that made him decide that he would become her friend. That he might even be able to forgo his own feelings, at least look past them enough to make her comfortable; to make her realize that she belongs here. 

“There’s an apartment open in my building, actually,” he’d offered, surprised by his own boldness. “I could put in a good word for you.”

And that is how Y/N ended up living in his building. And how they end up becoming best friends. He hopes he’s subtle, but she’s a damn fine profiler, so there’s no way she can’t know; she has to know how he feels. 

Spencer knows how he feels. And every so often, he thinks he catches her looking at him. He’s the only one she’ll ask questions, not that bothers him in the slightest. She’s the only one that seems to really listen to him. Hell, it’s almost impossible not to care for her as he does. 

One evening after work, she invites him over. She’s trying a new recipe and asks if he’d like to try it. He agrees instantly, a little embarrassed at how swiftly he replies. Derek chokes back a laugh at Spencer’s quick answer and Spencer shoots him a disparaging glance, but Derek simply shakes his head and refocuses on his work. 

There’s such a domesticity to hanging out with Y/N that he nearly has to pinch himself every time he returns to his apartment after spending any time at hers. He’d helped her move in, and asked the rest of the BAU to help as well. She’d smiled more than he’d ever seen that day. Though she smiles around him quite a lot. He’s far too...cautious to hope that the smiles are because of him, but he hopes that he makes her comfortable and makes her feel like she belongs. 

Just like the smile she’s wearing now. The gentle gaze she gives him as she cuts up produce for the soup makes it feel as though his heart might explode. He has to look away, look somewhere else before he drowns in her eyes. He looks away, down at the countertop under his folded arms as he leans against the surface. It’s then that he sees the transfer forms, hidden under some mail in the large decorative plate that her mail sits in. 

It’s almost absurd how quickly his brain focuses on the paperwork, blocking her speaking out and grabbing the papers. She must’ve asked a question because she notices the silence when it drags for a moment too long, looking up and seeing Spencer staring at the partially filled out, long forgotten transfer paperwork. 

The silence that sits over the both of them feels heavy and terrifying, but the sizzling of the onions suddenly feels too loud. Loud enough that Y/N finally covers them, pushing them to an unused eye of the stove and turning the stove off. 

“Y/N,” Spencer finally speaks, his voice crackling around the emotion he’s desperate to keep at bay. “Are you planning on transferring?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “No, but...but I thought about it. A few months ago. When I started.”

“You were going to leave?” he asks, as though he didn’t understand her explanation. He did, he just couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“No...it wasn’t....I mean I never really...it was just...ugh,” she throws down the drying towel, annoyed with herself it would seem. “I wasn’t...I doubt I ever would have actually transferred.”

“Then why did you start the paperwork?” he asks, still astonished. She also won’t look at him and it’s bugging him. The sheer temerity with which he steps around the counter and closer to her is only matched by the trembling hand he uses to tilt her chin up gently to look him in the eyes. She stares at him, shocked, but not uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t feel like I was...working,” she finally manages to say. 

“With the team?” he asks, trying to understand, but she’s already shaking her head. 

“No,” she clarifies, “no, I mean just a-actually working? I wasn’t doing work, I just felt like I was...like I was asking questions.” 

Spencer stares at her, unable - for perhaps the first time in his life - to come up with something to say. She takes his silence as a demand for more explanation, more words, more anything. 

“I just...I just kept going to work only to sit there and stare at everyone and be confused. And I had no idea how to find anything. And then I kept bothering you and I felt so b-bad because you-you are so smart and...and-and important and I would just go to work and...and ask so many questions because it just felt like nothing ever made sense and I couldn’t do it right and-”

He finally cuts her off by throwing his arms around her. She freezes for half a second, but then sinks into the embrace, taking a much needed deep breath. 

“Y/N,” he finally says, his voice tender and quiet, but - he hopes - kind. He starts rambling, but he can’t help it, “Y/N, I hope you know...I never want you to leave. I don’t want you to stop asking questions. I don’t want you to stop asking for help  around here. I want you to keep asking for anything and everything...you’re the only one that listens when I answer anyway...and, and that might be a dumb and selfish reason, but...Y/N, you can’t leave. I know you don’t see it, but you are an incredible profiler, but even if you weren’t, you’re...you’re you. You’re so sweet and beautiful and kind and intelligent. You’ve made the BAU a better place to be.”

She’s silent for only a moment, shifting in his embrace, “Th-thank you, Spencer.”

“I don’t...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“You never make me uncomfortable,” she interrupts him. “You...you’re the reason I stayed.”

“I am?” Spencer asks, pulling back enough to look at her. 

“Yes,” she replies. “You...you never get mad at me for asking questions...and you-you’re a great neighbor...and you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. You made me realize that I didn’t...I suddenly didn’t want to leave anymore.” 

She looks nervous and attempts to looks away, but he gently tilts her chin to look at him again, “Good. Be-because you’re...I want you to be around here for as long as possible. I...you make my life better, Y/N.”

“I...I do?” she asks, her lip trembling. Spencer tightens his hold on her waist, adjusting the hold on her chin to cup her face gently. 

“Yes,” he whispers. And then he sees it; there’s an understanding - a click - in her eyes. They alight as she realizes. Because Spencer isn’t just saying ‘yes’, he’s saying ‘I love you’.

And he sees the same ‘I love you’ in her eyes as she says, “You make my life better, too, Spencer.” 

~~~

Please feel free to send me more dialogue or sentence prompts or you can request more based on my interactions with my crushes! Hope you like it! xx 

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[reidscanehand]

“I’m not in love with her I’m in love with you”

this is a continuation of this blurb from earlier!

~~~

It's almost midnight and someone rings your doorbell. Immediately your neighbor's dog begins barking and all you can think about is how you're going to have to apologize to Mrs. Orson in the morning. You're so physically and emotionally exhausted after the past couple of days that you're almost numb as you go to answer the door. One hand on the gun safe by your door, you look through your peephole. And there, illuminated by the eerily yellow glow of your porch light is Aaron Hotchner, looking slightly less official than usual, but no less handsome. You drop your hand from your gun safe and sigh deeply.

"Y/N?" His voice is quiet, but firm. "I can hear you, you know? Please let me in. I know you're avoiding me."

You sigh again, but open your door, squeezing your eyes shut until it's fully open, almost hoping it's a dream.

"Hi, Hotch," you almost whisper. He takes you in, sighing rather intensely himself.

"Why'd you run away?" he demands almost immediately.

"Shhh," you whip your head around and, sure enough, you can see the silouhette of Mrs. Orson jsut as she shuts her blinds. "I'm never going to hear the end of it from my neighbors if you intend on staying that loud!"

"We could continue this conversation inside," he offers quietly. "I just want to talk."

You breathe out again, but step to the side, gesturing for him to enter. You lock the door behind him only to turn and almost smack into his chest.

"Jesus!" you exclaim, jumping back against the door, putting a foot of space between you two. You take another breath and then meet his gaze. "Alright, you're in. What do you need?"

"Why did you...why did you run off yesterday?" It's the question from earlier, but it's said in such a different tone that it almost feels like a new question altogether. 

"I told you," you huff, "I went to get your nurse and then something came up and I-"

"As someone who interrogates for a living ," Hotch interrupts, stepping slightly closer to you, "I'm happy to inform you that this is an absolutely shit lie."

You roll your eyes and say nothing, looking at your feet instead. The silence is, once again, dreadful.

"Well," Hotch finally says, "if you won't talk, then I will. And really, if you'd taken a moment to just listen to me at the hospital you would've heard me-"

"Would've heard you what, Hotch? Tell me what I already know?" You're exasperated and exhausted. You'd been so terrified when Penelope told you about Hotch's collapse that you'd been far too vulnerable to get rejected. "That you're in love with Beth and happy and that I-"

"I'm not in love with her," he bellows, cutting you off and filling up your personal space, bracing his hands on either side of your head, "I'm in love with you."

The silence this time isn't dreadful, but...heavy. You allow yourself to sit in it for a moment, worried you might drown if you speak, incapable of dropping his gaze.

"What?" you finally rasp.

"Did you mean it?" he asks, desperately searching your eyes.

"Mean what?" you ask, though you fully know.

"Did you mean that you... are you in love with me?" he whispers, any confidence replaced with genuine concern.

You stare at him, tears pooling as you consider the question before whispering, "Of course I am, Hotch, but-"

"When I collapsed...I-I had a dream," Hotch whispers, cutting you off as his eyes grow suddenly teary. "And I saw...I saw Haley again and-and Foyet. And it was weird but wonderful, and...we were at a movie? Of my life? We were watching moments that Haley's missed and she...she saw Beth. She asked me why we broke up-"

"You broke up?" you whisper. "Why?"

"She knew, just like Haley knew in my dream," Hotch answers, like that should be the clearest statement in the world.

"Knew what?" you ask, but Hotch isn't looking at your eyes anymore. His gaze is dropping to your lips, looking up at your eyes before dropping back your lips.

"They knew that I'm in love with you," Hotch whispers, looking into your eyes, asking for permission. You barely nod before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is short, but that spark you've always felt is there. He pulls away, a small smile playing on his lips, "And if you'd stayed for two seconds longer the other day, I would've told you the exact same thing."

~~~

Thank you for this request - I hope you like it! Feel free to send me sentence or dialogue prompts! xx

[reidscanehand]

“You bought me … your favourite book?”

"You bought me...your favorite book?" Spencer asks, staring down absolutely dumbfounded at the copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes in his hands. The slender, but beautifully bound book, is covered in a lush, leathery emerald green, embossed with dark, almost bronze lettering. It's stunning...and likely was incredibly expensive. “Y/N, I-”

“Don’t you dare say anything about the cost,” you interrupt him, as though reading his thoughts. “You bought me those exclusive tickets to that museum exhibit last month, and you’ve paid for the last five dinners we shared.”

“You gave me cash-”

“All of which I found stashed under the lamp in my front hall!” You stare up at him, all innocence and sweetness. “I bought you this because you told me you’d never read it.”

“Oh, I, um...” Spencer shuffles awkwardly between his feet. “Thank you; thank you very much.” He pushes forward, giving you an awkward hug. You reciprocate the hold, but he can feel you freezing in his hold. He moves to walk away, but you hold onto him. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Nothing...nothing’s wrong, why would you-”

“Because you’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird,” he shrugs.

“No,” you peer up at him intensely, “not this weird, anyway.”

“Rude,” he retorts, blushing a little a looking away from you. 

“Usually you’re not weird,” you say, gently. “You’re just charming. But, right now you’re just being weird.”

Spencer’s blush intensifies and he finally meets your eyes, “I...I’ve read this book already.”

“But you said-”

“I said that because...because you were so adorable when you were talking about it and I didn’t want you to-to stop or get self-conscious just because I-”

You cut him off then, with a gentle peck to the lips. 

“You see,” you whisper when you pull away, “not weird at all. Just charming.” 

~~~

Thank you for the request - I hope you like it! Feel free to send me more one sentence or dialogue prompts! xx

[reidscanehand]

“I don’t know if you know this but... I love you.”

I got a dialogue prompt and ended up with a third part blurb to Twenty Thousand Words Per Minute. If you haven't read the fic already here is part 1 and part 2. Enjoy! xx

~~~

"Jean-Luc?"

"As in Picard?" Y/N asks, eyebrow raised.

"Yes."

"Spencer, we cannot name our child after Jean-Luc Picard," she giggles.

"And why not?" he asks, pouting for exaggeration, barely able to fight his joking laughter.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles, "If anything, Jean-Luc Reid doesn't quite have the same ring to it." He grins and nods, acknowledging that she's right.

"Edgar," Spencer suggests.

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?" Y/N teases sweetly.

"Allen," he offers.

"Not dramatic enough," she replies, cheekily. He laughs heartily at her sureness.

"Poe," he says, smiling as he rubs clockwork circles on her pregnant belly. She looks up at him and meets his eyes, her smile nearly effervescent in addition to her natural pregnant glow.

"You don't worry he might be a bit doomed for a life of tragic poetry and spooky stories?" she giggles. He presses a kiss to her temple.

"And that's exactly why it's a great idea," Spencer smiles down at her. They'd put off picking baby names until Y/N started showing, deciding that telling Nicholas he's becoming a big brother will be easier if there's a name - or at least name options - to put to the concept of a sibling.

"You've only suggested boy names so far," she points out. "Do you have any ideas for girls?"

Spencer thinks for a moment, then sits back against the pillows of their bed, "You know, I don't think I ever have."

"Did you think of any the first time?" she asks quietly.

Spencer looks over at her pensively, her eyes not meeting his, but rather watching the patterns his hands make on her small, but present baby bump. Y/N never met his first wife and Nicholas's mother, Maxine, a fact he's insanely thankful for, really. Spencer knows that he'll never quite understand the position she's in, though it's something for which he tries to account. But moments like this have a nasty habit of sneaking upon them.

"No," he answers softly, "we didn't. But, it wasn't really an option."

"What do you mean?"

He looks down at her again to see her still not looking at him. Carefully, he wraps an arm around her, pulling Y/N closer to his chest. He allows her a moment to settle into his embrace before he begins, "It wasn't really an option because Maxine didn't want a child in the first place."

"Why did she go through with it, then?" Y/N whispers, as though scared to ask.

"I think she considered the options," Spencer replies softly. "I told her she could do what she wanted and she decided to have him, a fact for which I'm forever thankful, obviously. I think that was probably the only thing we ever agreed on."

"What, having a baby?" she asks, still not looking at him.

"That we both loved Nicholas," he replies, "or at least I thought she did."

There's a silence then, both of them recognizing the fact that Maxine had indeed abandoned both Spencer and their son when she'd left. Spencer feels Y/N press closer to him, as though reminding him that she will never do that to them.

"Why weren't girls' names an option?" Her voice is still so quiet, the clear anxiety in it cracking Spencer's heart. He scoots down the bed until they're face to face, cradling his arm over her.

"Because," he rasps, trying desperately not to cry, but his emotions getting the better of him. "Because... Maxine didn't ever want children. So, every discussion, every decision had to be made with the utmost delicacy. She wanted to know the gender, she came up with four names and told me to pick one. Every choice, every moment was as clear cut as possible to get the experience over with as soon as she could."

"I'm sorry you had to do that," Y/N says, and Spencer hears she's crying before he sees the tears.

"Hey," he comforts her, wiping a tear from her face before pressing a kiss to her nose, "none of that."

"But-"

"No buts," Spencer insists. "Every moment of that experience gave me Nicholas and I wouldn't trade the world for that. I wouldn't trade any of it because it brought me to you. And to this." He squeezes her closer to him, one hand on her belly, the other cradling her head, his forehead against her own.

Another tear runs down her face, but she smiles at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, "How about Eileen?"

"Why Eileen?" he asks, just happy she's happy.

"It means 'wished for' in Gaelic," she answers, her smile only deepening.

"That sounds perfect, actually," Spencer replies, pulling her back to his lips. They kiss for a while, just enjoying each other. He finally pulls back and stares at her, the beautiful, sweet nanny that entered their lives only two years ago now. The woman that became Nicholas's mother and his wife, now mothering their child, a fact Spencer can hardly get over.

"So," he whispers, "Eileen or Jean-Luc Reid?"

"Spencer," she chastises. The tears are long gone as mirth dances in her eyes. "I will consider Patrick, how about that?"

"Like Sir Patrick Stewart?" Spencer's eyes widen in excitement.

"Exactly," she smiles, "will that do?"

Instead of an answer, he kisses her again, pulling away to say, "I don't know if you know this, but I love you."

"I did know that," she whispers, pressing a kiss into his neck as they begin to fall asleep, "but it's always nice to hear it again."

He kisses her temple again, almost asleep when Y/N says, "Spencer?"

"Yes, love?"

"I love you, too."

~~~

Thank you for the request and I hope you liked it! xx

[reidscanehand]

“You cancelled plans for me?”

oops...accidentally made this into a two-parter because I thought this prompt and another suited each other. That one will be out at 12:30pm EST!

~~~

"You canceled plans for me?"

"Hotch," you reply, trying to be as passive as possible as you brush his hair from his forehead, "of course I canceled my plans for you. You collapsed during a round table." You're also in love with him, but that's beside the point.

"But you're meant to have time off right now," he insists again, his voice still far weaker than you're used to, pulling at your heartstrings even more than normal. "You're supposed to be visiting family and resting, not dealing with BAU stuff-"

"This is hardly just BAU stuff, Hotch," you interrupt, taking a firm hold of his hand, your other one still running through his hair. "And I am visiting family."

He smiles slightly, but it's still a tad faltering.

"Besides," you continue, "I'm not meant to visit back home until next week. You didn't interrupt anything but a rather boring lunch alone in my apartment."

He smiles a little more but drops his eyes to your hands. You realize you're clinging to him far more than you usually allow yourself to. You've attempted, anyway, to keep your touches to a minimum since you realized that you are, in fact, in love with your unit chief.

You've attempted to maintain a sense of professionalism, but it's difficult on a daily basis, let alone when Penelope calls to tell you that Hotch collapsed during the round table meeting. You'd arrived at the hospital, half expecting to relieve Beth from the hours of waiting for him to wake up after surgery, but you'd arrived to Hotch asleep alone in his bed. He'd already woken up and Penelope had been waiting for him, but she needed to go back to work and your annual leave left you with a completely clear schedule.

You attempt to pull away your hand, only for Hotch to grip it harder, holding it in place, his other hand coming up to rub a thumb over your knuckles.

"I just wish..." He trails off, still looking at your entwined hands. He takes a deep breath before meeting your eyes, "I just wish you didn't have to waste your time on me."

"Aaron," you emphasize immediately, "you are never a waste of time. Ever. Plus, I told you, I'm spending time with someone I lo-" You cut yourself off, but Hotch's eyebrows snap up as though at full attention.

"I'm spending time with someone I care about a lot," you correct, far too late to fix what you've just said. There's an absolutely dreadful silence.

"Y/N," Hotch whispers, "I care about you a lot, too."

It feels as though a rock has dropped in the base of your stomach. You drop his hand and stand from your seat, keeping your mouth in a tight smile. What a kind rejection, you think. You can feel the tears rising and you don't want to show it, but it's almost impossible.

"Yeah," you rasp, your voice thick with emotion. You turn to look back at the clock behind you, using your newly freed hands to subtly wipe under your eyes. "Hey, I'm gonna go find a nurse, I think it's time to check your vitals."

You start to leave, but Hotch catches your arm, "Y/N, I don't-"

"Hotch, look, I get it, okay? It's not a big deal; I'm just happy you're okay," you breathe, talking way too fast and way too loud. Before he can speak, you've turned on your heel, wrenching your arm from his grasp. You can hear him saying your name, but you can't turn around. Penelope is waiting in the hallway with a coffee for you when you close the door behind you. You release a sob.

"Y/N," Penelope gasps, "what's wrong, sweetheart?"

~~~

to be continued...

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it! Feel free to send me sentence prompts or dialogue requests! xx

[reidscanehand]

"The red one or the blue one?"

“The red one or the blue one?” Derek asks, proffering two - rather revealing - dresses in front of you.

“Um,” you look between the two dresses, not sure you’d wear either one ever, let alone while pretending to be Derek’s date. Why oh why Hotch thought the two of you would be best for this undercover operation is beyond you, but here you are, about to be decked out in (what you assume will be) an extremely uncomfortable outfit, including one of these heinously tight dresses and sky high heels that will only emphasize how nervous you are.

“Is there a purple option?” Spencer’s voice teases from behind you. You turn and you must look relieved beyong measure because Spencer immediately looks concerned. He kneels down beside your chair and puts his hand on your knee, rubbing it comfortingly. 

“Derek, can you give us a second?” he asks. Derek nods, leaving the dresses on the table of the conference room at the local precinct the team is inhabiting for the week. Spencer turns back to you, smiling gently.

“Okay, my sweet girl,” Spencer whispers gently. “I know you’re pretty picky about your clothes, but this is clearly about more than a red or blue dress. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

And you want to tell him, you really do, but you don’t want him to be disappointed. Agents do things like this all the time, why should you be so nervous? It might be because you’re exactly the unsub’s type - like, to a creepy Hotch-almost-didn’t-want-you-involved-at-all, concerning level. But it was pointed out, because it was true, that you would actually be the best method of ensnaring the unsub, Hotch’s concerns assuaged by the idea of sending Derek in with you. 

But you can’t tell Spencer. In fact, you can’t say anything. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except a sob, and suddenly your body is taking over and your arms are wrapping around your boyfriend’s neck, desperate for comfort. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Spencer coos, shifting the two of you so that you’re sitting in his lap. “It’s okay if you’re afraid-”

“No, it’s not,” you cry. “None of you are ever afraid.”

Spencer is quiet for a moment before he gently grabs your chin, turning you to face him, “Now,” he whispers, “who ever gave you that idea?”

“Everyone’s just so...so...so much better at this than I am,” you sob. “And I just...what do I even bring to this team?”

“Whoa, sweetheart,” Spencer gasps, wiping tears from under your eyes, “has someone said something that-”

“They didn’t have to...it’s...everyone’s always so reticent to work with me; like they’re scared I’ll crack or something,” you whisper. “Am I really so bad at-”

“You’re not bad at this at all, my darling,” Spencer reassures you. “I think...I think it might be my fault, actually.”

“How...” you falter, looking up at him again, “how is it your fault? That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“No...it doesn’t, well, it shouldn’t,” he sighs, annoyed with himself. “You remember what I told you about Maeve? How she...how she died in front of me?”

“Of course,” you respond softly. 

“Since we’re together now, I think the team is worried that I might lose you. And that’s completely on me, I’ll speak to them, I-”

“Do you worry?” you ask quietly. “Do you worry you’ll lose me?”

Spencer looks at you, eyes piercing into your own, “Of course I do. But, I also know that you’re incredibly brave and really, really good at what we do. And whether you’re the unsub’s perfect bait, or you’re solving parts of the case at the precinct, you are an unbelievable asset to this team.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “And the most important thing in my life.” He presses a kiss to your nose, a kiss you quickly maneuver into a full-blown kiss. 

Spencer pulls away from you giggling, his hand caressing your cheek, “There she is. There’s my girl.”

“And I’ll always be here,” you reply happily. “Now, what do you think, red or blue?”

“Red,” Spencer picks immediately. “It looks nice on you, but, statistically, red cars are more likely to be pulled over and the logic still applies here. Did you know that the color red causes a natural response in the right side of the-” 

You cut him off with a quick kiss, pulling away only to say, “How about you finish telling me all about it after we go catch this guy?”

~~~

Thank you for the request - I hope you liked it! Feel free to send me sentence or dialogue prompts! xx 

[reidscanehand]

“hey… Is everything ok? I didn't mean to pry, but I saw your recent google searches when I was using the computer after you and..."

tw: body dysmorphia, mentions of past eating disorders and potential relapse

~~~

"Hey," a soft voice says from the door. You turn to see Derek Morgan standing in the doorway to your office.

"Hey," you reply, smiling, "what's up?"

"Can I, um..." He trails off, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his head, his eyes gazing to the ceiling for a moment. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," you reply, eyes narrowing, curious about what this could possibly be about. "Is everything okay?"

Derek stares at you for a moment before shutting the door behind himself, crossing to your desk in the deafening silence that follows. He rests his knuckles on the edge of your desk and leans forward to you, "That really depends on what you tell me."

"What do you mean?" You run through the events of the past few days wondering what possibly could’ve made Derek this upset. Derek is one of your best friends. He’s confident and funny, far smoother than you, really. He’s the best man you know: strong and patient and incredibly noble. Truly, honestly, you have feelings for him. Feelings beyond the friendship you two share. And you’re now worried that you’ve done something to mess up that ever so precious friendship. 

“So...I’ve been noticing some things,” he begins very quietly. 

When he doesn’t continue you clear your throat, “Things?”

“It’s...it’s...fuck, I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, clearly upset. 

“Derek, is it...have I done something-”

“No, no,” he corrects, walking around your desk to kneel next to you, taking your hands in his. “No...I’m just very worried about you.”

“Why?” You’re still staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. 

Derek looks up at you and smiles softly, almost like he can’t help it, “Did you know that you’re my favorite person in the world?” 

Your heart starts to race and you’re sure he can feel the reverberations of your pulse through your hands. You swallow, taking a second to gather the strength to say, “You’re certainly mine.” 

He smiles again, tears forming in his eyes. One of them rolls down his cheeks. 

“Derek,” you whisper, squeezing his hands tighter, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m just...I...is everything okay?” he asks this so quietly, tears pouring down his cheeks. 

“Why do you-”

“I didn’t mean to pry, but I saw your recent Google searches when I was using the computer after you and...” he drifts off as your hands tense in his. “Y/N?” 

He stares up at you as you tense, your body becoming aware of the panic in your brain. Because now Derek knows what you’ve tried so desperately to keep a secret for so long. 

“You know, then,” you rasp, tears of your own pooling in your eyes. 

“About...about your eating disorder?” he asks carefully. At your very slight nod he pulls your hands closer to his chest, pressing a kiss against them. He begins to rub soothing circles into them, “How long did you have it?”

“About four years,” you whisper, “on and off. I never went into treatment or rehab or anything.”

“And...and how long has it been...how long have you been relapsing?” he asks, ever so cautiously. 

You sniffle, finally meeting his eyes again, “A little over a month.” 

“Was there...was there any specific reason why? Like, like a trigger or something?” 

“I just...I felt huge one day. My body dysmorphia is still a bitch and one day I just...” you trail off, getting annoyed with your own self. “Why do you even want to know?”

“Because, Y/N,” Derek sighs deeply. He stands abruptly, pulling you up with him, clutching you to his chest like he’s scared you’ll float away. He breathes into your hair, pressing a small kiss atop your head, “I’m...I’m in love with you.” 

You pull back, eyes wide, incapable of speech. 

“Hey,” Derek whispers, still clinging to your arms, “I totally understand if you don’t feel the same way...but I couldn’t watch someone I care about...” A large tear rolls down his cheek and Derek sniffles, “deteriorate like this. I had my suspicions and I figured you’d tell me in your own time, but then I saw your search history and-”

“You love me?” you finally manage to ask. 

“Of course I do,” he replies, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re my favorite person in the world.” 

“Derek,” you whisper into him, “I love you, too.” 

He pulls away for a moment, only to look down into your eyes and smile. He presses another kiss to your forehead. 

“Now,” he says, quietly, your face now cupped in his hands, “what’s say you and I set up an appointment with your therapist to talk about your relapse?” 

You nod, your hands covering his over your cheeks, a giggle your incapable of stopping chasing the smile that grows over your face. 

Derek smiles down at you, “And then, once you get to feeling a bit better, we can set up a dinner to talk about you and me. Sound good, honey?”

You nod as he presses another kiss, a kiss of love, safety, and protection, into your forehead, “It might take a while.”

Derek just nods at you, still smiling, “I’d wait forever for you.”

~~~

Thank you for this request - I hope you liked it! I’ve never written for Derek like this, so I hope this is enjoyable! xx  

[reidscanehand]

“I can’t believe you would say that about me” hurt/comfort

It's certainly not the first time an agent in the BAU has gone slightly rogue. In fact, it really just shouldn't be a surprise at this point and yet, every time it happens (again, rather frequently), Strauss and the other higher-ups at the FBI seem astonished. If not obvious because of its frequency, it should be obvious because studying behavior requires a level of empathy that makes it hard to put head before heart. And you're hardly sorry that there wasn't a large amount of logic present when you broke protocol to save that little girl.

You twiddle your thumbs, shifting uncomfortably in your slightly nicer attire. When Hotch called to inform you that Strauss demanded a post-case protocol break debrief, he told you to "wear something slightly nicer than work clothes", but you'd chosen something vastly more uncomfortable than you'd previously believed. Or maybe you were just nervous. You'd arrived ready to speak to Strauss but were informed by a very annoyed looking Hotch that he would be speaking to her first and you were to wait outside on the bench next to the conference room door. A bench you'd sworn would provide you more eavesdropping ability than it has. You can't hear a damn thing, except that you think Hotch is speaking more than Strauss.

Is it a good sign? Is it a bad sign? You're not sure. Hotch hadn't been thrilled that you'd broken protocol. In fact, his reaction had been...odd. Really, he'd been acting odd around you a lot recently.

Shit, maybe you are being fired. You begin to think of something to say, an attempt at a defense. Or maybe, maybe you should just take it on the chin. Your brain is so full of jumping back and forth between mentally tweaking your resume for other job options and some attempt at defending your actions that, by the time Hotch opens the door and steps into the hall, you're almost an emotional wreck.

You stand to greet him, swallowing back tears when you finally look into his eyes. He just looks determined, if not slightly pissed off.

"We're all done here, you don't have to say anything," he says by way of greeting.

"Wha-what?" you ask, almost ashamed at how feeble you sound. He turns on his heel and gestures for you to follow him. It takes you a moment to realize that the two of you are walking back to the bullpen.

"You're cleared; don't worry about it anymore," Hotch answers, not looking back at you. He stops at the end of the hallway and turns back to look at where you've stopped behind him.

"So, I'm...I'm not fired?" you ask quietly. Just like that, Hotch's demeanor changes entirely. He crosses back to you, putting his hands on your upper arms.

"Of course not," he whispers. "You're too good of an agent and a person for us to let you go."

"But...but the protocols-"

"I told Strauss that you're far too valuable an asset to the team to get belittled into a corner over something so trivial as this," he interrupts, wiping a tear from your cheek with a gentle finger. "And that I would not have one of my best agents' records raked over the coals for deciding that saving another life was more important than a rule."

He stares down at you, cupping your cheeks to gain better access to the tears now pouring down your face. It's almost like he's unaware of the intimacy of the action.

"I can't believe you would say that about me," you rasp against your tears.

Hotch cocks his head to one side, "Of course I would, Y/N, why would you think otherwise?"

"Well...it's just...you didn't seem too happy that I broke protocol either and I made you have to deal with Strauss and-"

He places a finger to your lips to calm you down. He then pulls back, hands still cupping your jaw, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Y/N," he starts off slowly, "I'm sorry if...I didn't mean...oh, for God's sake."

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"Nothing at all," he chuckles to himself, "I just find it incredibly hard to think straight around you."

"What do you mean?" you stare up at him. Hotch wipes under your eyes again, staring down at you with more adoration than you've ever imagined - and you've imagined it many times.

"I mean," Hotch whispers, thumbs caressing your jaw, "that I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot more than I should, really, and while I wasn't thrilled that you broke protocol...I was so damn proud of you and so terrified for you at the same time. It scared me to see someone I care about so much put their lives on the line, but I-"

You cut him off this time, pressing your lips to his. Thankfully, he kisses you back, moaning against you as your hands grasp at his chest. You only pull away when you absolutely have to breathe, sighing contentedly as Hotch presses another kiss to your temple, pulling you close. The two of you stand together, holding each other in the (thankfully empty) hallway for a long time. The fluorescent lights are shining overhead, but it feels as though you are basking in the glow of something far more spectacular.

"Well," you finally whisper, "this is certainly a break in protocol."

A laugh rumbles through Hotch's chest as he cups your jaw again, pulling you back in for another kiss.

~~~

Thank you for the request - I hope you like it! Feel free to send me sentence and dialogue prompts! xx

[reidscanehand]

“if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more” for spencer please?

i’m not sure if this counts as a dialogue prompt bc it’s a book quote so feel free to ignore it !! but i know you love austen so thought it’d be cute (if it’s too much pressure bc you love the books, no worries !!)

x

Spencer Reid never thought he'd have something like this. The years of loneliness piled onto his pre-existent trauma made him feel as though there was never enough good about him to make up for the bad.

But then he'd met you. Beautiful, wonderful, and oh-so-very-kind you. Falling in love with you had been stupidly simple. Cliche, even. From the moment he'd met you, your kindness had enveloped him in an almost caress-like warmth, filling in the cracks in his heart and soul from the inside out.

You'd nodded sweetly in understanding when he'd admitted he didn't want to shake your hand the day you'd joined the team. You'd asked him to explain geographical profiling to the most minute of details when you'd realized he needed a breather from the complexity of your first case. You'd played chess with him on the jet, smiling as he explained the game and losing to him every single time with the biggest grin on your face. You'd noticed his insecurity, of course, it was difficult not to notice, but you were one of the first new people in Spencer's life to do something about it. There was an awkward tilt of your head in his periphery as he made a self-deprecating comment, someone taking him up on his offers of oddball festivals and niche film festivals. Someone who took the time to call him and check on him after cases. Someone who made sure he was eating and drinking water in between sugary sweet coffees.

Someone for whom his feelings only grew stronger and yet more tender as they progressed. And someone who - thankfully - felt the same way about him. Then it wasn't a cliche anymore - it was a joyous reality.

And now it's just the two of you. The two of you living together in his apartment. The two of you sprawled out on his sofa. His head is in your lap and you're gently combing through his hair with your fingers, reading a book out loud. He'd been doing the same for you until about an hour ago, but then you'd insisted on switching when he'd yawned. You encouraged him to sleep, and when he'd pouted playfully about missing out on the chapter (even though he definitely already knows the entire book from memory), you'd rolled your eyes, but sweetly agreed to "catch him up" at another time.

Happier than he's ever been, he's sure, he's almost lulled to sleep - almost - when he hears you reach his favorite part:

“'My dearest Emma,' said he, 'for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma⁠—tell me at once. Say ‘No,’ if it is to be said.'—She could really say nothing.⁠—'You are silent,' he cried, with great animation; 'absolutely silent! at present I ask no more,'" you read in your quiet, soothing timbre. "Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.

'I cannot make speeches, Emma,' he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing-"

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more," Spencer whispers with you. You stop abruptly, smiling down at him with such adoration that he's sure his heart, his brain stops for just a moment, just to let him live in the moment a little longer. You lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, cupping his jaw and running your thumb over his nose and cheekbones.

You clear your throat a bit, sitting back up and pulling the book back into your eye line, "And so we go on."

So we do, Spencer thinks as he begins to fall asleep, forevermore.

~~~

Thank you for the request - I hope you like it! xx