#suv case

[suv-draws-stuff]

troubled old people my beloveds (also omagah its lanyon)

[twinklepuzzle]

I feel like there was another long thread going around a while back about how the current designs for trucks and SUVs (being taller and larger and having a flatter/more vertical front end rather than a sloped/pointed one) were more dangerous for pedestrians?

Like even aside from the mindset of the drivers. Even someone who was very mindful and was a good driver was more likely to kill a pedestrian, because the front end of the vehicles were at chest-to-head height. So if one hits you it's running directly into your very squishy and vital organs, as opposed to shorter vehicles, which are more likely to hit your legs (still causes injury, but it's more likely that they'll be survivable).

And the sloped fronts of most sedans (a word I'm using here as a catch-all for non-truck and non-SUV vehicles, for convenience) would allow the person to roll up and off of the vehicle, whereas the flat fronts of trucks and SUVs would push the person to the ground and/or under the vehicle, causing further injury.

And that's without taking into account how the design of trucks and SUV reduces the driver's visibility of the area immediately surrounding the vehicle and the actual pavement of the road (being higher up allows them to see over other cars, and therefore see more of the condition of the "road", here meaning traffic/ other cars, not the surface of the road itself).

I can't remember if it was real or just perception, but there's also the idea that the passengers and driver of a truck/SUV are safer in a collision than they would be in a sedan, which makes people want to buy them, especially with there being so many trucks and SUVs on the road. It's easy to look at and SUV and a sedan and think "if these two vehicles crashed, the sedan would be destroyed/the sedan would 'lose' and the SUV would 'win' the crash", so it feels like you're on more even footing with other drivers if you also get a tall car.

So trucks and SUVs become more popular due to the perception of personal safety (the safety of people outside your vehicle be damned), which leads to other people buying the tall cars to level the playing field, but it also leads to car manufacturers making more of the tall vehicles, and offering fewer sedans.

With fewer options for sedans, people are less likely to find one that they like, and more likely to look into SUVs. So even more people buy the bigger cars, and even less people buy the sedans, so car manus lean even harder into making more tall cars and fewer short cars.

It becomes a cycle, and the sedans are straight up disappearing.

And *that* isn't taking into account that, being larger and (often) having more features than sedans, manufacturers can charge more for an SUV/truck, so they make more profit if they sell more big cars. So there's even more of a financial incentive to produce more trucks/SUVs than sedans.

So even if you aren't one of the people with a "run the fuckers over" mindset, it's easier than ever to get a car that you're more likely to kill someone with (even in the case of a genuine accident), and harder to get a more reasonable and safer-for-the-public vehicle.

[skippitydippity]

Omgomgomg I have enough for a CAR!!!!!!! There's a blue 2015 Mazda3 i SV literally One Thousand Miles Away From Me but I'll be in that area for a few days next week........................................ It's like 1.5k over budget so I shouldn't even be thinking about it but like. FUCK

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 2

In which something a little more serious and a lot more meaningful than either of you anticipated starts to blossom between you and your curly haired crush.

Warnings: nothing, this is so tooth achingly fluffy, you may need a trip to the dentist afterwards. Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 5.3k (oops)

Master List

(quick note in case anyone is paying super close attention. i switched the job reader has at McLaren to fit this bit of plot in. I think switched all mentions over in part one, but just in case you notice the different job title, that was on purpose :) )

yourusername (private) posted:

110 likes liked by landonorris, BFFSarah, coworkerMolly, and others yourusername scenes from the longest winter break ever landonorris is Stella baking me more cookies??? >>>yourusername she gave all gingerbread men mullets 'just like lando', what do you think? >>>landonorris thats my girl!! coworkerMolly that skirt on you is INSANE btw >>>yourusername ;)

The holidays slip away in a blur of presents and hot cocoa dates with Stella so fast that before you know it, school is beginning again and you're forced back into the office on a regular basis. With the way the holidays fell this year, you ended up taking nearly two weeks of annual leave between Christmas and New Years and while you appreciated the time off to reset and battle burnout your job inevitably brought on, by the time you dropped Stella off at school that first morning, you were near ecstatic with relief.

You didn't want to admit it to anyone, not even barely to yourself, but you also had missed Lando. He'd spent Christmas at his parents for a few days before jetting off to somewhere gorgeous and warm with his friends and while he texted you near constantly, you often found yourself wondering what he was doing. You hated how much you looked forward to the chime on your phone alerting you to a new text but even more, you hated how much your heart stuttered in your chest every time you saw it was his name that was lighting up your phone.

You had told Sarah about running into Lando at Harrods that Saturday and then made the mistake of telling her that he had bought the booster seat (downright refusing to allow you to even split the cost it with him) and driven you home. She had grinned like a cat with warm milk, saying she knew something was going on but was wildly excited when you told her about the drive home.

Like you had predicted, Stella had been fast asleep by the time Lando had merged onto the freeway. She had stayed sound asleep even after you had reached your house, Lando allowing his Range Rover to idle for nearly twenty minutes in your driveway as you chatted. The conversation was quiet, neither of you wanting to wake a sleeping Stella but it flowed as easily as champagne on New Years Eve.

As you sat in the passengers seat of the SUV you couldn't help the way your mind wandered into the 'what ifs' of what was happening here. What if everything hadn't been ruined the moment Lando found out that Stella was yours? What if that, despite everything being against you, this was the time it all worked out. They were dangerous thoughts, especially for a single mom who couldn't allow her heart to be compromised. There was another heart that had to be taken into consideration: Stella's fragile six year old heart. So when Lando had started allowing his gaze to wander down to your lips and leaning almost imperceptably closer towards you with each passing moment, you had ignored his advances. You didn't want to, but you were scared. The what if's scared you but the what ifs not working out scared you even more.

You had slipped out of the car before anything could happen, thankful for the fact that Stella began to finally stir after nearly 30 minutes of you and Lando talking.

After that night, the texting had started and while Lando hadn't visted the MTC since, he had made a point to check in with you a few times each day. He didn't want to get ahead of himself, reminding himself of how you had ever so subtly rejected his advances the night he had taken you and Stella home.

As he had been analyzing the evening the next day with Max, his best friend had all but warned him off of you. 'Being with a single mom is a challenge that I don't think you're up for, mate.' Had been his warning, a warning that Lando had so far, chosen to ignore. He knew it was kind of a crazy thing to consider, especially with the lifestyle that he had become accustomed to over the last few years, but there was something magnetic about you. The way you sacrificed everything in order to make sure Stella was taken care of. The way you took on everything solo despite having a solid support system, because you didn't want to be a burden to anyone. The way you still managed to find magic in a life that had to be full of heartache and difficulties.

You were a magnetic force to be reckoned with and the fact that you had opened up to Lando that night in the car while Stella slept soundly in his back seat was something that he cherished.

It was also why he found himself nervously pacing outside of Sarah's office one January morning after he had returned from his vacation in Finland. The new season was fast approaching and it was time to get down to business and spend more time in the sim and at the MTC, making sure he was ready to give everything for the 2025 season. But he also had other reasons to be at the MTC even more: you.

Sarah is in her office that chilly January morning when she hears shuffling outside her door. It's propped open so all it takes is a quick peek outside. "Lando?" She calls, spying the driver hovering outside her door, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he paced the empty corridor.

"Oh. Hi. Sorry." Lando pushes his curls off his face, stepping into the brightly lit office. "Am I interrupting? I can totally come back..."

Sarah nearly laughs at the anxious energy radiating off of Lando but manages to quell it, not wanting to spook him. "No, it's fine. What can I do for you?"

"I...well..." Lando cards his hand hand through his hair once again, searching for the right words. He hadn't gotten the best reception from Max when he opened up about his feelings for you, so he was really nervous about what your best friend was going to say. He didn't want to get told off by her too. "I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?"

Sarah smirks. "Does this favor have to do with our favorite single mom who works down the hall?"

Lando goes crimson at the question but a bit of him feels relieved at the smile that plays on Sarah's face. "Uh...It does actually. I was wondering if you would be willing to babysit Stella Saturday night so I could take her out to dinner and maybe a movie or something."

Sarah pushes away from her desk, the look on her face transforming from smug to soft admiration. "You really like her, don't you?"

Lando nods earnestly, "I do. Stella kind of threw me for a loop there at first but after spending time with them before Christmas..." He drops the rest of the sentence then, not sure if he should be opening up this much to your best friend. She probably knew how you felt about him already but it was a natural reaction for him to keep his feelings closely held. "I know our lifestyles are not exactly...compatible but she's amazing and I just want to spend more time with her."

"You'd be lucky to land a girl like her, Lando." Sarah observes, leaning back in her chair. "And while I agree, your lifestyles are radically different, I think you two could be good for each other."

"Yeah?" Lando's voice is a wash of relief, having expected to face the same criticism that he had faced from Max.

"Yeah, I do. I'd be happy to take Stella for the night as long as she's okay with it. Have you asked her?"

Lando shakes his head. "I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first."

"Can I give you some advice though?" When Lando nods, Sarah continues. "You're going to have to be patient with her. She's been through a lot and she has a lot on her shoulders. She doesn't need someone adding to that load. She needs someone who's going to help her carry that load, take some things off her shoulders. And if that's not something you think you can do, don't even start anything with her. If you're not all in with her and Stella, please don't pursue anything further, okay?"

Lando leans against the door frame, taking in your best friend's words. "I'd never do anything to add to what she already carries." He says softly and Sarah grins.

"Good. Tell her I'll take Stella for one of our famous sleepovers, yeah? Treat her well, Lando. I don't want to have to kick your ass if you hurt her."

"Thanks, Sarah. I'd never hurt her, I promise."

"Good. Now get, I think she's leaving after lunch today to get Stella for a dentist appointment. She should still be in her office though."

yourusername (private) posted a story:

replies: BFFSarah oh my GODDDDDDDD! you're going to give the poor boy a heart attack. >>>yourusername stoppppp, i'm so nervous. >>>BFFSarah not as nervous as he was when he was in my office on Tuesday asking me to babysit Stella ;) landonorris well hello pretty girl. is that outfit for me? >>>yourusername maybe ;)

"Wait, so you were the one who came up with the idea for that tire deg prediction program?" Lando stares at you from across the table, jaw nearly hitting the white linen tablecloth.

You blush into your wine, not good at taking compliments. The small Italian restaurant that Lando had booked a table at was quiet and cozy, allowing both of you to focus on the person sitting across from you and not anything else. It was nice, getting out of the house without Stella in tow. As much as you adored your daughter and valued every single second spent with her, sometimes it was really nice to have some time away. You were on your second glass of wine and your head was buzzing delightfully, the look on Lando's face as you fell into conversation about the work you were so passionate about sent something that felt a lot like desire curling deep in your belly.

"That was me. I'm actually working on an improved model for the upcoming season. More inputs like weather and historical degradation data should help the model give Andrea and the team a better idea of when the ideal pit window for you and Oscar will be in real time."

Lando just stares at you, dumbfounded. He had known bits and pieces of your job from the time he spent accosting you with questions over the last six months but he had never realized how deeply ingrained you were in his weekend routine already. "That program helped me win Miami last year." He says, totally awestruck.

You fidget under his attention, barely hiding a smile. When you had stumbled upon data analytics and predictive modeling in your first semester of uni all those years ago, you had never imagined it would lead to you writing a program that helped an F1 team predict how and when the tires were going to go off during a race. It was just one of many projects you had worked on in your two years at McLaren but it was absolutely the one you were most proud of.

"Well, hopefully with the improved modeling system I've been working on, we can get you and Oscar onto that top step more this year. I have a meeting with Zak and Andrea next week actually to discuss putting more resources into it so we can further develop it."

"I don't know how you can improve on it, the data I've seen it produce is already wildly helpful." Lando has to resist the urge to cover your hand with his, the need to touch you suddenly overwhelming.

He had been so nervous tonight while driving over to your house to pick you up for dinner, it was a wonder he hadn't ended up in a ditch or something. Stella had already been whisked away by Sarah by the time he got to your house, but there was a (albeit a bit stale) gingerbread man with a curly mullet left on the counter for him. 'Stella gave me strict instructions to make sure you get your cookie.' You had informed him, face serious with the task at hand.

Now that you were sat across from him, plate of food sat half eaten in front of you, Lando found himself not as nervous as he thought he'd be. The butterflies were still there and he had to constantly keep the desire to lace his fingers with yours in check, but the way you had made him feel calm and comfortable during the time he visited you in your office before had simply transferred to dinner tonight. He'd never felt more at ease with someone who made him so nervous before and while it was an uneasy feeling, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"I didn't realize anyone beyond the strategy team used the models." You admit.

Lando likes the way your cheeks flush under his praise, even if you're still refusing to meet his eyes while he compliments you.

"Will and I go over all that data after session. With how unpredictable the tires can be from day to day, I really depend on that information."

"Well, I'm glad my little data project is doing its job." You say simply, before taking another bite out of the food before you.

The rest of dinner passes in casual conversation and meaningful looks exchanged over drinks and dessert. If having dinner with Lando and Stella in London had been fun, this dinner was certainly a more intimate affair. It wasn't until your third glass of wine that you settled into the feeling that there could be something between you and Lando, allowing the fear to take a back seat even for just one night.

"Can I ask you something?" You ask boldly while dessert is being placed in front of you.

"Anything."

And he means it.

"I know the first time you found your way into my office was by mistake but I've always wondered why you kept coming back. I mean, my office is literally on the opposite side of any place you'd ever be normally."

"Besides the fact that you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life?" He flirts shamelessly, the alcohol in his system making him braver than he really felt.

"Lan..." You scold, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

Lando chuckles and finally loses the battle he's been fighting all dinner. He reaches across the table and slips his fingers into the spaces between yours, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of your hand. The spark that ignites when he touches you has the breath catching in the back of your throat. "Because you talked to me like a normal person. It was right around the time the championship race was heating up, as manufactured by the press as it was. The team was a bit in shambles and I just felt really unsupported."

He doesn't have to say it, but you instinctively know he's talking about the Hungary race earlier in the year. The Wednesday after that race, Lando had popped up in your office first thing in the morning and had sat across from you until well after lunch. The way his shoulders hunched and he kind of just folded himself into the desk chair that you now kept specifically for him had broken your heart.

"You never asked me about racing or the championship or anything like that. You let me talk and ask questions about your job and I was just able to forget the outside world for a bit. I was never Lando Norris, McLaren Formula 1 driver competing with Max Verstappen with you. I was just 'Lan'. I really appreciated that, especially during the second half of the season."

You had become his safe space was what he wanted to say but fear kept that bit of information from passing his lips. For now.

The warmth of Lando's fingers tangled with yours travels through your entire body. "I'm glad I helped." You murmur, heat pooling low in your belly at the look he's giving you from across the table.

"More than you know."

"Okay. No, I understand. Yes, she was fine when I dropped her off this morning. Okay. Yes, thank you. Tell her I'm leaving work right now, I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Thank you, Ms. Rose."

Panic floods your chest as you stare at the computer screen in front of you. "Fuck." You whisper, frantically looking up the phone number for Zak's personal assistant. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"That is a lot of swearing for 10 in the morning on a Wednesday."

Your eyes fly from your computer screen to the door of your office where Lando stands, leaning against the doorframe looking unreasonably handsome in a green jumper and jeans. You couldn't admire him for long though, panic returning to the front of your mind as you desperately try to figure out what you're going to do.

"Stella's school just called." Lando immediately crosses the room and sits down in 'his' chair, as he's begun to think it. Ever since your date last Saturday night, he hasn't been able to get you off his mind. He's been at the MTC every morning this week, something that even Zak noticed this morning and made a comment about him being extra dedicated to getting the new season started off on the right foot. If only he knew the real motivation for being around all the time now. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd spent any time back at his other apartment in Monaco.

"Everything okay?"

"No, she's running a fever. They need me to come get her except remember that meeting with Zak and Andrea I told you about? It's in..." Your eyes flicker back to your computer screen before bouncing back up to meet Lando's concerned gaze. "Fifteen minutes. I'm going to have to cancel and God knows when I'm ever going to get this kind of face time with either of them before the start of the season. Without their support, the upgrades to that tire deg model I want to make will basically be dead in the water."

Normally, you handle the pressures of being a single mom pretty well. You realize your career trajectory is a little different than normal, with you being unable to work late or travel extensively or do any of the other things that usually help with job advancement and you made your peace with that a long time ago. You make enough to provide very comfortably for Stella, so when you're passed over for promotions or unable to dedicate extra time, you're usually fine with it. Not today though.

"I've been prepping for this meeting for weeks. Weeks, Lando. Sarah is on annual leave in Spain and my dad is in London today with a client, there is literally no one else to go get her. Today of all fucking days." Tears threaten to spill over, you're so frustrated. You've worked so hard to get this meeting and now it's all going to go to waste.

"I'll go get her." The way Lando says it has shock slicing through your heart, quick as a knife. He says it so casually, like you're silly for not even considering him.

"What? No, Lando, I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." Lando stands, pulling out his phone. "Text me the address of her school and I'll go get her. I drove my Rover this morning and guess what I still have in the back seat?" A brilliant smile flashes across his face.

Something stills in your chest at the fact that Lando left your daughter's booster seat in his car after all these weeks.

"Lan..."

"I don't want to hear any more arguments, mama."

Well that was certainly something you'd have to unpack your reaction to later.

"Are you sure?" You bite at your lower lip and Lando has to physically restrain himself from kissing you right there in your office. Something which he still hasn't done, as much as it was killing him. After dinner the other night he had wanted to kiss you more than anything but he hadn't wanted to rush you, Sarah's words echoing in his head. How he needed to be patient with you and how you'd bene through so much the past few years so he had chickened out, erring on the side of caution and had settled for a hug and quick press of his lips to your cheek instead. He had regretted it every moment since dropping you off at your door that night.

"Absolutely. Now, go call Ms. Rose back and tell her Lando Norris is coming to get Ms. Stelly Belly. Do you have a spare key for me? I'll take her back to your place and we'll watch movies 'til you can get home."

An unfamiliar sense of calm settles over you at the sound of confidence in Lando's voice. You don't let just anyone take care of Stella, especially when she's sick. Really, the only other two people that you'd ever trust with her are Sarah and your dad. That list now was a list of three, you supposed.

"Okay." You reply weakly. "Thank you, Lando. Seriously. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you."

"Go get ready for your meeting, pretty girl." Without a second look, Lando turns and walks out of your office. Moments after he gets into the lift to head to his car, his phone chimes with a text from you giving him the address to Stella's school.

A few hours later, you slot the key to your front door in the lock, swinging the door open as quietly as you can manage. From the entryway, you can hear the TV playing in the living room on the other side of the house.

Just in case Stella is asleep, you don't announce your presence opting to tip toe towards where you think Lando and Stella will be instead. The sight that greets you when you finally spy them has your heart clenching painfully, stealing the breath straight out of your lungs. The couch is perpendicular to where you stand, so you can just see Lando's profile as he sits, cheek tilted down resting gently on Stella's head as he watched Frozen playing on the TV in front of him. Stella is cuddled up in his lap, her arms thrown around his shoulders and her little head is buried deep in the crook of his neck. Lando's arms are wrapped securely around your little girl as he cradles her to his chest.

You rub at your sternum, desperatly trying to massage the ache that has settled there at the way Stella is curled up into Lando for comfort. You've never seen her do this with anyone other than you. Not even Sarah.

Lando senses when you walk into the room, having not even heard the door open moments before. Stella sleeps soundly against him, her warm breath tickling at the space between his neck and shoulders. They hadn't been home longer than twenty minutes when Stella had started to cry because she felt so poorly. When Lando had offered her a cuddle to make her feel better until you could get home, Stella had crawled right up into his lap and fell asleep before Anna even had a chance to build that snowman.

He was surprised at how comfortable this felt, with Stella seeking comfort from him. How easily it had come for him to just wrap his arms around her frame so she'd stop crying. He was pretty sure he'd do anything to get your little girl to stop feeling sad.

Lando turns to you after a few moments and smiles. Something passes between you then, with Stella asleep in front of you. It's powerful and reassuring and everything that you've been waiting for since the day you had realized you'd be raising Stella on your own.

"I think I finally got her fever down." Lando whispers, not wanting to wake Stella up.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't even tell you where the paracetamol is in the house." Your hand flies back to your throat in horror.

"It's okay. Stella told me where it was. My mom helped me figure out the dosage for her."

"Your mom?" You squeak, swaying on your feet.

Lando chuckles. That had been an interesting call. He hadn't had the time to explain to her exactly why he was asking for help to figure out how much paracetamol to give Stella but he was panicked, the school being unable to give her a dose of anything and her fever was going up. She had been confused, but helped without further question.

"It's fine. We got it figured out and then I turned Frozen on and she fell asleep pretty quick after that. I haven't found the thermometer yet but she feels a lot cooler than she did earlier."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at Lando. It unnerved you how comfortable he was with her. Not in a bad way but in a completely unexpected way that had goosebumps littering your skin.

"How'd the meeting go?" Lando breaks the silence after a few moments.

Your eyes snap from Stella's sleeping frame to meet Lando's gaze. He made no attempt to move Stella off his lap or hand her over, just kept his arms securely around her while he waited patiently for your answer. He could tell you were trying to wrap your head around what you were looking at and he was hoping it was a good thing. He knew you weren't used to people stepping up for you, the close inner circle you kept was very small, but he hoped that after today you'd maybe let him in a little more.

"Oh..." You pause, struggling to focus on anything other than the sight in front of you. "Good actually! Zak was super impressed with what I've got done so far. He wants me to go to Bahrain later in the month for testing with the team to test the program first hand. And he wants me to go to a few races too"

"Baby," Lando coos, reaching out a hand to capture your fingers with his. Your heart squeezes at the pet name as you barely hold in the squeal at the nickname. "I'm so proud of you, that's amazing."

Tears threaten at the edge of your vision. It had been a long time since someone other than your own father had told you that they were proud of you. "I called my dad and him and my step mom are going to watch Stella whenever I need to travel and whatever they can't cover, I'm going to hire a nanny."

It had been Zak's idea to hire the nanny, a suggestion that nearly bowled you over when he made it. He knew your situation and had wanted to make sure that you were able to travel while being comfortable with leaving Stella with someone.

"Zak offered me a raise to help offset the cost of hiring someone." You say quietly, reflecting on how insistent the man had been when you waffled at the thought of traveling more this season.

The thought of getting to travel with you this season, even if it was solely for work, was so appealing to Lando it was a little silly. He had been thinking the other night how much it was going to suck having to travel so much this year just as things were getting started with you. He usually loved losing himself in the season, not having anything hold him back or weigh him down from enjoying the constant moving and sleeping in different hotel rooms every weekend. But as the season had approached and the prospect of spending less time with you had started to become a reality, the thought of the start of the season had filled Lando with a bit of dread and anxiety.

You just sat there for a moment, smiling over at Lando and Stella as he grinned back at you. It was a comfortable silence as that same feeling from earlier crackled through the air. Like something was being set into motion today that neither of you quite understood but both knew was the start of something important.

"It's almost dinner time. Why don't you go put her down in her bed, she sleeps like this whenever she's sick, and I'll make us dinner?" You suggest finally, realizing your stomach is begging to be fed.

Lando follows your suggestion and within a few minutes, is joining you in the kitchen as you bustle about trying to figure out what to make. "I was going to make some chicken noodle soup, I think I have everything for it and Stella loves it when she's sick."

"Considering I was going to be ordering take away tonight, anything you want to feed me is good." Lando murmurs, coming to stand behind you at the counter as you peel some carrots and chop the onions.

His arms slip around your waist and you can't help but lean back into his warmth for a moment, enjoying the way the heat of his body seeps into your muscles. Lando nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of you as deeply as he can, trying to commit your scent to memory. He wants to remember every little detail about this evening, something calm and steady settling into his bones as he gets a glimpse of what could be.

"You're distracting me." You mumble, the heat of Lando's breath tickling the sensitive skin at your neck.

"I"m sorry, but you're a constant distraction to me so consider it payback."

You chuckle, putting down the knife so you can spin around to face Lando instead. Your arms snake up his body before you clasp them behind his neck, enjoying the way he melts even further into your body now that you're closer.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue today." You whisper, voice raspy with emotion as you think about how much Lando's done for you in the short time you've been spending time with him.

Lando bumps his nose with yours and grins, the way you feel in his arms is something he's never experienced before. "I'd do anything for you and Stella, you know that."

"After today, I certainly do."

The look Lando gives you turns your core molten and you struggle to catch your breath. Gazing up at him through your lashes, you drop your gaze down to his lips before they flit right back up to those green blue watercolor eyes that always seem to find you wherever you are lately. Before you can steady yourself, he's leaning forward eyes locked on yours. The smile that sits at the corner of his mouth is so utterly enticing, you nearly forget your own name.

When Lando covers your lips with his for the first time, you swear you see stars. Gold bursts of light spark behind your closed lids, your entire world stuttering down to the way Lando kisses you. It's full of promise and longing and the smokey taste of desire. Your hands tangle through his curls on their own accord as you desperately try to get impossibly closer to him, losing all sense of decorum and control with just a simple kiss.

When he pulls away, Lando is satisfied at the heavy lidded look you stare up at him with, heart hammering in his chest like he's just finished the Singapore Grand Prix.

"I've been thinking about that since I left you at the door on Saturday without kissing you." He confesses, forehead tipping forward to rest on yours.

Emotion clogs your throat as you struggle for a response. Warmth pools deep in your belly as you settle on just a simple nod in response, knowing that Lando will instinctivly be able to tell that you feel the same. Silence fills the kitchen, comfortable and easy as Lando kisses you again. Both of you could feel it with that second kiss, this thing happening between you on this random Wednesday afternoon and both of you were secretly scared to death at what this was going to mean for every facet of your lives.

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[pathologicalreid]

cryptic | S.R.

You and Spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams.

who? spencer reid x fem!AFAB!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort a little bit) content warnings: oh geez. pregnancy, periods, weight, medical inaccuracy, cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, NICU, hospitals, maybe a little ooc i'm not sure, breastfeeding, reader is running solely on oxytocin, crying. word count: 6k a/n: does anyone else have an irrational fear of this? is it just me? that's why i wrote this anyways. also i wrote this MONTHS ago so if it's bad i'm not culpable. (yall voted for unhinged fluff, here it is) anyways i'm calling this part of my "spencer reid dilf agenda".

him

In his work life, Spencer faced fear every day – that was part of the reason he loved life with you so much. The two of you had just moved to your first house together and were still unpacking boxes when he was called away to upstate New York for a case.

You weren’t frustrated with him; you merely kissed him and encouraged him to go save the day.

So, when he told you last night that you must’ve hurt your back trying to move the couch, he didn’t think anything of it. He just told you to rest and to let him know how you were doing in the morning, but when the morning came, there was a break in the case. Spencer had completely forgotten that he was expecting your call.

As the team waited in the police precinct, he didn’t wonder why Hotch answered a phone call and furrowed his brows at Reid until he called him over to talk in private.

For once, his overactive mind went blank when Hotch explained to him that you were in the hospital and that he should call your best friend, Ivy.

In a daze, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that he had missed two calls from you and thirteen calls from Ivy. Isolating himself in an abandoned office, he looked at your friend’s contact and pressed the call button.

The phone didn’t even have a chance to ring before Ivy answered, “Spencer! Oh my god,” she said, sounding relieved to be hearing from him. “I am so sorry for calling your boss. I pulled his number from Y/N’s contacts – I didn’t know how else to reach you, and I- “

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, teetering between panic and impatience. “She told me she thought he had just pulled a muscle moving,” he explained, wondering what could’ve happened.

On the other end of the call, Ivy took a deep, shaky breath. “She’s okay, but you have to come home,” she whispered, keeping her voice down.

Now he was leaning closer to panic, “Where is she?”

“Northern Virginia Hospital,” Ivy responded. “When you get here, call me, and I’ll bring you to her,” she told him.

Spencer took a deep breath and left the empty office once he ended the call, very nearly running into Hotch, “I need to- “

Holding his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, Hotch nodded, “There’s a flight going out, Morgan will drive you to the airport. Don’t worry about anything here,” he instructed him, gesturing over to where Morgan was standing with the keys to one of the SUVs.

After promising to call when he could, a thirty-minute flight, and a ten-minute taxi right, Spencer called Ivy back.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet through the receiver, “are you here?”

He turned around in the lobby of the hospital, “I just came in the front entrance; what wing is she in?” He asked. Which wing would a back injury be in?  He supposed it depended on the severity of the back injury.

She cleared her throat and there was a soft rustling before Ivy answered, “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” Her words came out quickly as if she was trying to prevent him from going looking for her.

Then he began to lean closer to impatience, nonetheless, he waited the couple of minutes that it took for Ivy to come out of an elevator, motioning for Spencer to catch up before they took the elevator back up. “Ivy,” Spencer said, “What is happening?”

“She called me at six this morning, saying that she thought she had pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t sleep. I told her to take some ibuprofen and try to rest, and if she didn’t feel better by lunch, I’d bring her to urgent care. She called me again at ten and told me something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what,” Ivy informed him, her voice sounding distant. “She was crying, and I’ve never heard her sound so scared. So, I called an ambulance and met her here while she was triaged…” Her voice trailed off as they exited the elevator.

Spencer’s heart ached at the thought of you being so scared, but it still didn’t answer his question: What happened?

Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose, “Spencer, have you ever heard of a cryptic pregnancy?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers, “She’s pregnant?” His words came out as a whisper, a mix of emotions flurried through him.

Your best friend smiled softly at him, “No, she had a baby. That back pain? She was in labor.”

Questions popped into his head quicker than he could ask him. He took a trembling breath, “Where are they?”

She led him around the corner, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “She’s in postpartum recovery, the baby’s up a floor in the NICU. It all happened really fast; you know? Anyways, they kind of whisked the baby away while saying things about Apgar scores that we didn’t really understand.

They stopped for a moment to get Spencer a visitor’s badge before he motioned for Ivy to continue.

Ivy shrugged in response, “She was kind of inconsolable after that, they gave her something to calm her down, but she keeps asking for you,” Ivy said, stopping outside of a door.

Spencer peeked through the blinds to your room. You’re awake, lying on the white bed, absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet around your wrist.

“If you need a minute before going in there, take it. Once you go in there, you need to be strong or brave or whatever,” Ivy instructed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying you can’t be confused or upset, I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m saying she just gave birth unmedicated without ever even knowing she was pregnant, and they haven’t come back with an update,” she said, looking at Spencer like she was assessing a threat.

He nodded in understanding. Maybe when his head was clear he’d thank Ivy for being so protective of you, but he just nodded. “I need to be in there with her,” he insisted.

Ivy acquiesced, letting him know that she was going to go to the house to get clothes and was going to the store. At that point, Spencer had only been half listening to her.

You didn’t move on the bed when he opened the door. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, his heart clenching when he saw the words ‘Baby Reid’ written below your name. Spencer quietly walked closer to you before he pulled a chair up so that it was at your bedside and took a seat. He could see tear tracks on your cheeks, “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your eyes closed, and two more tears streaked down your cheeks. There was an IV in your wrist and your vitals were being monitored. It wasn’t until Spencer leaned over and smoothed your hair back that you really started to cry.

Gently, Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, and you leaned forward into him. He just held you, running a hand up and down your back as he gently shushed you, “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”

“I had a baby,” you rasped, so quietly that Spencer wasn’t sure if you were telling him or trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

He was quiet for just a moment, letting a few silent tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hummed, leaning back ever so slightly, closing your eyes when Spencer kissed your forehead. “I tried calling you,” you whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes and lifting your hands so that you could wipe away the tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize. There was no way for him to navigate this situation, but if he felt this lost, then he couldn’t begin to fathom how you were feeling.

Shaking your head, you waved off his apology, “Did you catch the bad guy?”

He nodded, smiling at your question, “Yeah, we got him this morning. That’s why I didn’t get your call,” he said as he took your hand and intertwined your fingers. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Do you need water?”

A slight smile grew on your face at his concern, a fact that made his heart soar, “I should probably eat something.” The smile faded quickly, “We should probably talk, right?” You asked, leaning forward in the bed to reach for a pile of papers at the foot of the bed.

Noticing a pained look on your face, Spencer set a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said, guiding you so you were lying back on the pillows. “Please be careful,” he reached for the papers and handed them to you.

Quickly, you flipped through the stack of papers that was now in your lap. “I’ve been thinking, you know, and they gave me all of these papers with my options, but we have space at the new house. I work from home most of the time anyway, and we can afford it and- “

Spencer cut you off, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed them again.

Studying you, he watched as you visibly relaxed into your hospital bed. He followed your gaze as you looked out the window of the hospital room, “Spence,” you breathed as a nurse wearing pink scrubs walked into the room.

She looked at him, “Hello, are you dad?”

Dad. He was a dad. Spencer nodded enthusiastically at the nurse.

“I’ve got these bracelets for you two then, they’re to help keep little families like yours together,” she says, loping the white bracelets around both his and your wrist. “Baby’s got two,” she lets you both know. “So, Baby Reid had a hard time breathing at first, but we up in the NICU cleared some of the amniotic fluid from her lungs and everything is looking much better now. Another nurse is bringing the bassinet now…” her voice trailed off when someone knocked on the door.

He wanted to make sure he had heard the nurse correctly. Did she say ‘her’?

The door opened, and it was the tiny hat with the bow that gave it away. She wriggled on the white sheet in her bassinet, looking around her new surroundings. Spencer looked from you to her and couldn’t help the tears that pricked his eyes. It was an emotion that he couldn’t quite place.

Noticing the way you leaned forward, the nurse spoke, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I- Can I? Is she okay?” You asked nervously, for the first time that day, Spencer heard the fear in your voice.

Nodding, the nurse wheeled the bassinet closer to you, helping you move your hospital gown so that you could do skin-to-skin. As she did so, she talked about bonding with a newborn, but Spencer was so enamored watching you that he wasn’t really listening. “We’re estimating that she’s about thirty-five weeks, so she’s late preterm, but she should be able to go home when you do,” the nurse informed you, making sure you were comfortable holding the baby before she stepped back.

The concept of being in a home surrounded by boxes with a newborn stressed him out, but then the tiny baby on your chest let out a squawk and he returned to just watching the two of you.

Both of the nurses left to give the three of you time, and you turned to Spencer, “What was thirty-five weeks ago?” You asked, gently rubbing your thumb over your newborn’s back.

“Exactly? July sixteenth,” he responded, watching your daughter as her eyes shut. “She fell asleep,” he observed, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

You hummed in response, bending your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “She needs a name,” you murmured, “we can’t keep calling her baby.”

Spencer leaned over the edge of your bed, “Do you have any ideas?” He asked, even though he already knew you’ve been keeping a list of baby names in your phone for years.

Shrugging ever so slightly, you peered down at your daughter, “All I know is that her last name’s gonna be Reid.” Your eyes flittered up to his, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll sob, and our daughter is asleep on me, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I just love you so much,” he told you softly.

“We can do this, can’t we?” You asked him nervously, narrowing your brows. “She doesn’t have a name. Our house is a disaster. Oh… Spence, we don’t have a car seat. We can’t take her home if we don’t have a car seat.”

Realistically, Spencer knew that you had at least twenty-four hours before you were released from the hospital, maybe forty-eight, given the circumstances. He also knew that you knew this, and he was afraid the events of the day were beginning to take a toll on you. He wasn’t going to say that, instead, he leaned forward and comforted you, “We’ll figure something out, I promise, okay? The name thing we can do.” He encouraged you to take one step at a time, “What about Ivy?”

Your head snapped up, “Really?” You asked, staying conscientious of the newborn on your chest.

“She was there for you through all of this when I couldn’t be,” he shrugged. “Did you know she dug through your contacts on your phone and called Hotch when I didn’t answer?” He watched a small smile tug at your lips, “I just think we should honor her in some way.”

Nodding, a full smile bloomed on your face, “Absolutely.” There was a brief silence, “Do you need to call Hotch? You can step out if you need to. We’re fine alone. I mean just for a little while not for- “

That was the second time you had nearly worked yourself into a panic. Spencer set a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, angel. Don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll handle it.” He promised, after all, you had already done the hard work.

You paused and took a deep breath at his encouragement, leaving the both of you in silence while you caught your breath. “What about Eleanor?”

He smiled and looked at your sleeping baby, “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The first time Eleanor, who had quickly been nicknamed Nell, cried with the two of you in the room was also the first time Spencer held her. He had been too nervous before, not that he’d tell you that, but when her wails started and he saw you wincing as you sat up in the bed, he instinctively picked her up.

He was still in his work clothes. Granted, he had taken off his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone, but it didn’t seem to bother Nell, the baby had quickly hushed upon contact. “Sit back,” he gently instructed, “Are you in pain?”

You nestled back into the pillows, “Just a little, they said it’s normal.”

Nothing about this was normal, Spencer wanted to say, but he knew you were well aware. He handed you the baby, knowing that it had been two hours since she last ate and that was likely why she was crying. According to the nurses, she was a good eater. He took their word for it.

Spencer watched you rock gently as Nell ate, you were staring off at nothing, so he asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m wondering why you’re not more freaked out,” you admitted, looking down at the newborn.

He leaned back in the chair, “I don’t know. I work best under pressure and with a little bit of chaos. It’s also highly likely that the entire situation hasn’t fully sunken in yet.”

You nodded understandingly, “It’s a lot to take in. If you think about it, most parents have months to fully prepare and wrap their heads around it. It’s been about ten hours for me. Maybe six hours for you.”

Nodding, Spencer watched intently as Nell fell asleep, her tiny fists falling and quiet coos coming from her. He heard you say something to him, but the words didn’t process. “What?”

Giggling quietly, you cocked your head at him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. You seemed like you were taking to parenthood exceedingly well, he was afraid he wouldn’t match up.

In the end, it was your understanding smile that prompted him to agree. “Unbutton your shirt,” you ordered, laughing at him when he looked bewildered. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for moms, Spence. Besides, I want you to bond. I want her to know who you are even when you’re away for work.”

He obliged your request, undoing his shirt so that he could gently place Nell on his bare chest. She squawked while she was being moved from parent to parent but quieted again as soon as she was being held, “she’s so small,” Spencer remarked, marveling at the tiny creature on top of him.

You nodded sleepily, “Four pounds, fourteen ounces. She had to fit behind my ribcage somehow.”

The oddness of the situation began to find a place in him. Were there changes in you that neither of you had noticed? Your period was always irregular, there was no significant weight change, and even morning sickness had seemed to totally pass you by. “I can’t believe we had no idea,” he murmured as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nell’s head.

“I went to the doctor three months ago for chest pains, do you remember? I took an at-home pregnancy test just in case and it came back negative. The nurses here told me that there’s a less than one percent chance of that happening,” you informed him, slowly starting to mumble.

Spencer looked up at you to find that your eyes were fluttering shut. “You should sleep. I’ve got this.”

You grunted in protest, “but what- “

“No,” he interrupted. “She just ate, she’s sleeping, and you’re exhausted. I can spend some time with her while you sleep.”

Sleepily, you grinned, sliding down on the bed, and settling your head on the pillows, “Daddy’s girl,” you whispered.

He loved the sound of that.

you

You had always known that Spencer Reid was perfect, and as you watched him fall into the role of father, that knowledge became concrete. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and kept your gaze on the two of them, not daring to disturb the peace. Instead, you watched in awe as he held your daughter, softly speaking to her as if she could fully comprehend what he was saying.

For all you knew, she could understand what he was saying. She was Spencer’s kid, after all.

Gently, he whispered to her and one of her little fingers gripped his index finger. “Your palmar reflex lets you hold my finger like that, Nellie. It’ll go away when you’re six months old,” he softly swiped his thumb over her back as he murmured to her. “I don’t usually like surprises,” he admitted to the infant, “but you and your mama might just be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You grinned, reaching your hand out and touching the green armchair, “I love you.” He reached out a hand to hold yours. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?” You offered. Your body still ached, but getting some sleep had made you feel loads better.

“I don’t think I can,” he answered candidly. “I feel so…”

“Wired? Stressed?” You suggested.

He shrugged slightly, “I was going to say hyperaware, but yes,” he responded.

You wheeled the empty bassinet closer to him, “Set her down. Babies can sense stress. Take a minute, catch your breath,” you told him.

Reluctantly, Spencer placed Nell in the bassinet, adjusting the hat on her head while you watched him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly.

Your shoulders drooped involuntarily, “When was the last time you slept, love?” After years with Spencer, you know he would go days without sleeping in order to break a case. His lack of a response answered your question well enough. Quickly, you pressed your call button and asked if a nurse could take Nell to the nursery.

Once you made sure the baby was taken care of, you moved over in the hospital bed and patted the open space. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he told you.

That was the problem with Spencer. He would always put you, and now Eleanor, ahead of himself. It made your heart ache. “Spence, this has been the craziest day, and I can tell you haven’t slept. So, get over here and lay down with me,” you instructed.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer kicked off his shoes before lying next to you in the hospital bed, “Do you promise to wake me if you need anything?” He asked as he gingerly pulled you into his arms, afraid of hurting you.

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hate that saying,” Spencer whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed into him, “I promise, angel. Get some sleep.”

You startled awake, looking to make sure you didn’t wake Spencer. Your chest ached as you sat up, cringing at the noise your papery hospital gown made. Gingerly, you placed a hand over your heart, feeling the pounding of your heart and listening to the beeping of the monitor, cursing the screen for making so much noise.

This had happened earlier before Spencer arrived, and the doctor had given you something to calm down then.

When you came into the ER, they thought your appendix was bursting, but when they did an ultrasound, they found that you were in active labor. There was no time for an epidural, they didn’t have time to give you anything for the pain. A kind nurse held your hand and quickly explained what was going to happen.

Within thirty minutes, you arrived at the hospital, gave birth, and had your baby taken to the NICU.

It was too fast; your brain was so overwhelmed that it had shut down. It seemed like a ridiculous thought; how did you miss the birth of your daughter?

Hiccupping back a sob, you felt a comforting hand on your back, but the fact that you had woken Spencer up just made you cry harder. He wrapped his arms around you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed, rubbing small circles on your back. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he comforted you. “It’s okay, it’s just all catching up with you, honey.”

You pulled away, wiping the tears from under your eyes. “It’s okay,” you repeated his words.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to make a list? Do you want to move around?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you watched as Spencer pressed the call button and got up, helping you stand. Your legs shook, and you felt a bit like a foal, but it felt good to be out of bed. You haphazardly finger-combed your hair before stepping into hospital slippers and leaving the room. For now, the nurses instructed you to just walk around the maternity ward.

As the two of you walked around, you made several lists. Things you needed to buy. People you needed to call.

By the time you’d returned to the room, Ivy had returned. Spencer opened the door for you and helped you sit on the end of the bed.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” Ivy greeted, grinning with bags in her hands. She gestured to a suitcase, “First, clothes for both of you. I just grabbed whatever I thought might be good. Toiletries and stuff too,” she said, rolling the suitcase off to the side. “I grabbed a couple of newborn outfits, but again, I was kind of flying blind. The lady at the department store was extremely helpful.” She handed Spencer a bag of baby clothes. “I got a car seat, the same lady recommended it, she was probably getting a commission, but it’s in my car. I have approximately zero idea how to set it up, but I figured, Spencer has a doctorate in engineering. He can do it.”

You glanced blearily at your best friend, “Ivy, you didn’t have to do all of this. This is too much,” you confessed, holding a tiny onesie in your hand.

She dismissed your insistence with a wave of her hand, “I also got this.” Ivy held out a small stuffed duck. “I know it won’t do her much good now, but I couldn’t help myself.”

After you changed out of your hospital garb, you looked at Spencer, “Go call Hotch, we’ll be good here for a while.” You gestured to your best friend, who was filtering through the suitcase she had packed, trying to find your hairbrush. At your request, he told you he’d also ask the nurse to bring Nell back down so that Ivy could meet her.

Once he was gone, Ivy sat behind you on the bed and brushed through your hair, tucking it out of your face, you were finally beginning to feel a little bit more like yourself by the time she had finished.

You watched intently as the nurse arrived at the door, “Do you want to meet her?”

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, lips parting as she observed the small baby. “Is that her name?” She rasped, looking at the card on the bassinet, Eleanor Ivy Reid. “That’s not funny, don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your voice down as Eleanor slept. “It’s not a joke, and for the record, it was Spence’s idea,” you informed her, reaching into the bassinet, and scooping up the now-swaddled infant. “He’s so grateful that you were there for me, and I am too.”

She smiled, “I’m always going to be here for you two – you three now. Number one babysitter,” she said, pointing to herself. 

You sighed and looked from your friend to your daughter, “She’s got a whole FBI unit of babysitters.”

“I’ll be here when they’re away – when Spencer’s away,” she reminded you, carefully adjusting the hat on the baby in your arms.

The last thing you wanted to think of was Spencer being gone, leaving you to take care of a baby you weren’t ready for.

Ivy must have sensed your nerves, “Hey, you know I’m always in your corner, right?”

You nodded slowly, “It’s just all catching up with me. I have to call my mom. I have to call my boss. How do you retroactively apply for maternity leave?”

“One thing at a time,” she said soothingly. “Right now, just enjoy your time with your perfect little family. I’ll call your mom for you,” she offered. “If your boss gives you any grief, he’ll have to deal with me.” Standing up, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to go get food, do you two still have the same orders from the deli?”

Confirming with her, you moved so that you could feed Nell, watching her as she looked up at you. “She’s right, you know? You are perfect,” you cupped her head with your hand, looking up to find Spencer watching from the doorway.

“Hotch says congratulations,” he spoke gently, striding over to your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. “He also said to let the team know if we needed anything,” he let you know, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He continued to let you know that Hotch had offered to figure out Spencer’s paternity leave, and while you felt bad about giving Hotch something else on his to-do list, it felt nice to have one less thing on yours. 

You nodded, “Ivy’s gonna call my mom, so that’s two things off of our list.”

Spencer squeezed your shoulder, “They asked if they could come to visit, but I didn’t want to answer for you.” He moved back to the armchair, “I just said we’d let them know.”

“At the very least we’ll send a picture,” you murmured. “I’m surprised you’re not researching newborns right now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “I asked one of the nurses if I could get access to the hospital library.”

You snorted, “Of course you did.”

No one from the BAU ended up visiting while you were in the hospital, mainly because the idea of too many people in the one hospital room made you anxious, but both you and Eleanor had been cleared to go home. Eventually, you would have to allow visitors.

“Spencer, you can go the speed limit,” you said from the backseat of the car, not taking your eyes off of the baby in her car seat.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, “This stretch of road is bumpy. I don’t want to wake her.” Despite his anxieties, he was taking to fatherhood remarkably well.

You shook your head, “She’s already awake, babe.” She looked around her new surroundings, spending part of the six hours a day that she was awake going home for the first time. Part of the beauty of a newborn was that they slept for eighteen hours a day, but only in about fifty-minute bursts.

Spencer kept glancing back, and you made a mental note to get a mirror for the rear-facing car seat.

As he turned onto your street, you sat up slightly. “Who’s here?” You asked, looking at the cars in your driveway. You recognized Ivy’s car, but none of the others rang any bells.

“That’s JJ’s car, and that’s Morgan’s truck,” Spencer told you as he pulled into the driveway. Once he got out of the car, he ran around to where you were sitting. He opened the door, taking the car seat out of its base before helping you out of the car. “I had no idea they were here,” he said curiously.

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at Eleanor in her car seat. There was a part of you that felt horrible, you didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep set up. Another part of you knew that she’d be just fine sleeping in your arms while Spencer set something up. “Far be it from the BAU to abandon one of their own in their time of need,” you murmured, stepping through the front door as Spencer held it open for you.

Setting the carrier on the coffee table, you undid the clips so that you could hold the baby. As you lifted her, her legs scrunched up until you held her to your chest, at which point she settled.

“Where are they?” You asked, gently rubbing Nell’s back as she started to fall asleep on you. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen, across the counter, there were bottles set out to dry, along with other various baby things. “Oh, Spence,” you breathed.

There was a distinct lack of boxes in your house, they weren’t entirely unpacked, but there were much less than there had been when you left. A crash from upstairs got both of your attention, Spencer’s arm instinctively going around your waist.

Together, the two of you walked upstairs, finding members of the BAU in one of the rooms that was going to be a guest room setting up a nursery. “Hey?” You said, peeking in through the doorway.

“Oh my god!” Penelope said, “Wait, crap, sleeping baby.” She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at the idea of disturbing the sleeping infant.

You smiled, looking around suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

Rossi waved a finger at you, “Your best friend is a drill sergeant is what’s going on here.”

Confused, you turned around to see Ivy with her hands on her hips. “I thought you weren’t coming home until the afternoon,” she explained, “I was going to have them all out of here so you could have a nice peaceful house.”

“You enlisted the BAU to unpack our house?” You asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Ivy shrugged, “It started as just asking a question, but we all came to the same conclusion. The two of you were never going to ask for help, so we had to take matters into our own hands.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, “Plus, they have kids, so they actually knew what you needed,” she gestured to JJ and Hotch.

You leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug, keeping yourself mindful of the baby. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Penelope hugging Spencer.

JJ stepped forward, “I’m around. Any questions you have,” she assured you. “How are you feeling?”

Laughing nervously, you looked up at Spencer, “Still reeling.”

The rest of the team laughed too, which brought you some semblance of comfort. “I almost thought you were playing a prank,” Emily confessed.

“No, you definitely thought they were trying to prank us. You didn’t believe them until they sent the picture,” Morgan said, exposing her.

Appalled, Emily rolled her eyes, but you spoke up, “I’m not sure I would have believed us either.” Had you not experienced it firsthand, you definitely would’ve been skeptical. Eleanor was going on two days old, and you had still woken up wondering if it was all some kind of dream.

Spencer had previously told everyone that no one could hold her. He was concerned about germs. You echoed his concerns, just maybe not as strongly. So, instead, everyone just cooed at her until Spencer gently ushered you into your bedroom.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted a bassinet set up next to your bed. Gently, you set her down while Spencer pulled the bedding down, “You should rest,” he told you softly.

“Spence, I just spent the majority of the last two days in a bed. I’m tired of bed,” you responded, sitting down on the ledge of the bed.

He hummed in response, “You just had a baby.”

Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, “Moving around will be good for me. I promise not to do anything to tear my stitches. I’ll just show Nell the house.”

“Babies don’t recognize their surroundings until four to six months, so she wouldn’t recognize anything you showed her anyway,” he told you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him, “Spencer."

He held up his hands in concession, “Right, overbearing.”

“Hey,” you said softly, “We’re still figuring this out, right? So, we’ll take it one step at a time.” You offered, having already had an in-depth discussion about being okay with making mistakes. “Why don’t we go check out the nursery?” You stood up, watching as Spencer carefully picked Nell up, cradling her in his arms.

You led the way into the hallway to find JJ, Morgan, and Ivy finishing the nursery. Morgan and JJ moved the crib to a different side of the room while Ivy placed books on a shelf.

Ever so slightly, you leaned into Spencer, glancing at the sleeping infant in his arms, you reached over and cupped her head with your hand. “This is your family, Nell,” you whispered, smiling when Spencer leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

That was your first lesson in parenthood, it really does take a village.  

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[ghosts-to-reid]

Blues, Baby.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Breeding kink, kidnapping, smut

Request: Breeding kink smut pleaseeee (Spencer wanting to get reader pregnant)

Summary: Spencer is angry at you after you made a silly mistake on the field. He comes to you to reconcile, but ends up doing that and more.

It had been a long week.

The case had been difficult, you had been taken by the unsub, and on top of that, you and Spencer had had an argument. You had been together for 4 years, you rarely argued in all that time, but when you did it was brutal. 

The argument happened after he had saved you. It was your fault, admittedly you were too eager to catch this guy, you could say that now. He had taken over 34 girls in the last 20 years, from all over the states. He had been a copycat of Israel Keyes, stashing kill kits in the same, or as close as he could to, locations as him. It was shocking that it hadn’t been caught years ago. It hit you hard, and you were determined to catch this guy. So, you had rushed in without backup, getting yourself caught in the process. Though your capture was short- Which gave way to Spencer’s fury at your actions

“What the HELL were you thinking?” You had just finished up being checked over by the medics, sitting on the back of the ambulance, when Spencer rushed over to you. He is the one who took down the unsub, taking him in before he spoke to you. His reaction caught you off guard, and then made you scowl.

“What are you talking about?” He was standing in front of you now, arms crossed. His eyes  were boring into yours. He huffed out a frustrated chuckle

“What am I talking about? I'm talking about you rushing in there, without backup, and nearly getting yourself killed in the process!” He waved his arms as he spoke, as he usually did when frustrated. Shaking your head, you stood and stepped closer to him, eyes never leaving him.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Spencer. You know this. What is wrong with you?” You were confused why he was so angry with you, you were the one who had just been kidnapped, he should be holding you and soothing you, not shouting at you in front of your team and the locals. 

“Obviously not when you make stupid decisions like this! Did you even think about the consequences?”

“The consequence if I hadn’t gone in was another dead girl!”

“But you didn’t have to try and replace her! God, I knew I should've gone with you!”

“What, you think you need to babysit me, Spencer?” You scoff, folding your arms “You’re my boyfriend, not my dad.”

“You know what, maybe you do need a babysitter if you’re going to continue making rookie mistakes like this, you know you’re better than this” 

Your eyes had never left each other, staring each other down- Waiting for the other to back down. Bored of this, you rolled your eyes and dropped your arms from your chest. Removing the blanket from your shoulders, you move to walk away when he grabs your arm, tight enough to stop you, but not enough to hurt.

“Where the hell are you going?” His free hand picked up the blanket and he began to drape it over your shoulders once more “You need this for shock. Why won’t you take care of yourself?” It was obvious his anger was rooted in concern, but you didn’t want to confront that right now. Already fuming at his actions, you had no time for his niceties right now.

“Just- Leave me alone. I don’t need you shouting at me right now.” Shaking free from his grasp, you stomped away from him and towards one of the team's SUVs. He shouted something after you, and you heard a loud bang as he hit the ambulance in frustration, but you ignored it.

Since then, the two of you had barely spoken since. Spencer sat with Derek, and you sat with Emily both on opposite sides of the Jet. The team sensed some tension, having witnessed the argument, but no one pressed you. Then, there was a silent car ride back to your shared apartment. You moved into his place 9 months ago now, Spencer had suggested it after your lease had ended, explaining how it was logical to move in together now and save money- he said he wanted to marry you someday and that this was a good start. 

That seemed a silly thought at the minute, though.

The silence continued until dinner. He was in the shower whilst you prepped what you could from your fridge, it was too late to go to the grocery store and you had been away a few days, so it wasn’t much. You were so deep in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the shower stop, or Spencer enter the kitchen. He had stood, watching you silently for a moment as you chopped something, before he moved to slide his hands to hold your waist, snaking them to hold you as he rested his head on your shoulder. Momentarily, you tensed, but soon melted into him. He felt warm and safe, and you had needed this after your capture.

“I'm sorry…” He mumbled into your hair as he squeezed you. You dropped the knife you were holding and brought your hand up to his damp hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

“I'm sorry too, baby…” You mumbled, he moved and turned you to look at him. His eyes were sad, brow furrowed with concern.

"I just... I don't want to loose you, okay?"

"You won't, baby. I'm here." You snaked your arms around his neck and placed your forehead against his.

"Today just... It made me realise we shouldn't wait for things. I was so worried that... That we wouldn't be able to do all the things we planned... That we'd never get married, have kids... I just... I don't want to miss out on that with you. I love you too much." His eyes were closed as he made his confession. Sighing you softly nodded your head against his.

"Then... Why are we waiting?" You asked, voice small as his eyes flicker open, meeting yours once more. T5here is stillness in the air as he stares at you. "Let's have a baby..."

He wasted no time in dipping to kiss you. His lips melting softly into yours as an apology. Smiling into the kiss, you hummed contentedly as he pulled you closer, and you brought your hands up once more to play with his curls. 

The kiss began to become more desperate when you lightly tugged at his hair, causing him to groan into your lips. You smirked as his grip on your hips tightened and his tongue slipped past your lips. The kiss deepened into a battle for dominance between you, lips fighting one another to be the winner. Slowly, Spencer backed you against a clear counter, surprising you when your back hit the cold marble. Your yelp made Spencer smirk as he finally pulled away from you. He had caged you between him and the counter, arms tasting either side. He admired his work, your flushed skin, wide eyes, pupils blown out with lust. You were panting for air through your swollen lips and he could feel all his blood rushing to one single point. All his frustration from before turned to need. Need to show you how much he cares, how much he loves you, how you were his, and his alone. His lips soon darted to your neck, kissing and sucking his way down to your collarbone. You whined under his touch, feeling his growing cock rub against you. It made you squirm in anticipation, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every touch.

“Spence…” You gasp as his fingers begin to dip under your waist band. He leaned back, watching you as he began to guide his fingers through your folds, gathering your slick and occasionally skimming over your clit teasingly. You were an utter mess for him, and he loved it. He observed you for a moment, simply watching your reactions to his touch, your moans and curses under your breath, the way you held onto his arm, the pout you gave him when he dodged your kiss, smirking at you as he just watched and touched.

“I amso sorry about what happened before, baby… I just didn’t want to lose you” His voice was soft but had an edge of authority that made you clench around nothing. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, just like earlier “Because you’re mine, aren’t you? You belong to me, don’t you?” He continued his agonizingly slow strokes as he spoke, you whined and nodded in response. He simply tutted and shook his head

“Use your words, darling.”

“I-I’m yours, Spencer.” You managed to whisper, voice shaky from the frustrated pleasure you were receiving. Spencer smiled proudly, and sped up slightly, causing you to moan loudly.

“Hmm… I think we need to do something to show everyone else who you belong to…” His voice was teasing. The free hand that caged you lifted to your face, landing softly on your cheek. His other hand continued to work at a steady pace, enough to make you needy, but not enough to push you over the edge anytime soon. He loved to torture you like this, teasing you for hours and not letting you cum. He loved feeling the control over you. Your eyes opened and met his confusion hidden in them. He found it, and found it amusing. He leaned closer into you, his free hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear before he firmly held the back of your hair. Whispering softly

“I'm gonna put a baby in you, hm? Show everyone who you really belong to, who gets to cum inside you?” 

As he finished speaking, he plunged two fingers inside of your pussy. A loud moan escaped your lips as he pulled your head back to look at him. He had sped up now, fingering you with a cocky smirk. He may be shy in the real world, but behind closed doors, he undoubtedly enjoyed his power over you. His words shocked you at first, but he didn’t miss the way you clenched around his fingers as he fucked you with them. He knew you’d do whatever he wanted to, but this was pushing the limits.

Usually, no matter the scenario, you and Spencer had sex with a condom. You had gone off of birth control, the effects had been killer for you. Spencer, being the loving boyfriend he is, had supported you through this, and your sex life had adjusted with no problem. He used condoms, and the rare occasion you would do it without one, he’d take you for the morning after pill, but now? Now, he wanted to prove a point. 

It wasn’t just about where he came, it was about showing everyone who you belonged to. Who cared for you, who protected you, who you came home to every night.

“What do you say baby? Do you want me to fuck you till everyone knows who you belong to?” Another devious whisper in your ear. You eagerly nodded, Spencer wasted no time in removing his hand from inside you and pulling your pants down your thighs. He roughly turned you around and bent you over the counter, holding both your wrists behind your back. He stepped back, admiring how you looked from behind. You could feel his free hand tracing your skin before feeling a sharp smack to your ass. The pain made you hiss out a moan, you missed Spencer pulling down his sweatpants.

It shocked you momentarily when you felt the tip of his cock move between your folds, teasing your clit as he covered his shaft in your slick. The anticipation of him entering you was killing you, and you bucked your hips against him.

“Eager, are we? You want me to cum inside you that bad?” The edge of teasing was still present in his voice as he held you down. All you could do was whine and squirm under him, waiting for him to enter you. He chuckled before he pushed himself inside of you, groaning as your tight walls stretched around him.

“Fuck…” He muttered as he watched you moan once more. He loved seeing you so submissive under him. He barely waited for you to adjust until he started fucking into you at a rough pace.

Each stroke was bliss, pain turned to pleasure quickly as he relentlessly bottomed out over and over again. He let your wrists go as he held your hips, holding them firmly in place. YOu gripped the edge of the counter tightly in an effort to keep upright.

Spencer watched how he disappeared inside you, moaning as he felt you begin to tighten around him

“Awe, you gonna cum for me, baby? Is that how excited you are for me to cum?” He panted into your ear, you nodded quickly, nearly drooling from the pleasure Spencer was giving you. You let out a loud whine when Spencers hand reached between you both and began to play with your clit.

“Im- Im gonna-” You tried to pant out words that dissipated into moans, Spencer soothed you momentarily before quickening his pace.

“Cum for me, baby. I'm close too, gonna make you a mommy… Gonna fill you up so much.” He was struggling to speak properly now, his strokes were becoming more and more aggressive as he reached his own peak. His words were enough to push you over, with a loud cry you came around his cock, clenching around him as your legs began to shake. You whined his name out, as he groaned again, this time with one last big stroke.

You felt him cum inside you, his cum painting your insides white. As he came, he fucked back into you a few more times sloppily, before leaning forward to kiss your back lightly. When he finally pulled out, your legs almost gave way, your grip on the counter keeping you steady. Spencer huffed a small laugh as he observed you, his eyes moved down to the glistening mess between your legs, he saw his cum beginning to leak out of you. He moved forward once more, steading you with one hand, whilst the other moved between your legs once again, gathering his cum and pushing it back into you, once more fucking you with his fingers. Another loud moan escaped your lips as he did this. You moved your head to the side to look at him, only to be met with a cock grin as he leaned forward 

“Just one more” He breathed, you were still coming down from your last high, so it didn’t take much for you to cum around his fingers once more. Once he was happy, he pulled up your pants, keeping his cum from dripping out of you. He carried you to your shared bedroom before dressing you in your pajamas, careful to keep your underwear on, and joined you in bed. He held you tightly as you snuggled into his chest.

“So… Can I clean myself up now?” You mumbled into his chest, giggling a little bit.

“Well, your chances of pregnancy increase the longer you keep sperm inside. Sperm can stay alive for up to 5 days in the body, but the best way to get pregnant is regular sex, usually every other night around the time you’re ovulating.” Spencer recited the random facts as casually as ever, but it made you jump slightly, you pulled back and sat up.

“Wait… are we ready for this?” You asked timidly, unsure of his answer. Spencer’s eyes met yours and looked fearful for a moment

“Well… We’ve been together for 4 years… I thought it through, and after today especially, I just want to start my life with you as soon as possible… But if you’re not ready we can go get a plan B tomorrow. I guess i got carried away and just went for it We can discuss this more-” You interrupted his amble with a kiss, soft and small.When you pulled back he was confused, cocking a brow at you now. 

“I’d love to start a family with you Spencer… Just, it's a bit nerve wracking.” You giggle. He flushes for a moment, hiding his face in the pillow.

“I'm sorry.” You hear, muffled by the pillow. You laugh lightly as you move him to face you again, giving him another soft kiss.

“But seriously, We have all the time in the world to get me pregnant. I'm gonna go shower.”

[pedroscowgirl]

Tinted desires

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: smut!, minors dni!

p in v (wrap it up), creampie, fingering, powerdynamics (boss-employee), secret relationship, dirty language and lmk if i forgot something

Summary: After catching the unsub, you and Hotch linger in the SUV, unable to wait until you get home. The tension between you is undeniable, and seeing him look so irresistible in his FBI gear pushes you over the edge.

masterlist

The night had settled in, casting a calm darkness over the nearly empty street. The black SUV idled in its space, the faint hum of the engine the only sound as you sat beside Hotchner. The mission was over, the unsub caught and the team safe, but the tension still hummed between you and Hotch, not the adrenaline-fueled kind from the chase, but the kind that had been growing quietly between you two for months now.

You shifted in your seat, glancing over at him. His hands were still wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure, and his gaze was fixed out the front windshield. There was always this quiet storm in him after a case. The weight of leadership bore down on him, and the lines on his face deepened, his thoughts somewhere far away.

But tonight, the air between you felt different, thicker. The silence, which was usually companionable, now felt charged. You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest, knowing exactly why.

He was always so good at keeping the mask on, at hiding what he truly felt behind those dark, unreadable eyes. But you had learned to see through it, to catch the brief flickers of vulnerability he allowed himself only around you. There were fleeting moments when he would let his guard down, glances that lasted too long, touches that lingered too intimately. You had become experts at hiding your relationship from the team, from the world. But sometimes, in the quiet, the secrecy grew too heavy to bear.

You shifted slightly in the passenger seat, leaning toward him. You couldn’t help it, you were drawn to him. The way his hand rested on the center console, so close to yours but never quite touching, was almost unbearable

“Aaron,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence between you.

He turned to you, his dark eyes locking with yours,. “We can’t,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, but his eyes betrayed him. There was heat there, a hunger he was trying so hard to suppress, but you could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

You glanced out the window, noticing the darkness and the heavily tinted glass. No one could see in. You turned back to him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the weight of the moment, the unspoken desire hanging in the air between you.

“No one will see us,” you whispered, your hand brushing lightly against his on the console.

His eyes darkened, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers curled around his hand. His resolve was cracking, you could feel it, and it only fueled your desire. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in the way he was holding himself, so tightly wound, like he was trying to stop himself from losing control.

His hand hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved, turning over to grasp yours. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of heat through you. His touch was firm, but tentative, as if he were still fighting with himself.

“We shouldn’t,” he repeated, but his voice was shakier now, his control slipping. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, the soft motion at odds with the tension in his body.

You shifted closer, your breath catching as his fingers traced along the edge of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him. The air felt too thick to breathe, your skin too sensitive, the anticipation building with every second.

“Aaron, please,” you whispered, your voice breathless, need edging into your words.

You saw it then, the moment he broke. His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh now, the heat of his touch almost unbearable. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and intense, as he moved his hand closer, his fingers grazing the edge of your underwear through your pants. You let out a soft gasp, your hips shifting toward him instinctively.

His jaw clenched, and his hand paused, as if he were giving himself one last moment to stop, to pull away. But when your hand moved to his, guiding him, his resolve shattered completely.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding over the soft fabric of your underwear, and you could feel him hesitate for just a second. His breath was shallow, his eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none.

“Aaron…” you breathed out, barely able to keep your voice steady.

His hand moved lower, pressing lightly between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness that had already begun pooling there. He let out a low, guttural sound, his breathing growing ragged as he realized how much you wanted this, how much you needed him.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as if the words themselves were almost too much for him to say.

You whimpered softly, your hips pressing into his hand as he applied more pressure, his fingers exploring the slick heat between your thighs. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment, despite how much he was clearly struggling to maintain control.

His fingers slid beneath the fabric of your underwear, finally touching you where you ached for him. You gasped at the contact, your body trembling under his touch as his fingers slowly slid through your wetness, exploring every inch of you.

“Aaron, please…” you whimpered again, your hands gripping the edge of the seat as he continued to tease you, his fingers moving with excruciating slowness.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck, his fingers sliding deeper now, fingering you with deliberate precision. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to maintain control even as his own arousal grew. You could see it too, the hardness of him pressing against his pants, and it only made you want him more.

His thumb found your clit, pressing against it in slow, firm circles that had you gasping and squirming beneath his touch. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he expertly worked you over, his fingers sliding in and out of you, his thumb never leaving that sensitive spot.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the need for release, but still, he took his time, drawing it out, making you beg for it.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But we have to be quiet. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to keep from crying out as his fingers pressed deeper, harder, the pleasure building to a breaking point.

And then, with one final stroke, your body clenched around his fingers, the wave of release crashing over you. You bit down on your lip, your breath hitching as you came undone beneath his hand, your body trembling in the aftermath.

He didn’t stop, his fingers still moving gently inside you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling, breathless, your body slumping back against the seat.

He finally withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with your arousal as he pulled back slightly, his breathing just as unsteady as yours.

The tension between you and Aaron was now a living, breathing thing in the confined space of the SUV. After he pulled his hand away from your throbbing core, the heat between you still burned, almost unbearable in its intensity. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and clouded with desire, and you could see he was still trying to hold onto the last remnants of his control.

But you were done with waiting.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” Aaron whispered, his voice low, gravelly, and full of the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin like a promise, as his dark eyes flickered with that familiar intensity.

You smirked at him, leaning in closer, your lips just a breath away from his. “I can be even naughtier,” you teased, your voice dripping with challenge.

“Oh yes?” His mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse race even faster.

Without breaking eye contact, you shifted in your seat, a slow, deliberate movement, and climbed over the console. You straddled his lap, your legs wrapping around his, and the feel of his hard body beneath yours sent a shiver through you. His hands immediately gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, as if he were still trying to maintain some semblance of control. But the bulge pressing against your core told a different story.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a low growl as you leaned in, your lips grazing his ear.

“Making you feel so good,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. You felt him tense beneath you, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as a low groan escaped his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

With your fingers deftly working, you began unbuckling his belt, your movements slow and deliberate, teasing him, making sure he felt every second of it. His breathing grew heavier, his eyes never leaving yours, watching as you took control.

His hands slid down to your hips, and with a firm press, he pushed the seat back, giving you more room. His hands remained on your waist, gripping you tightly as if he needed to anchor himself to something. His eyes darkened as you moved against him, the friction sending sparks through your body.

You had already shed your pants in the heat of the moment, and now, with a single motion, you pulled his belt free, tossing it aside. His hips shifted beneath you as you reached for the zipper of his pants, your fingers brushing against the hard length of him through the fabric. His breath hitched at the contact, a low groan escaping his throat.

He was still wearing his FBI vest, the dark material straining against his broad chest, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on it. Something about seeing him like this, so in control yet completely unraveling under your touch, made your desire for him burn even hotter.

“Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, his voice a little rougher now, his hands sliding up your sides, brushing over the hem of your shirt.

You shook your head slowly, your lips curling into a smile as you met his gaze. “No. It does something to me.”

His laughter was low, a deep rumble in his chest that you felt beneath your palms. “You like this, huh?” he teased, his smirk widening as his hands found your hips again, guiding you over him.

“You have no idea,” you breathed, your body moving against him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath you, barely contained by the fabric separating you.

His control was slipping, you could feel it in the way his hands roamed your body, the way his breathing grew more ragged. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your neck, and his voice, low and thick with desire, made you shiver. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I like danger,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved your hips against him, grinding against the hard length of him through his pants.

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and his head fell back against the seat as he let out another low groan, the sound sending a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands slid down. His touch sent a jolt through you, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick heat again.

“Maybe,” you teased, your hands working on unbuttoning his pants now, sliding the zipper down slowly. “But what a way to go.”

Aaron groaned again, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you finally freed him from his pants, your hand wrapping around the hard length of him. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, the heat between you almost unbearable.

“Are you ready for this?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, teasing him with the barest touch of your lips.

His eyes opened, dark and full of need as they locked on yours. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Always.”

And with that, you lowered yourself onto him, the feeling of him stretching you filling every inch of you, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. His grip on your hips was firm, guiding you as you moved, his breath ragged and hot against your neck.

The SUV felt impossibly small as you moved together, the heat and intensity of the moment swallowing everything else around you. There was only him, his hands on your body, his breath in your ear, and the sound of his groans as you took him deeper, faster, until neither of you could hold back any longer.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your body trembling with the intensity of it all, the pleasure overwhelming as you rode him, feeling the tension building between you, the coil tightening with every movement.

He gripped you harder, pulling you down onto him, his own breath hitching as he buried his face in your neck. “God, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself together.

Aaron's voice was rough and full of raw desire as he looked at you, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, you’re so filthy,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “Fucking your boss in an FBI car. I want to hear you beg me to come inside you, beg for it baby.”

The filthy edge to his words sent a shiver down your spine, making you groan in response. Your hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of the moment intensified, every nerve in your body on fire. “God, I do love that,” you gasped breathlessly, your voice shaking with need. “Please, Aaron, please come inside me. I need it, I need you…”

Your desperate plea made him groan, and the sound of your voice begging for him only drove him closer to the edge.

And then, with one final movement, the tension snapped, your body exploding with pleasure as you came, trembling and gasping against him. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you harder against him as he followed, his own release crashing over him in a wave that left both of you breathless.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure. His hands stayed on your waist, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile as you felt the last remnants of tension slowly fade away.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. Aaron’s hands slid up your back, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the intensity of just moments ago.

“You’re something else,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

You grinned, still breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into his dark, satisfied eyes. “And you love it.”

He chuckled, low and soft, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you close again. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with both affection and a lingering hunger. “I really do.”

Just as the heat between you and Aaron cooled off, the unthinkable happened, a sharp knock echoed through the SUV. Both of you froze, your breath still heavy, bodies tangled in the haze of lust and passion.

You quickly turned your head toward the window, your heart racing, only to see a familiar silhouette standing outside the car. It was Morgan. He leaned down, squinting through the heavily tinted windows, clearly trying to make out who was inside.

"Hey!" he called out, knocking on the window again, a curious lilt in his voice. "Who’s in the FBI car? I saw the lights on from outside the building."

Your eyes widened in panic, and you turned to Aaron, who looked as composed as ever, though you could see the flicker of frustration in his dark gaze. His hand was still gripping your waist, and your bodies were still connected. You had no time to move, no chance to hide what had just happened.

Aaron’s jaw clenched, and he leaned in close, whispering against your ear. "Stay quiet," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "I’ll handle it."

With a quick but careful motion, he pulled you tighter against him, using his suit jacket to shield the evidence of what had just transpired. He tapped a button on the door to roll the window down just a crack, keeping the inside of the car dark enough to hide you.

"Morgan," Aaron said, his voice as steady and authoritative as ever. "What are you doing out here this late?"

Morgan tilted his head, still trying to peer inside. "Hotch? What are you doing in the car with the lights on? I thought everyone had cleared out for the night."

You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. You pressed yourself deeper into Aaron’s chest, trying to stay as still as possible, your heart racing as you waited for Morgan to give up and walk away.

But Morgan, ever the curious one, didn’t seem satisfied with Aaron’s calm demeanor. "Everything okay in there, man? You sure you’re not hiding something?"

Aaron gave him a sharp, knowing look. "Just wrapping up some paperwork. You can head home, Morgan."

For a moment, there was silence as Morgan seemed to process the situation. Then, with a skeptical shrug, he stepped back from the car. "Alright, Hotch. If you say so. But next time, don’t leave the lights on, you’re wasting company resources."

Aaron waited until Morgan had turned and walked back toward the office building before he let out a breath, his fingers still gripping your waist possessively.

“That was close,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with amusement.

Aaron smirked, his lips brushing your ear. “Too close.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[suv-draws-stuff]

a doctor, a lawyer, and... some gremlin, but its old woman yuri this time

(both jekyll and hyde are more of a gender fuckery in this one tbh)

bonus doodles below the cut (BODY HORROR WARNING)

[missarchive]

Spencer and reader get stuck in the cold weather while on a case, and after Spencer rambles about body heat being a good source of warmth (or a similar fact); reader suggests testing that theory

oh i really liked this ask 😭 i always love writing for things i havent before! i actually thought id already posted this but i found it in my drafts

cw; 18+ mdni!! needy!spencer, softdom!spence if you squint, sexy science puns, lots of heavy petting, dry humping, fingering

The cold was unforgiving. It bit through every layer of clothing, sinking into your bones with a chill that felt almost personal. You wrapped your arms around yourself, blowing into your hands as you glanced at the snow-covered road stretching endlessly ahead. The SUV sat uselessly on the shoulder, engine dead, and the faint crackle of your radio confirmed that the rest of the team was still hours away.

Spencer stood a few feet away, pacing in a tight circle to keep his blood moving. His long coat whipped slightly in the wind, and his hair, unkempt from hours in the field, fell into his face. He pushed it back absently, his gloved fingers trembling slightly from the cold. His breath puffed in front of him like small, fleeting clouds.

“We’re going to freeze out here,” you muttered, your teeth chattering as you hugged yourself tighter.

Spencer paused mid-step and looked at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Not necessarily,” he began, his voice wavering slightly from the chill but still steady enough to deliver one of his signature facts. “The human body has remarkable thermoregulatory mechanisms. For instance, shivering is a natural response designed to generate heat through muscle activity.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking despite the cold. “Not sure shivering is going to cut it, Reid.”

He blinked, his face taking on that familiar, earnest expression as he shifted gears. “Well, there is another method that’s proven to be highly effective in conserving warmth. Sharing body heat—specifically, skin-to-skin contact—can significantly reduce the risk of hypothermia. It’s a technique commonly used in survival situations.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh that fogged the air between you. “Skin-to-skin, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he stumbled over his words, his hands flailing in a nervous gesture. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, not like that—just, you know, from a purely biological standpoint. It’s logical.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips, despite the fact that your face was half-frozen. “Relax, Spencer. I’m not accusing you of anything. You’ve got a good point.”

His head tilted slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to decide whether or not you were teasing him.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer and gesturing toward the SUV. “Let’s test that theory. Unless you’ve got another way to keep us from turning into popsicles out here?”

He froze for a second, his cheeks turning pink—not just from the cold, you noted. “Oh. Uh… okay. Yes. That—that makes sense.”

You led the way back into the SUV, grateful for even the limited shelter it provided. Spencer followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there. You shrugged off your heavy coat, setting it aside, and gestured for him to do the same.

He hesitated, his hands hovering near the buttons of his coat. “You’re sure about this?”

You rolled your eyes, though your tone was light. “Unless you want to freeze out there alone, yes, I’m sure.”

Spencer nodded quickly, shedding his coat and draping it over the seat. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he were calculating every step.

“You know, this is purely for survival,” you teased as you slid onto the backseat.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Settling beside him, you turned to face him fully. “So, how does this work, Doctor?”

“Well,” he began, his tone shifting into that of a lecture despite the awkwardness in his posture, “the idea is to maximize surface area contact to facilitate heat transfer. The skin is an effective medium for conduction, and by—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “Just hold me.”

His lips parted in a silent “oh,” and he nodded, his cheeks darkening further as he opened his arms. Tentatively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His body was lean and sharp beneath the layers, and his arms wrapped around you with a hesitance that made your heart squeeze.

“Warmer already,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you pressed closer.

He let out a nervous laugh, his breath brushing the top of your head. “That’s… good. It means the method is working.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, save for the faint sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of clothing. Gradually, his grip on you became more secure, his hands resting lightly on your back. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick and irregular, as though he were nervous.

“You’re like a walking space heater,” you teased softly, breaking the quiet.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of his usual matter-of-fact tone. “The human body only generates a limited amount of heat—around 100 watts at rest, give or take. It’s not comparable to a—”

“Spencer,” you said again, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “I was joking.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him.

You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his gaze already on you. His brown eyes were wide, soft, and filled with something that made your stomach flip—curiosity, vulnerability, and a hint of awe.

“It’s okay. I like when you ramble. Especially when you get all excited about sciencey stuff.” Your voice was soft, meant to soothe, and you tilted your head to meet his gaze. The small smile you offered was an invitation, a reassurance that he hadn’t overstepped. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

The effect of your words was immediate. Spencer blinked rapidly, his expressive brown eyes widening as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. His eyebrows shot up, almost vanishing beneath the tousled strands of his hair. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Oh,” he finally managed, his voice unsteady. “I, uh... thanks.”

You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his eyes darted to the side, searching for an anchor in a moment that felt too big for him. Your heart ached at his reaction, and without thinking, you raised a hand to rest your palm gently on his chest. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, and you felt the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

The muscles beneath your hand tensed slightly, a reflexive reaction, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stood frozen, his eyes fixed on yours, his vulnerability laid bare in the way he held his breath. You let your fingers drift upward, brushing over the edge of his collarbone and the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The movement was slow, deliberate, meant to ground him.

Spencer’s breath hitched audibly, a faint gasp escaping his parted lips. His wide eyes flickered back to meet yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the snowy storm outside fading into insignificance.

“Y/n?” His voice was barely a whisper, your name fragile and questioning on his tongue.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. The sound he made in response—a soft, involuntary whimper—sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. His lips parted slightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and you could feel the way his body trembled ever so slightly under your touch.

The kiss deepened by degrees, slow and exploratory, as if neither of you wanted to rush the moment. His hand came up tentatively to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There was a sweetness to his touch, a kind of reverence that made your chest tighten with affection.

When you finally broke the kiss, you stayed close, your foreheads nearly touching. Spencer’s breathing was uneven, and his eyes were dark, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

“I like when you ramble,” you murmured again, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw. “It’s one of the things that makes you, you. And I love that.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. “I... don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me before.”

“Then it’s about time someone did,” you said, your voice firm with conviction.

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, shy and a little uncertain, but so genuine it made your heart squeeze. You leaned up to kiss him again, this time lingering a little longer, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

“Tell me something scientific,” you murmured, your voice muffled as you turned your face into the curve of his neck. Your lips found the soft spot beneath his ear, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him.

Spencer cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he obliged. “Humans have a remarkable capacity to generate warmth through muscle activity. For example, shivering alone can increase your metabolic rate by up to ten times.”

“That’s interesting,” you hummed against his skin, the vibration making him swallow hard. Your lips trailed lower, brushing against the tender skin of his throat before settling at the hollow where his pulse beat steadily. You kissed him there, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched. “Do you know what else can generate warmth?”

For a moment, Spencer froze, his body stiffening slightly in your embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, and the single word seemed to catch in his throat. “Uh... friction?”

You grinned against his neck, the curve of your smile pressing into his skin. “That’s a good one.”

His exhale came out in a shaky mix of a laugh and a gasp, his nerves and amusement intertwining. “You- you think so?”

Shifting beneath him, you arched your back just enough to press your hips against him, and the reaction was immediate. Spencer groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your chest as you undulated again, slow and deliberate. “I really do,” you clarified, your tone teasing as you moved against him.

Spencer dropped his forehead to your shoulder, letting out a low chuckle tinged with exasperation. “God, Y/n. You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I learned from the best,” you shot back, your grin widening as you tightened your grip around him. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, every slight movement feeding the growing tension between you.

He lifted his head, his expression softer now, his gaze locking onto yours. Without hesitation, he kissed you, his lips tentative but sweet as they met yours. “And I learned from you,” he murmured against your mouth, the words carrying a weight that made your chest ache. “Everything.”

His kiss deepened as he spoke, his tongue slipping past your lips to meet your own in a slow, intoxicating dance. “Everything,” he repeated, his voice husky as he pulled back just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. “Including this.”

Spencer rolled his hips against you, the hard length of him dragging against your center with a pressure that made your toes curl. The friction was maddening, delicious, and you gasped into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back as you arched against him.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Spencer whispered, the confession raw and unguarded. Despite his words, he didn’t stop moving, his rhythm steady and almost instinctual. “I just—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, the mix of lust and affection swelling in your chest until it felt like you might burst. “You could never mess this up,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as your fingers traced the lines of his spine. “Spencer, I—”

The words faltered on your tongue, the depth of your feelings too overwhelming to articulate. How could you possibly express how much you cared for him, how long you’d admired him, how deeply you craved this closeness? The enormity of it all made your throat tighten, the emotions too big and too raw to put into words.

So instead, you kissed him. You poured everything you couldn’t say into the press of your lips against his, hoping he would feel the depth of your emotions in the way your hands held him, in the way your body pressed against his, in the way your heart beat wildly in sync with his own.

Spencer's fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm tentative but burning hot against your side. His touch was so light it sent a shiver skittering down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat as he hesitated. “Can I...?”

“Spencer.” You reached down to capture his hand, guiding it higher and pressing it firmly against the flat of your stomach. “You don’t have to ask.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, there was a hunger in his kiss that hadn’t been there before, an urgency that made your pulse race. His other hand found its way to your chest, and he palmed you through your bra, his movements still cautious but full of intent. “I want to be good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and raw against your lips.

You arched your hips into his, the movement slow and deliberate, eliciting a sharp gasp from him when his cock dragged against your clit. “You already are,” you whispered, your words a mix of reassurance and pure honesty.

He pulled back slightly, his lips parting as he searched your face. His gaze was soft but piercing, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Really?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, your throat tightening with the weight of your emotions. “You’re perfect.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost bashful smile, his face softening at your words. His gaze drifted downward, his lashes dark against his skin as he took in the sight of your bodies pressed together. “You are, too,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making your heart stutter.

Without warning, Spencer pushed himself up, his hands bracketing your hips as he knelt between your legs. His fingers fumbled at his belt, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked to undo it. After a moment of struggling, he gave up with a quiet huff, opting instead to slide a hand into his jeans. When he began stroking himself, his lips parted on a soft, unbidden moan, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

The way his hand moved, slow and deliberate, combined with the way his jaw tightened and his breath came in ragged gasps—it was intoxicating. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, your mouth watering as you imagined replacing his hand with your own, with your mouth. You wanted to feel him, taste him, make him lose himself in you.

“Spencer—” you breathed, the single word thick with want.

But before you could finish your thought, he was shifting back down, his body settling against yours as his lips found your neck. “I want you to get off on me,” he whispered, his voice rough and urgent against your skin. His mouth trailed along your jawline, the light scrape of his teeth sending sparks of heat through you. “Is that okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, your hands finding purchase on his hips. You dragged him closer, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass to pull him against you.

The friction was delicious, the slow roll of his hips against yours making your head spin. The heat of him, the weight of him, the low, breathy sounds he made—it was almost too much and yet not enough all at once. You tilted your head back, offering him more of your neck as you ground against him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his body against yours.

Spencer gasped as your hips rocked up against his, the friction of his cock sliding over your clit drawing a soft moan from you. The two of you found a rhythm, slow and deliberate, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, the growing pressure between your thighs impossible to ignore. His hardness rubbed against you with each motion, his movements unpracticed yet intoxicatingly eager.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. His groan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you as his body tensed. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips in response, your hands sliding up his back to hold him closer.

He felt incredible like this—hot, hard, and trembling with need in your arms. You pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, feeling the dampness of his hairline as you drew back to take in his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes... God, his eyes. They met yours, dark and stormy with a desperate hunger that made your breath catch.

“What do you want?” you asked softly, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t waver. “You,” he breathed, his tone raw and unguarded. “I want you.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, high-pitched and giddy with affection and desire. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “You’ve got me, Spencer.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you rocked your hips against him again, drawing a sharp inhale from his lips. His voice was rough with longing when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I know. I want—I want to...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing in frustration as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his forehead before trailing down to his ear. “Tell me,” you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. “Whatever it is, Spencer. Tell me.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your lips as he searched for the words. His breaths were shallow and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “I want—fuck. I just want to make you feel good.” He exhaled sharply, his hand sliding between your bodies to cup you through your underwear. His palm pressed against your cunt, tentative but deliberate, and your breath hitched in response.

“I want to feel you come,” he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. His fingers twitched against you, his touch gentle but insistent. “Is that—can I—fuck—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a heated press that said everything words couldn’t. His hand flexed against you, and when you rocked against him, a strangled moan tore from his throat. You felt his hesitation melt away as his fingers pressed more firmly, his eagerness making up for any lack of experience.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, your hips moving in time with his touch. “Yes, Spencer. Please.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to spur him on, his confidence growing with every gasped moan and whispered plea that fell from your lips. His movements were clumsy but earnest, his need to please you shining through in every stroke and press of his hand. It was intoxicating, the way he gave himself to you so completely, so openly.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your breaths coming faster as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. “Spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name. “I’m—God, I’m so close—”

His response was immediate, his free hand sliding to your hip to hold you steady as he pressed harder, his movements matching the rhythm of your hips. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice shaking with both nerves and determination. “Let go. Please, I want to feel it.”

And when you did—when the tension snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you—it was his name that spilled from your lips in a cry, his hands anchoring you as you trembled in his arms. Spencer held you through it, his own breaths ragged and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 1)

You help out an injured crow. It seems to be a bit of a strange crow, though.

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, still linkon city but mc is not a hunter, basically an alternate universe, minor character deaths, mc has a distinct backstory and personality, slow burn, hurt/comfort, you’re lowkey a disney princess witch character who attracts crows 🐦‍⬛✨💅

314.27.

You exhale slowly. Barely enough to cover food for the next two weeks, until your next paycheck. That nasty cold last week really gutted this month’s budget.

With a heavy heart, you retrieve your card from the ATM and start your usual trek toward the city park, stopping by the familiar food cart that sells peanuts at a good price. (Yes, a questionable purchase, considering your financial situation. No, you will not acknowledge said questionable purchase.)

Linkon City in mid-December is bone-chillingly cold, blanketed in powdery snow—but that’s never stopped you from your daily visit to the park. The freezing temperatures tend to drive most people away, leaving the usually lively space quiet. You, however, can’t resist coming to see your friends.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Speak of the devil. Well, devils.

A giddy smile tugs at your lips, and the exhaustion from the day evaporates.

“Hi!” you call out to the murder of crows circling above. Their midnight feathers gleam against the brilliant pink, orange, and purple hues of the winter sunset. You reach into the inside pocket of your weathered but ever-loyal overcoat and grab a handful of peanuts, tossing them onto the snow-free patches of ground.

The crows descend immediately, squabbling as they pick at the treats.

Moving carefully so you don’t spook them, you settle onto a nearby bench. A few of the bolder ones flutter down to join you, perching on the bench as their beady eyes lock on your face. Beaks held high, they wait expectantly, clearly hoping for more. You huff a soft laugh and oblige, tossing another handful.

Your peculiar friendship with these crows began a few years ago. The day of your family’s funeral.

A drunk twenty-year-old behind the wheel of his rich businessman father’s SUV, barreling down the highway at four times the speed limit. Your mother, father, and younger brother, on their way to your college graduation. A tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

You don’t remember much after that. Everything that followed was all a blur. The driver didn’t really face any consequences, thanks to their family’s influence. Their lawyer presented you with a pitiful settlement offer (or, in hindsight, maybe you were more or less threatened into accepting it). Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness at the time, or the suspicion that your lawyer might have been paid off by the driver’s family, but you ended up agreeing to settle.

It didn’t matter anyway. Your family was dead.

The funeral was a simple event. Some extended family came to offer their support and condolences. Once the day ended and everyone went home, however, you were left alone in your family’s house.

You don’t remember much, but you do remember standing in the middle of your living room, a growing tightness in your chest slowly overtaking you, as if your heart was being squeezed from the inside. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Somehow, you ended up bolting out the door—leaving it wide open behind you—and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but you eventually found yourself here, at this very park, sitting on this very bench.

A single crow had perched nearby, watching you silently. Your hand brushed against your coat pocket, and you found some leftover peanut shells from the funeral’s snack offerings. You absentmindedly tossed them toward the crow, and it hopped down to peck at them. There was something oddly comforting in the way it ate, its sharp black eyes darting back toward you as if to say thank you.

The next day, you returned. One crow turned into three, then six. Slowly, more joined, until it seemed like the entire murder looked forward to your daily visits and peanut offerings.

A sudden, loud thump behind you pulls you from your thoughts. You instinctively turn toward the sound, only to find… nothing. Frowning, you scan the area, glancing left and right, until your eyes land on a crow lying on the ground directly behind your bench.

You gasp and quickly stand, rushing over to it.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, crouching down and scanning it for signs of injury. It looks like it fell straight out of the sky.

The crow caws at you—loudly. Unlike the murder behind you, its caw is sharper, more jarring. It grates against your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Its eyes seem to gleam red when the light catches them at certain angles, similar to how a cat’s eyes flash in the dark.

Then your gaze drops to its left wing, which is bent unnaturally.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you murmur, leaning closer to examine it. The injury doesn’t look like a typical fracture. The way the wing bends reminds you more of a mechanical part with a screw loose than a broken bone.

It caws again, louder this time, as if trying to get your attention.

You glance up at the sky and realize it’s grown darker. Heavy clouds swirl above, signaling an impending snowfall. Behind you, the other crows begin to disperse, their farewell squawks echoing as they take flight.

Looking back down at the injured crow, you watch as it tries to take off, only to crash back onto the ground with its unusable wing.

“Um, would you like to stay with me until your wing feels better?” you ask hesitantly.

The crow tilts its head to the side, almost as if it understands you. You miss the subtle garnet glow in its eyes as you carefully scoop it into your arms, cradling it gently to avoid jostling its injured wing.

“I’ll help you out until you’re better,” you say softly, already walking toward home. “I don’t have much, but you can have the rest of the peanuts I bought earlier.”

The crow doesn’t resist, settling into your arms. Its body relaxes against you, and you tighten your hold to shield it from the cold winter air.

You know your groceries won’t stretch far for the rest of the month, but your conscience won’t let you leave an injured animal out in the snow. Hugging the crow a little closer, you feel a small smile tug at your lips when it starts to coo softly.

You don’t notice the faint whirring sound beneath its gentle cooing, like the hum of tiny mechanical gears.

note: not sure where I’m headed with this tbh, but it’s kinda like an alternate universe of the game’s main story. still set in linkon and the concept of evols still exist, but mc is basically an average citizen. (lowkey gonna treat this whole thing as a massive projection of recent irl feelings teehee.) we’ll see how this goes!

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Family Friend

Prompt: Jack Hotchner is arrested for underage drinking and the first person he calls to bail him out, is you.

It was almost 2 in the morning when you received the call.

"Y/N?" You heard the familiar voice of Jack Hotchnner's voice speak. He sounded small and almost scared.

"Jack?" You sat up in bed, immediately awake. "Are you alright?"

"I did something stupid Y/N. My dad's gonna kill me."

His words were slightly slurred and slow, imitating that of someone who had been drinking a lot. A million scenarios went through your head as you sprang out from under the covers, rushing to put on a change of clothes, holding your cell between your shoulder and ear.

"What happened Jack? Where are you?"

"I'm in jail. They said I could call someone so I called you. I know my dad is out of the state on a case, please don't tell him," he pleaded.

"Honey, I have to, he's your father. But we can talk about it when I get there. What jail exactly are you at?"

Once you were decent, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

"Fairfax I think- Oh God, Y/N, I'm so stupid, I don't even know why I was there. I-

"Jack, sweetheart. Don't say anymore, I'm headed to you now alright? Just sit tight."

He sniffled and let out an intoxicated hiccup. "Ok."

Hanging up, you dialed Aaron's number and put it on speaker as you got into your SUV, driving in the direction of the jail. The call picked up on the third ring and Aaron's sleepy voice mirrored your concerned tone from earlier.

"Y/N? Everything alright?"

"Jack just called me. I guess he's been arrested in Alexandria. He's fine, he's safe, but he did sound like he had been drinking. I'm on my way to pick him up now."

"What? Did he tell you what happened?" You imagined that he was doing the same as you, getting out of bed and dressing to catch the soonest plane out.

"No, I didn't want him to tell me over the phone. I can call you back once I get there and talk with him, I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thank you. I'm on my way as well." His voice was low and slightly gruff, telling you that he was pissed but trying to conceal it. You'd memorized all of his subtle tone and posture changes over the years of knowing him, having spent the better part of those years as one of his underlings before transferring units.

"Don't worry about it tonight Aaron, I've got it. You've got a case to solve."

Luckily, all of the lights were working in your favor as you had yet to hit a red, bringing you closer to Jack sooner.

"The team will be fine without me. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

You knew there was no stopping him. He was as stubborn as a mule and you honestly couldn't blame him when it came to the fact that his son was just arrested for God knows what.

"And Y/N. Thank you. For being there."

You were glad he wasn't there to see the slight blush creeping into your face at his words as your voice spoke calmly, a strong opposite of what you were feeling.

"Of course Aaron. I'll always be there for you guys."

Your words lingered in the back of your mind after the both of you hung up, silently mocking your lovesick emotions. For years, the both of you had always kept your friendship that of which it was. A friendship, nothing more. As much as you may have wanted it to be something a little more...intimate. There were times you thought Aaron may have felt the same, by the way he looked at you just a second longer than necessary or how protective he'd get whenever he found out you were going out on a date. But he never voiced such sentiments to you, if he had any at all, causing you to bury your own.

It seemed to be the night that everyone was being arrested as you walked into the police station and towards the booking desk.

"I'm here for Jack Hotchner, he was brought in sometime tonight," you stated to the officer. She gave you a once over before typing into the computer, presumingly looking him up.

"Oh yeah. Looks like he was picked up from a neighborhood party for underage drinking. He's in the drunk tank. Hasn't stopped crying and telling everyone that his father is a FBI agent. That true?"

You sighed at the dramatics she described and sighed before answering. "Yes he is, and I'm Special Agent L/N, a family friend." You flashed your credentials, satisfying her interest and continuing on with the process of bail. 500 dollars later and a short phone call to Aaron to update him on everything, they delivered the still very drunk Jack Hotchner to you.

He practically ran into your arms, crying. "Y/N, I'm so sorry."

If you weren't such a sucker for the kid, you would've been giving him a very stern lecture on his reckless behavior. But you were a sucker and all you could do was hug him back tight and speak gently. "You're alright, I'm just glad you're safe. C'mon, let's get you home."

You thanked the cops and left the building, Jack following close behind obediently. Once the two of you were in the car and on your way back, you decided to have a few words.

"This can't happen again, Jack. You know that, right?"

He seemed to be fading in and out of sleep but was coherent enough to give you a nod of acknowledment.

"Just because you're not in jail anymore, doesn't mean there won't still be a punishment. You broke the law and your dad is not happy about that."

Suddenly at the mention of his father, his eyes sprung open in alarm.

"You told him?"

"Of course I told him Jack. He was planning on flying back the minute I told him the news but I managed to get him to at least wait until tomorrow so you can sleep off the alcohol and he can have some time to calm down. You're welcome."

He threw his head back, cringing his face, making you believe that he was gonna start crying again. "He's gonna kill me."

"Well I highly doubt that sweetheart but I'll be there just in case, to make sure the both of you stay calm, alright?"

He groaned in acceptance and you shook your head smiling at his childlike behavior.

- - - -

Using the spare key Aaron gifted to you a few months back, you helped Jack into his house and led him into his room. Flopping onto his bed and passing out almost immediately, you sighed before straightening him out and taking off his shoes, then covering him up with a blanket and turning out his light.

You knew he was fine to be in the house by himself, but still you stayed, taking minimal space on the massive sectional couch and covering yourself with a throw blanket, noticing how it smelt faintly of Aaron. It didn't take long for the sleep to find you.

- - - -

You woke up with a jolt as the sound of the front door closing echoed in the quiet house, sitting up and catching Aaron's eye. He seemed surprised to see you as he walked over to the dining room table and set his keys and briefcase down.

"Sorry I woke you. I didn't know you spent the night," he spoke softly, loosening his tie.

"Yeah, I didn't want to leave him here alone in the state he was in. He must've had a lot to drink."

A sigh escaped his lips while running a hand over his face, his expression looking tired and overworked. You could only imagine the stress he went through being a single father and Unit Chief as well as the toll it took on his mind and body. Getting up, you folded the throw blanket neatly and walked over into the kitchen, deciding to make the both of you a pot of coffee.

"I don't know why he's so out of control lately. Last week the school told me he's been skipping classes and receiving detention on a daily basis."

You figured Jack was still sound asleep considering that it was only 7 in the morning so there was no chance he'd hear the two of you talking.

"He's not out of control Aaron. He's just being a teenager. A teenager that lost his mother and barely sees his father, he's bound to act out a little."

You prepared the coffee, knowing exactly where everything was, having done these motions numerous times before. Some of your best memories with Aaron were ones where the two of you shared a pot in the late night and talked about anything and everything, just enjoying each others presence. You pushed away the momentary thought and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet.

"I just wish I knew what to do," he sighed. "He's getting more and more distant from me and I feel helpless about it."

You turned to face him, settling you hand on his arm, grabbing his attention. "Just be there for him. And tell him that. He'll come around eventually. He just needs to work through the emotions he's feeling."

He didn't answer but continued holding your gaze, a flicker of something behind his eyes that made you subconsciously hold your breath. "Thank you Y/N. For staying." His voice was soft- tentative almost. You watched his eyes glance down at your lips momentarily, the air now thick with tension. You stood there frozen as he took a small step forward, bringing his body closer to yours and his head tilting down to compensate the height difference.

"Aaron.." you whispered, his name almost spoken as a warning, worried that if he crossed whatever boundary there had been, he'd regret it and that would be the end of your friendship.

"Am I reading this wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. He didn't lean in any further though. Didn't make a move to kiss you but his close presence was plenty. You could smell the cologne he would wear every once in a while, making your head dizzy.

"I just don't want you to regret this later on," you admitted to him, fearing he's end up agreeing with you. Instead, to your surprise, he reached a hand out to hold your cheek in his hand, making your eyes flutter shut briefly.

"The only regret I have is not doing this sooner." He leaned in, capturing your lips in his which you were more than happy to reciprocate. The kiss was everything you had dreamt it be. He was gentle, loving almost, in the way his arm came around your waist and slowly pulled you in. There was no rush, it was just you and him in the quiet house, everything else forgotten about, including the teenager who had unknowingly left his room to walk right into the living room, seeing everything.

"It's about time," he interrupted, making you practically jump away from Aaron.

"Jack." Your response was breathless, Aaron succeeding in taking it away seconds before. "I wasn't expecting you to be up so early."

You turned to step away from Aaron, which he allowed, but still kept his hand resting on your waist, a small knowing smirk on his face.

"Just because you were right about this, doesn't mean you're off the hook," Aaron said, making Jack roll his eyes lightheartedly. You spun to Aaron with a look of shock.

"Have you two been conspiring about me?" You were surprised of course, but also flattered that Jack felt so comfortable with you to talk with his father about his romantic feelings towards you.

Aaron shrugged his shoulders in admission. "Maybe just a little bit," he said, the tiniest of a blush creeping up his neck. "I just wasn't expecting for it to happen this morning, especially after all the chaos."

"Which I'm totally sorry for, Y/N. Thanks for coming to get me," Jack added. You walked over and brought the boy in for a tight hug that he pretended to not enjoy but eventually gave up and hugged you back. "I'm just glad you're safe and hopefully learned a valuable lesson," you spoke, pulling him back and giving him a once over. "Also, how are you up at 7 in the morning? If I had as much to drink as you looked like you did, I'd be dead till at least noon."

He chuckled and ran a nervous hand through his hair, something you noticed Aaron also did on occasion. "This wasn't my first time, Y/N. I've been drunker."

You gasped and looked over at Aaron who could only shake his head in disapproval but ultimately already knowing about it.

You turned back to Jack. "Well this time, it won't be just your father in charge of punishment. I'm gonna have some say in it as well. I know Spencer has an upcoming lecture on the Theory of Relativity this week. I think it'd be very informational for you."

The horrid expression on his face was exactly what you were looking for. "What?! No! Please, not uncle Spence's lectures. I'll do community service, babysitting, anything but that," he pleaded to his father, who threw his hands up in surrender but didn't lose the amused smile.

"I think it's a great idea. Consider that the beginning of the punishment as well. Now go get showered and dressed, you're gonna come with me to run some errands."

Groaning in disapproval, he did as he said and walked off down the hall to his room. You felt the warmth of Aaron come up behind you and pull you in, resting his head on your shoulder, arms around your stomach. "Good idea on the punishment," he praised, kissing your cheek.

You chuckled while moving to face him, a look of jest in your eyes. "Oh, you're not in the clear either, mister. I think I deserve a proper date after the secret scheming you and Jack have been up to."

The gaze of tenderness and affection glimmered in his eyes gave you butterflies and the ultimate need to pull him in for another kiss. You honestly felt like you could kiss the man forever.

When you both pulled away, he spoke. "How about tonight? I'll pick you up from your place around 6? You could wear that dress you've been talking about wanting to wear."

A big smile appeared on your face at his words, excited for the evening. You stayed just a little longer, sharing a cup of coffee with Aaron, giving some drunk advice to Jack before you all parted your separate ways. Knowing you'd see the both of them so soon, filled your heart with joy and the smiled never faded the whole drive home.

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. “Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[hotchscoffeecup]

stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It���s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.