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ssa-atlas-alvez · 8 months

Note

Hello

I want to see cowboy reader get captured and hurt by unsub and JJ worried because those two seem to have chemistry

Description: Cowboy reader's father visits, things don't go too well...

Warnings: abuse, abusive parents, abduction, claustrophobia, judgy nurse, hospital visits, child abuse mentions

A/N: I'm panicking that this feels rushed but equally, I started writing this on the 15th of May so it can't be that rushed can it? Lmao (Also I'm so sorry it's taken this long). Posting this before I can doubt myself some more :))

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84 @goth-boi-atlas @iliketozoneout

You and Spencer stood in front of the geographical profile, to be honest, Spencer was doing most of the work, you were watching the wheels in his brain tick. Since meeting the young doctor, you had almost been in awe of his intelligence and the way his brain worked (and you couldn’t help but want to protect him from the world).

This precinct was set out slightly different to the others you had been to, this station’s conference room had no windows, purely lit by shitty lights that were screwed into the ceiling. The only way you were able to read in this room was if you also switched on a bright light that was a lot less warm-toned to actually see.

"(Y/N)?" You snapped out of your train of thought, turning to the voice, it feeling vaguely familiar.

"Yes?" When you turn to him, you instantly know who it is but you force your face to stay neutral.

"You don't remember me." He manages to look somewhat defeated, you'll give him that.

"No, I remember you." You said, folding your arms, "You just don't mean anything to me."

"And why’s that?"

"You're not worth my energy."

He places a hand on his heart, "You wound me, son."

"Shame." You answer, you turn to Spencer, "Can you go get Hotch?"

Spencer looks at the scene hesitantly, not wanting to leave you alone with the man. Especially if he is your father. "It's okay, Spence." You reassured with a tight smile.

"Yeah, it's alright, Spence." Your father says as he takes a step towards Spencer.

When your father takes a step closer to Spencer, before you know it, you have him pinned against the wall. "Don't you even fuckin' dare stand near him." You growl, "I don't care how much you think you've changed, come near him, I'll break you."

Chuckling, despite his head pressed against the wall, your father turns his head to look at Spencer. "I have changed."

"Bull. Shit." You force the words out of your mouth, anger flowing through your blood. "Spencer, go get Hotch." You wanted Hotch here for a multitude of reasons. The main three being:

Make sure you don't nearly kill him

Make sure he doesn't nearly kill you

Make sure Spencer is safe

As soon as he's gone, your father's demeanour shifts and he smirks, "I thought we'd never be alone,"

And with that, he manoeuvers himself and slams your head into the wall, knocking you unconscious.

When Hotch and Spencer ran back into the room, three minutes later, you were nowhere to be seen.

You didn't know how long it had been, just that it must have been ages - at least four days. You had been there for ages, in the dark, a closet to be specific. And everywhere hurt - so, so much. Your father had been in multiple times and it was like you were twelve years old again, stuck at home with a monster with no one to save you. Except you knew that you had people in the outside world that actually cared about you (your team).

Each time your father visited you, dragging you out of the closet and throwing you to the floor, he inflicted a different pain that reminded you of your childhood while he hurled insults in your direction. It had been a while since his last visit - a few hours, perhaps - and, to your dismay, you were beginning to worry whether he would come back.

"This ain't creepy at all," You muttered to yourself, perhaps if you closed your eyes and simply pretended you were at home that would help.

You leant against the back of the closet, trying your best to get comfortable. You closed your eyes, picturing your bed at your Mama's house. Everything was okay. "You- You're fine," You mumbled to yourself, clutching your arm tight to your chest, trying to stabilise your shoulder. It had been dislocated on your first day here (wherever here was).

Everything ached heavily, throbbing in beat with your heart. Between the cuts, scratches, and burns, you felt like you couldn't take a full breath. It was dark and you couldn't see. You didn't know who was there, if anyone was really there. God you hated the dark. And it was cold, so very, very cold, you knew there was no way that you had lost enough blood to make it so. You knew that the only way in which it was so cold was that bastard had made sure there was no way heat could get into the room (assuming there wasn't a thermostat).

The beat of your heart filled your ears, mixed with the roaring that was occupying your ear drums. All with such force and such volume that you don't hear the gunshot in the background.

"Everythin's fine, you're gonna get out of this. Team'll find you. It's fine. It's fine-" Your feeble attempt at self-reassurance died in the back of your throat when you heard the familiar unlocking of the closet doors. You curled into yourself further, not looking up when the doors creaked open.

"(Y/N)?" JJ approaches you slowly, and you stare at her, trying to figure out if you've finally gone crazy or if she's really here. God, you hoped it was the latter. You couldn’t help but notice that the air around her seemed slightly brighter.

"JJ?" You wince, not only from the pain it caused in your throat and chest to speak, but by how utterly defeated you sounded.

"I'm here," She answers, "We're all here." With that, there was a small click and light flooded into your room. You winced, quickly ducking your head down and squeezing your eyes shut. When your eyes had adjusted, you opened them, forcing yourself to stand.

The team's eyes widened at the sight of you, covered in blood and dirt, stripped of your shirt and socks. When you finally looked up, you curled into yourself slightly, trying to ignore the damage.

You took a breath, "What about-?"

"He's dead." She answers and your shoulders deflate. They did come for you. He was wrong. Of course they would come for you.

"Who- Who shot him?" You asked hesitantly.

"I did," Morgan replied, frowning slightly. No matter what the man had done, he was still technically your biological father. You stumbled over to him, wincing and limping as you did so.

"Thank you," You mumbled, collapsing into a hug when you finally reached him.

”How about we get you sit down?” Morgan asks gently as Prentiss places a seat next to you. Despite you protesting that you were fine, Morgan helps ease you into the chair while Hotch calls the paramedics to check how far out they were.

When the paramedics arrived, they were quick to transfer you onto a gurney and then into the ambulance - the team keeping close.

“Do you want us to call your emergency contact?” The paramedic asked and you shook your head.

“No, no thank you,” You mumbled, giving her a small smile.

“Are you sure-?”

You nodded, “She, er, she’s already here,” You don’t notice Morgan shoot JJ a knowing smile - who responds with an eye roll and shaking her head.

“Okay, just so we know, who is it?”

“Oh, er, JJ,” You said, nodding to her, “The blonde haired lady,”

The paramedic takes a note of this, jotting it down on your form. “Thank you,”

When you get to the hospital, you’re settled into a rather uncomfortable hospital bed (but you know better than to complain). They start by giving you pain killers and treating your major wounds - the burns along your side and chest, a variety of deepish cuts along your arms and torso, and finally checking your ribs and collarbone for fractures. You had tried telling them you were fine, but they weren’t having it - especially when they poked it and you cried out in pain.

"We need to take you upstairs," The nurse said, "We need to do an x-ray."

"Upstairs?"

"Yes, the x-ray department is on the fourth floor," The nurse said and you drew in a deep breath. "We need to transfer you into a wheelchair."

Eventually, you were out of your room, trying desperately not to think about the elevator. Being trapped in a small metal box.

"No, I- I'll take the stairs." You mumble, shaking your head as you approach the lift. Not now. You can do this right now. You begin to stand when a hand is placed on your shoulder, instantly making you feel relaxed. You know its her without even having to look.

"You know you can't take the stairs right now," She responds quietly.

"JJ, I'm fine." You answer, grinding your jaw. You did not want to go in that lift under any circumstances.

"It's the only way to get there."

"Then I won't go,"

"You need to get an x-ray,"

"Don't need to."

"What would help you feel safer?" Her voice is soft, calming.

"You." Your answer is instant, that's not the embarrassing part though. The embarrassing part would be asking to hold her hand. The embarrassing part would be asking if Hotch or Morgan could also come with. You knew that they wouldn't let anything happen to either you or JJ - and they were physically healthy and therefore actually able to protect both you and her (normally you wouldn't have a problem with protecting the pair of you if needed, but you were currently slightly incapacitated).

"What's the other thing?" Damn, she can read you like a book.

You swallow, frowning slightly as you flush red and look down at your hands, watching them tremble for a moment, "H-Hotch or Morgan?"

JJ nods in understanding, gently rubbing her hand along your arm. "Does it matter which one?" When you shake your head, she turns to the nurse, "Can you get Agent Hotchner or Agent Morgan please?"

"For an elevator?" You frown, staring at your hands more intently as your face grows hot, watching as they continue to shake from adrenaline at the idea of being in a lift right now.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying, he's a grown man, he can ride an elevator-"

You can sense the anger radiating off the blonde so you shake your head, "JJ it's fine..." You mumbled, "Let's just go n get it over with."

"No. You'd feel more comfortable with Hotch or Morgan here, so we're going to make sure that one of them are here." She says strongly, not breaking eye contact with the nurse. "So, can you get Agent Hotchner or Agent Morgan. And another nurse."

The nurse stares blankly at her for a moment before nodding and walking off. "Are you alright?" JJ asks softly and you give a small nod, hands continuing to shake. Seeing this she slowly reached down, lightly taking your left hand in her right.

"I-I'm sorry," You mutter before your tone turns bitter. "I shouldn't be feelin' like this. It's just an elevator."

"(Y/N)," You look up at her, "You've been through something most people can't even imagine. You're okay to feel shaken by that."

"M an adult." You said, trying to ignore your eyes began to feel the familiar sting of tears. "I shouldn't be-"

"I'm scared of dogs." JJ said. "I- Spencer was taken by an unsub years ago and his dogs attacked me and now, I'm afraid of dogs. Is that unreasonable? I'm an adult."

"That's different."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"Wha-? No. Because you went through a traumatic experience."

"And this wasn't traumatic?"

"No! This was my childhood! I got over it! I should be fine with this! I shouldn't be here shakin' like a leaf over somethin' I must have gone through a hundred times!" You exclaim, "I should be able to get in an elevator without vibratin' so hard I’m creatin' my very own massage chair!"

"You're allowed to feel this way," JJ says gently as she crouches in front of you. "It's okay to acknowledge things that scare you. And doing this? Getting in an elevator shows how strong you are. Even if it's with two friends."

"Is everything okay?" JJ looks up at Hotch, who let's his gaze settle on your form - he can't see much, but he watches as you lift a trembling hand to your face, presumably to massage your temples. JJ says nothing, unsure of how much you want her to say, so you take the lead.

"I don't wanna go in." You mutter. "I wanna take the stairs."

Hotch had never heard you sound so small. "I get that," Ensuring that his voice is calming, he continues, "But we both know you can't make it up all those stairs right now."

"Its- I feel like 'm trapped and 'm not even inside yet."

"We'll be here the whole time," Hotch adds and you nod.

"Is the other nurse here?"

"Yep," Another voice chimes, "I'm Nurse Maddison."

"Hi," You whisper. "I-I'm not normally like this," You mumble, this was slightly mortifying to say the least.

"That's alright," She replies, "We've all got our fears. I find it difficult to go on public transport - I'm scared of a lack of control."

"I-I'm scared if I get in the lift, I won't be able to get out." You admit. "I'm scared the lights will flicker, n I'll wake up, n I'll still be there. Or worse, the lights will go out n he'll be here."

"Who?" Nurse Maddeline furrows her eyebrows when you don't answer.

"I just really don't want this to be a dream," You whisper.

JJ squeezes your hand lightly, "I promise you, this is real."

"We're here, (Y/N). You're safe. You're with us."

You sat, taking deep breaths outside the elevator for a minute or so. Just catching your breath.

"Are you ready to get in?" She asks. Despite the question, her voice is full of understanding. "We don't have to push any buttons yet, and I can stand in the way of the doors until you're ready."

"Can- Can we do that one? With you in the doors?"

"Of course!" Nurse Maddison gives a small smile before pressing the call button for the elevator.

When she wheels you into the elevator, you forget how to breathe. Shaking your head quickly, you find Hotch and JJ (which is easy as Nurse Maddison placed the wheelchair so that you could see both of your colleagues), "I was wrong, I can't do this-"

"(Y/N), look at me," JJ speaks this time, "You're okay, it's okay."

You shake your head, "No, no, I can't-"

"I need you to calm down for me, okay?" Nurse Maddison says.

"No! No, I can't- I can't do this!" You bow your head, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands.

"(Y/N)." Hotch's voice is stern and makes you look up, "You can do this. I know you think you can't, but you can."

"Do you trust us?" JJ asks and you nod. Because you do. You trust the pair of them with your life. "Then close your eyes." You look at her for a moment before doing as she says, letting your eyes flutter shut. There's a warmth that floods through your body as she takes your hand again and you grip it lightly.

When the doors close, your grip on JJ's hand tightens and your eyes shoot open. "It's alright," Hotch is quick to reassure as JJ rubs soothing circles on your hand. "It won't be long before we reach the floor we need."

"No, no, Hotch, I need out-" You shake your head, desperately trying to get your breathing under control. "Hotch I need out, I can't breathe-"

"(Y/N), look at me." JJ's voice drew your eyes away from Hotch. "You're okay."

"No-"

"Yes you are, you're okay." She says softly, gently squeezing your hand in hers, "We're nearly there."

You pushed the palm of your hand into your eye, trying to force the tears back. "Not a coward." You muttered bitterly to yourself, not caring if the others could hear. You needed to get yourself through this ride without having a panic attack (and it was close). "Not a coward. Not a coward." You mumble the phrase, over and over. Intent on repeating it until you believe it. Of course, before that could happen, there was the familiar ping of an elevator door and your head shot up as they opened.

"Can we get out now?" You asked, looking up, "Please?"

Both Hotch and JJ give you a reassuring smile as Nurse Madeline gently pushes the wheelchair out of the elevator.

JJ leans forward, so only you can hear her as she whispers, “See, I told you you could do it,”

The x-ray went relatively smoothly, except for finding out you had three broken ribs and had broken your clavicle. You were also a lot calmer on the way down (still with both Hotch and JJ), feeling relatively calm (in comparison) when they wheeled you back into your room.

The team immediately greeted you with smiles as you entered your room, Garcia standing up from your bed (where she may or may not have laid down on it).

“So, what’s the verdict, cowboy?” Morgan asked.

“Um, three broken ribs and clavicle.”

“Clavicle?” Garcia asked.

“Collarbone,” Spencer added.

“Does that mean no baking for a little while?” Both you and Garcia asked, turning to Hotch (who had to fight off a smile).

“Probably.”

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rubberdingyrappids · 7 months

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I need a fic, a hefty, in depth fic that has a member of the BAU acknowledging that Hotch wasn’t just stabbed by Foyet but also SA’d.

I just… I just need it. We should have got it in the damn show.

#criminal minds #tw sa mention #aaron hotchner #George foyet #emily prentiss #David Rossi #spencer ried #derek morgan #jenifer jareau #5x1

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spencermyangel · 4 months

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Could we get a story where Spencer was gang raped in prison?

Hi, sorry it's been so long (I had some stuff going on) but I'm going to try and upload more.

CW - Sexual Assault

Spencer slipped into his apartment. Placing his keys on the key hook Garcia had gotten him to stop him from losing them. He let out a heavy sigh. One more day down… who knows how many more to go.

Spencer turned to go to his bedroom when he spotted Rossi sitting in his chair and reading one of his old books.

“Rossi!” Spencer startled, “what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Rossi glanced up and shrugged, “you gave me keys.”

“Right, Right” Spencer mumbled as he moved to sit in the other chair. He stared at his fidgeting hands, “so, uh, why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Rossi’s tone softened, “to be honest I’m worried about you, kid.”

Spencer stiffened, “you don’t have to be… I’m just a little on edge, it’s only been a few months since… you know.”

“I know,” Rossi leaned forward and looked into Spencer’s eyes. “I think it’s more than that. You won’t let anyone touch you, not even JJ or Garcia. You space out during cases… The last case we did, with those men going around raping people. I thought Emily was going to pull you from the case, to be honest.”

Spencer gulped and tried to swallow his tears, looking away from Rossi.

“I’m sorry,” he shakily whispered when he found his voice.

Rossi shook his head sympathetically, “You’re not in trouble Spence, just tell me what happened.”

“I can’t,” Spencer grimaced as he spoke, desperately trying not to cry.

“Why?”

Spencer shook his head and finally let a tear fall, “because saying out loud would make it real,” he murmured.

“It might help,” Rossi said, “if you tell me I might be able to help you.”

Spencer was silent for a while, until he finally began to explain. “When I was in prison, there was this group of guys. They seemed intent on making my life as hard as possible. One day, I was sitting in my cell when they came in. they gagged me and then…” Spencer let out a sob, “They took turns. It went on and on.”

Spencer’s words became increasingly inaudible as he continued to sob until he no longer even tried to speak. It didn't matter though, Rossi understood what happened.

“It’s okay Spence,” Rossi hushed him as he took him into his arms, softly petting the younger man’s curls.

It was a situation Rossi had never imagined himself in. comforting someone as though they were his son. After James’ death, and his divorces he thought he would never have children, never have a son. Certainly not Spencer Reid, the nerdy, quirky, overexcited young man he had met almost ten years ago. Even then he seemed to carry pain with him. But holding him in his arms, he realised that's exactly what he considered Spencer to be. A son.

Spencer’s sobs had finally started to slow and he pulled away.

“Spence, I know you don’t like getting professional help. But I think it might be worth it to consider talking to someone.”

Spencer thought for a moment and surprised Rossi when he responded, “I’ll consider it.”

“Please do Spencer,” Rossi asked, “and know you can always come to me.”

Spencer slightly smiled for what felt like the first time in forever, “thank you Rossi.”

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #hurt spencer reid #hurt/comfort #cw sa mention #david rossi #rossi is reid's dad #papa rossi

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frizz22 · 6 months

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Truths

Read full ficlet on AO3

Note: If, in some inexplicable turn of events, Garcia and Luke are in the same truth telling/confession style situation that Reid and JJ were in 14x15

“I was scared.” Penelope breathed, a tear slipping down her cheek as she uttered the words.

Luke tried to smile for her, reassure her. “I am too, it’s okay, Garcia, you can tell me anything.”

Head shaking, Penelope swallowed. “Not that, I mean, I am scared now, terrified,” her eyes flicked to the Unsub then away. “But what I’m telling you, my secret, was… I was scared. To give us a chance.” She added when his brow furrowed.

#ao3 #ao3fic #fanfic #criminal minds #penelope garcia x luke alvez #penelope x luke #penelope garcia #luke alvez #mentions of #emily prentiss #david rossi #tara lewis #fix it

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sassydefendorflower · 9 months

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A Slightly Different (But Very Familiar) Tale Of David Stephen Rossi

Born in 1950 in Commack, Long Island, Francesca Rossi is nothing to write home about - the family is happy enough about another girl, another mouth to feed, in the growing economy of the years following the war. Not that the Rossis have to count their coins - strong ties to the Finnegans and the Sicilian mafia ensure their small restaurant has enough costumers to make the years sail by smoothly.

Rossi's fifteen when she meets Emma - and for nine fearful months she thinks she might be a lesbian, something unheard off in small catholic Commack. But then she realizes something else: Rossi's not a girl at all.

When he's sixteen Rossi tells his Nonna that he's gonna be called Dave now, after his late father, and Stephen, because he always liked that name. His Nonna nods and tells him to get to work in the restaurant kitchen, because no child of hers will be useless in the kitchen, boy or girl, different name or not.

(Dave's one of the boys now, even at school, so when they tell him to pick on the only guy with worse luck than him - Steve Mickel, the only Black student in all of Commack - he does. He hates it, learns something valuable about himself and humanity that day, but ultimately all he does is play into the machinery in place. But he does realize something else as well: at barely seventeen he understands evil in a way he isn't comfortable with, in a way that is not shared by his peers at all)

When he's eighteen all of Commack calls him Dave, and yet Emma will still always be the "one who got away". Their small catholic church with its understanding priest might respect the Rossi boy, but that doesn't mean that this specific young boy can ever be allowed to go out with the respectable young maidens of their congregation. Not that it matters in the long run - a year later Ray Finnegan's father, as a repayment for services offered by David Rossi Sr years ago, erases every legal proof that Francesca Rossi ever existed at all. There's only Dave now.

There's only ever been Dave.

Somehow this little twist of fate ends with Dave being enlisted to the Marine Corps in 1969 as a way to escape Commack and a past only the small town will ever remember. Not that going to Vietnam was his best idea. Somehow he manages to survive boot camp without being figured out, his skinny hide shipped out halfway across the globe before he can ask himself if he's really ready to do this.

He's not. No one's ever really ready for war, especially not green behind the ears boys from Long Island with mobster blood running through their veins and period cramps disintegrating their guts.

But Dave pulls through. He makes friends. He loses friends. He realizes everyone can become a killer. He watches people slaughter and die, and once again he gets this distinct feeling that he views the world differently from others. He tries to figure it out by watching the people around him, trying to find a pattern that tells him which comrade will loose it out on a mission and which will stay calm.

In the end he's the one who loses it.

Dave owes it to Harrison Scott that he survives that fateful day with little more than a bit of shrapnel in his leg. In all honestly, Dave owes Scott a lot more than that - because Scott is the one who sees him half naked when he drags him out from underneath the dirt and blood and death. He's the one who organizes a medical discharge for Dave without ever telling anyone his secret. He's the one who gets Dave a medal and a one-way ticket back to the States.

That's probably why Dave cuts all ties with him once he gets out of the hospital - that's probably why the guilt will never stop weighing down his soul.

The summer of 1973 offers more than ice cream and achy knees for young David Rossi. He's still listed as a Marine Corps Reverse, and that's probably how the FBI finds him. They need new people, they tell him, someone young and spry to grace their dusty, hallowed halls. Dave agrees. He gets his medical from a trusted family friend who recently moved out of Commack, and moves through the Academy with an ease that almost scares him.

They put him on desk duty once he's finished. It's boring. It's to be expected.

In 1974, he meets Carolyn while on a stake out and immediately falls in love. It takes four months for him to work up the courage to ask her out - he's never done this before, but Carolyn is worth it. The danger, the uncertainty, the potential ridicule.

She says Yes. Even after Dave showed her what he looks like without his carefully tailored suits and the fine leather shoes. She says Yes.

In 1975 David Rossi meets Jason Gideon and something finally clicks.

It's nerve wracking, the days leading up to this first fateful meeting - they're both being pushed together for being annoying, for being nosy, for asking the wrong (right) questions while out on assignment. Dave is fascinated by the psychology of evil, and from what he's heard in the office gossip mill, Jason Gideon seems to be even stranger with his empathic questions and wry smiles. But Jason is clever, brilliant even, and some part of Rossi's terrified of being found out. Not now, not when Dave has a career, a girl, a future. A name that belongs only to himself.

Jason Gideon takes one look at him, raises an eyebrow, and smiles. Rossi immediately knows that the man saw what Rossi didn't want him to see - and then decided to simply not care.

Dave can respect that.

They've been working together for six months, mostly doing stake outs and menial tasks while Jason tries to convince their superiors to let them do custodials on serial offenders to create a statistical basis for this innate knowing Rossi has always carried with him, when Jason looks at him one night and says, "You know, I can ask my doctor for a testosterone prescription. I'm not the biggest guy, not really all that manly, I'm sure he'd give it to me and then... if you want it, you can have it".

Dave looks at him for a long moment, shook and horror and pure potential battling for dominance, before he can reign himself back in. He's David Stephen Rossi - he wears tailored suits and faced death before his twentieth birthday.

He simply says... Yes.

No thank you, because Jason Gideon has never expected or offered thank yous. No tears, because neither man is really one for big shows of emotion. No declaration of undying friendship - because why say something that you both already know to be true?

(and no matter what else happens between them, up until the day Gideon leaves everything behind, every month - unfailingly - a bottle of prescription filled testosterone would show up in David's mailbox, even years and years after they last exchanged a friendly word and Rossi figured out how to get it on his own)

In 1976 Dave marries Carolyn, and it might just be the happiest he's ever been. He's filled out some in the last few months, his voice dropped, and there's something exhilarating about saying his vows and sounding like himself for the first time in his life. Based on the grin on her face, Carolyn (newly a Rossi) seems just as happy as him.

Gideon's his best man and nobody here has ever heard the name Francesca (his Nonna died the year before and she was the only one Rossi would have gladly invited).

Rossi's twenty-eight when he paves his own path to destruction for the first time. Jason's finally gotten them their own office, down in the basement, the BSU (the Bullshit, uh, Behavioral Science Unit), with a couple of white boards, a modest annual travel budget, and the official credentials to interview dangerous criminals all across the country. But that's not what's on Rossi's mind, no, Carolyn wants to have children.

Rossi can't give her any. Biologically, anyways. It's the first time he's felt that he failed as a husband and it's a shitty feeling.

(If he were to stop and think about it, he would realize that Carolyn didn't so much want a child, as that she wanted company. She only wanted something he couldn't give her, because he'd failed again and again to give her what he could: love, affection, weekends spend together and not on separate sides of a continent)

His solution is ludicrous but love makes us stupid, so Carolyn agrees. With the help of his trusted doctor friend and Uncle Sal, who owes Dave for a dropped DUI back in '76, Carolyn becomes pregnant.

They are overjoyed, and for nine blessed months, David Rossi is the happiest man alive.

It doesn't hurt that Jason seems to genuinely think that the child is biologically his, the man offering to name his own son after Rossi now that they're both going to be parents. Rossi returns the offer, but admits that he might have to ask Carolyn before be makes any promises regarding a name.

On the 26th of April, 1979, Dave's world shatters.

James David Rossi takes half a breath on this world before his lungs fail him and the nurses and midwives fail to save him. In the wake of his death, everything fragile between him and Carolyn finally breaks.

He wanted to give her a companion, a son, a love, instead he only gave her grief - and left her alone with it, as he ran away from case to case as not to face his own failure. Carolyn needed him, and he couldn't be there - not because he doesn't love her, but because he loves her so much, her sorrow would drown him should they bath in it together.

It surprises no one when she asks for a divorce early in 1980 - if anything, Dave's amazed that she waited this long.

Meanwhile the BSU is finally getting some traction, talk about adding a third member creating some tension between Gideon and Rossi. It doesn't help that Rossi's way of dealing with grief rubs his superiors the wrong way, his misdemeanors and drunken escapades even off the job a thorn in their side. The temporary reassignment doesn't come as a surprise - the fact that it brings him to Paris certainly does.

Dave's been assigned as the security detail of Ambassador Hayden Montgomery for the upcoming six months - and he won't lie... at first it was her beauty and the forbidden nature of their unit that drew him to her.

Nothing much happens between them those first few months, the grief and loss still clinging to every breath Rossi takes... but soon after he returns to the States only to find Max Ryan on the desk next to his in their dusty basement office, Hayden returns to the US from her assignment. Maybe it's to avoid Ryan, maybe it's to escape from Jason's concerned glances, but Rossi falls into Hayden's waiting arms with little abandon.

(It doesn't help that Ryan mentored Gideon during his Academy days and that those two have a rapport which leaves Rossi a stranger looking in on his own unit, the one he founded with Gideon alone)

They get married in the summer of 1981, and spend their honeymoon drinking champagne on the Champs-Élysées. They return stateside and she hates his job, the long hours, the gruesome deaths, the human misery - and he hates hers, the politics and the endless phone calls, and the thinly veiled comments about her skin color and her worth.

They are both incredibly proud and stubborn and clever.

In 1983, after Rossi put his name on the dotted line underneath the divorce papers for a second time, Jason pats him on the back and tells him that maybe the "third time will be the charm". Dave's heartbreak shows itself in the form of senseless laughter. Jason (the job) is all he has left, and David will keep on clinging if that's what he has to do to stay afloat.

In a way it's easier after that.

There's only the job - and, holy hell, they're getting good at what they do. Max Ryan might be a prick who doesn't deserve his wife, but he sure as hell has a good head on his shoulders. Just like Rossi, just like Gideon, he can get into the minds of criminals in a way that is almost scary.

More and more often the local police actually invites them in without Gideon having to beg. They take their cars, often on their own, and Rossi thinks about writing a book. Maybe even two.

There is no one waiting for him at home anymore who'd be disappointed by his long hours, and Dave welcomes this change by working harder. By being better. By becoming the hunter, never the hunted.

That doesn't mean he doesn't get around. He's been taking Gideon's testosterone for a few years now, and his beard is a thing of pure beauty. It helps getting the ladies in his bed - and his fingers and mouth keep them there and happy. There is talk about him in the office, about his promiscuous ways, but Rossi can't find it in himself to stop.

There is something weirdly powerful about asserting himself this way. And it's not as if he's breaking any hearts - his marrying days are over.

Gideon stops mentioning his wife and son and Rossi's tactful enough not to say anything. That's how it's always been between the two of them: the important stuff was left unsaid.

That's why Rossi made Gideon his best man twice, and it's why Stephen is called Stephen. It's also why they fight so much. Gideon's big on getting into the mind of the UnSub, a word they recently came up with, while Rossi would rather focus on the how of the MO. They work well together, but it's the kind of genius that can only exist with a lot of friction.

Ryan mostly watches them, and Rossi lets him.

Before they know it, it's 1988, Rossi's turning thrity-eight, and Katherine Cole joins the team. A woman's touch is exactly what they need, Jason declares and Rossi couldn't agree more. If anything Ryan seems to be the only one who has a problem with her - or maybe it's all in Rossi's head, his anger desperate for an outlet that isn't some poor witness on the other side of a steel table.

A year later invites them to Vegas and Rossi barely remembers the night that ends with him getting divorced a third time.

Unfortunately, Gideon definitely remembers, and Rossi knows his reputation will never recover from being the guy who was married three times. No one seems willing to listen that he and Krystall were barely married for 48 hours and that's why it shouldn't count - even if those 48 hours were absolutely amazing.

The years go on and on and on, and Dave doesn't remember the last time Gideon mentioned Stephen or Ryan talked about his poor wife - they're all married to their jobs. It's intoxicating being the one to hunt down the monsters haunting America, and it's addicting to chase that high.

Katie looks at them sometimes as if she's trying to figure them out - or maybe she's trying to figure something out about herself. That's when Rossi realizes that she's going to leave them one day. Not the way Gideon will probably leave, broken and tormented by the things they've made themselves understand, but leave as a Special Agent aware of her boundaries and strength. She'll survive this dusty basement in a way Rossi isn't quite sure the rest of them will.

In 1993 it finally happens: Katie leaves them for the Sex Crimes Unit and Max Ryan decides to retire. The BSU - suddenly cut in half.

The hunt for new recruits puts a strain on their relationship, one that has never been there before. Dave can see the years on Jason's face these days, years neither of them have lived yet. They're only in their forties, but some days Jason carries himself like a half dead man, his mind always so much more receptive to the horrors than Rossi's. Dave knows there's something wrong with him when it comes to the evil they encounter, but at least he never quite managed to toe the edge the way Jason does.

Maybe if they'd talked more years down the line, Rossi could help him now - but that boat set sail long before Dave had even thought of stepping a foot onto it.

The Seattle Office calls them in 1995 to tell them about one of their new guys, some Aaron Hotchner, and Rossi doesn't have to have mind-reading powers to know that Gideon is enamored with the new recruit long before they meet him. The guy's a real hotshot, a lawyer who joined the FBI straight out of law school.

Rossi tries his best, but something changed. He can't quite put his finger on it, only that something's different. The spark is gone. He has his own horrors, but he doesn't feel how Gideon looks, and... for the first time since Carolyn left him, Dave feels adrift.

He thinks about writing a book.

Gideon finds out about it. Well, he finds out about the first draft Rossi has already sent to this very nice publisher with the promise of three more books to come if the first one sells well, and... he doesn't take it well.

For Jason this is betrayal.

Now? he asks. Now that we're finally about to move out of this basement? Now that we're getting a jet and a budget for more agents? Now that they're finally taking us seriously? Now that we've stopped being the Bullshit Unit and started being the Behavioral Analysis Unit?

And maybe that's exactly it.

Nobody questions them anymore. He and Gideon created something great, something permanent, something that will endure. They changed the FBI - permanently.

He's only forty-seven. Maybe it's time to finally try something new.

He leaves, and there's a lot of bad blood between him and Gideon when he does so. It's the kind of massacre that can only happen between two people who love each other.

As the doors of the FBI building in Quantico fall close behind him, some part of Dave has already realized that this is the last time he's ever going to see Jason Gideon, the first man to ever really understand him.

He grieves for this friendship, for the companionship, and even for his job - for more than twenty years he gave his soul to his work, and just because he was the one to make the choice to leave doesn't mean that he can't cry for what he left behind.

And then he basks in the freedom.

On September 1st, 1997, David Rossi opens his mailbox to see an unmarked package with a prescription bottle in it - he takes it and smiles. Just a few months later he finally takes the time to get top surgery, the surgeon someone whose life Rossi saved some years ago, favors always a currency he was fluent in.

His first book is a hit. His second one a bestseller.

When the news show familiar faces, Dave changes the channel, instead choosing to fantasize about the size of his pool when he's finally rich enough to afford a mansion.

He celebrates his fiftieth birthday while on tour, meets a nice lady in the bookshop he did his reading in, and takes her to bed. It's lonely. It's great.

He doesn't marry again.

Instead, he writes more books. After the third one, he can finally afford to move into the house of his dreams, swimming pool inclusive. He takes up hunting as a hobby, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his skull that sounds suspiciously like Gideon, which tells him that this is a classic case of transference.

Before he knows it, it's 2007 and suddenly the - by now almost symbolic - bottles of testosterone stop. Rossi knows what that means. Knows that Gideon is gone - dead, probably, or maybe something worse.

Gideon was never meant to have a happy end - Rossi's just afraid what that means for him.

Shortly after the nightmares start.

Cases he thought long forgotten, memories and regrets, he's desperately tried to leave behind. Maybe he's not as softhearted as Gideon, not as emphatic and close to the edge, but Rossi's always been a hunter, had made himself so, and he could never quite ignore those that got away. They gnawed on him, on his bones, demanding his attention even as Rossi became David once more, even as he left his gun and badge behind.

In the end he's the one to call Strauss - and she's the one to invite him back into this thing he created: the BAU.

It changed while he was gone. It breaks his heart, and yet, it helps. It's so different he barely recognizes it anymore, with technical analysts and media liaisons and a team large enough to fill a round table - that's something else that's new: they're on the sixth floor now, with large glass fronts and real sunlight. No more fluorescent overhead-lights and allergy-inducing carpet flooring.

The team looks at him with a mix of intrigue, awe, and distrust, and not once Rossi fears them seeing something he doesn't want them to see. His suit is expensive and fits better than anything they will ever own, and his hair is meticulously styled. He knows how to make an entrance, and he's relieved Hotchner seems to have forgiven him for his abrupt departure some ten years ago.

It's weird to be the odd one out, the stranger, especially now that Hotchner (please call me Hotch) is his Unit Chief, but Rossi makes due. He always does.

Something's strange about the Reid kid, but Rossi can't decide if it's the drug addiction or something else. Maybe he's a closeted homosexual or just a neurotic, who's Rossi to judge? Then there's Morgan, who seemingly thinks he has to prove himself, which is probably why Rossi antagonizes him in particular. Apparently it was a test. Apparently Rossi failed. Then there's Prentiss and something's wrong with her, but for once Rossi doesn't pry - a lady deserves her secrets - and he's learning, adapting, trying to work as a member of this team. Really.

It's 2008 and Rossi learns that trusting Emily was the best thing he could do, being the shoulder to lean on as she tells him about her past. For a moment Dave contemplates telling her about Francesca, but that girl has been dead for forty years now, and what difference would it make. He still hold her and offers her his wisdom.

She did what she had to do to survive - he can never hate her for that.

It's 2009 and Emma dies, burying a part of his past with her. He doesn't go home to visit her grave, but he wishes every day that he could.

Early in 2010 he has to return to Commack either way, dread pouring in his gut for the first time in decades - it is a particular kind of fear, one Rossi thought he had long ago outgrown. And then he and the team get there, and Dave is the only Rossi they remember. Finnegan is there, still a friend of the family, and not once are his secrets exposed.

It feels almost as if Rossi is the only one who still remembers.

What a delightfully freeing realization.

Being with the team is different from this thing he had with Gideon, less intense while simultaneously being at least twice as close. Foyet happens. Rossi holds Hotch up as he cries. For the first time Rossi is the one who supports - who is actually there, in the here and now, to lend a shoulder to cry on. And he continues to do so.

He coaches Jack's Little League games, buys Henry gifts from Uncle Dave, drives Reid to his doctor appointments, shows up in Morgan's demolished houses to help, plays video games with Garcia in their free time, and watches over Emily, when she's sure no one's looking.

They still can't stop Doyle, but now at least Dave can say that they've tried - because they are family.

(He never tells them that their focus on family reminds him a bit of his early days with the Sicilian mafia because some secrets are better kept to oneself)

In 2012 they get Emily back and Carolyn steps back into his life - Rossi is so blinded by his joy that he can only see the truth once it's too late... once he's holding her slowly cooling body in his arms.

Alcohol seems like a fitting companion once he's allowed to return to work, and maybe that's why finds himself in bed with Section Chief Strauss one late November night. She was surprised when he took her to bed only to show her what laid underneath the polished veneer of David Rossi - surprised but not displeased. He asks her not to tell anyone, and she tells him that this doesn't even register on the list of secrets she has kept for this unit. For his team.

It's oddly reassuring, this powerful, political beast protecting him, even she will never admit to it in public.

Betrayal returns to Dave's life at full force when he encounters Harrison Scott during a case - the man who saved his life (twice) and who Rossi abandoned. They reconnect, and maybe that's the worst of it, that Scott doesn't hate him for what he's done.

He tries to do better.

(it's never enough)

It's 2013 and Erin Strauss is dead.

It's 2015 and Harrison Scott dies from cancer (from a life spent on the streets of San Francisco because Rossi couldn't be bothered to save him).

It's 2015 and Jason Fucking Gideon gets killed, a loss Rossi hadn't been prepared for - not ever, even if he'd thought his friend dead for years by now.

(it's strange to see the others grieve Gideon, since Rossi feels like the only one to ever truly know him. Reid is crying - and Rossi is forced to remember a sly grin and a bottle of pills and immeasurable amounts of love and understanding and friendship)

But not everything is death. There's also always joy - or Joy, as Rossi learns his daughter is called. Dave is understandably enraged and confused when she hunts him down, reacts badly to the admission of paternity that falls from her lips, but soon enough he realizes what a gift Hayden gave him with this. He's not surprised to realize that Hayden cheated on him during their marriage, but it does hurt to never have been given the chance to be a father. More importantly though, he recognizes this for the olive branch that it is.

Hayden is giving him a daughter, one he would otherwise never have had.

Of course he says yes.

To Joy and Kai and a chance of family he would never have allowed himself back in the day.

(For sixteen months, he and Hayden even relive everything that made their marriage great back in the day - mostly it's a surprising amount of sex for people closing in on their 67th birthday)

And then there's Krystall. Again.

It's 2020 and Rossi silently celebrated his 70th birthday (for once not inside a prison), when he meets Everett Lynch. And almost dies.

For a time he plans his retirement, is only to delude himself into thinking that this can end any other way, but in the end it is Garcia who leaves. Because Rossi can't.

The BAU is his home, he is a hunter, he belongs with these people, his family, and he knows... unlike Gideon, he won't break, but just like his late friend, he will never escape the allure of their particular brand of evil.

It happens while they're saying goodbye to one of their own, a party like only Dave can throw them, legendary before it has even begun. Krystall is three glasses too deep in the good red Dave found in his wine cellar, and everyone's tongue is looser than it should be in the presence of their Unit Chief, when Garcia starts telling tales. And one story about Rossi walking in on her and Kevin having sex in the shower and suddenly... Krystall tells them all about Rossi's particular skill set.

For a split second Rossi contemplates being afraid, but he doesn't want to, hasn't for years, so instead of an explanation or pain or regret, he shows his pride the only way he knows how offering a truly shameless statement:

"Let's just say I'm the kind of guy who can please a beautiful woman in ways you guys can only dream off."

And for a story so long, and a life so well lived... that's that. His friends laugh, his wife blows him a kiss, and David Rossi continues to be himself.

#criminal minds #david rossi #dave rossi #jason gideon #trans david rossi #trans headcanon #child death mention #racism mention #war mention #canon compliant #almost painfully canon compliant #team as family #criminal minds team #the entire life of david rossi retold as the story of a trans man #BAU

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maschotch · 2 years

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#so many things #1. she had the go ahead from hotch but still double checked w rossi bc shes NICE #2. im just imagining hotch hunched on his bed in a dark room being emo ab his dead wife #his phone pings and its an email from emily ' hi!! :) i know seaver fucked up earlier but can i have her? pleeeease?'#'dont worry- i'll handle all her training and stuff'#as if she's asking for a pet #hotch--too tired to be annoyed--quickly types 'sure' and goes back to his self loathing spiral #6x11 #emily prentiss #david rossi #ashley seaver #aaron hotchner #(mentioned)#cm caps

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darcyfangirlsfrequently · 2 years

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Unintentional Secret - Chapter two

@snailsandpuppy-dogtails here you gooo

"So what's the reason we're having this dinner?" Penelope asked Luke that evening as they were getting ready.

"To celebrate the team officially finding out about our relationship."

"Haha, very funny. Seriously, why?"

"Penelope, I am being serious. We never told them."

"But surely they figured it out themselves by now."

Luke shook his head. "Nope. Trust me, I was there. None of them knew."

"So how did this even come up?"

"Well, in light of recent events, I've started shopping around for engagement rings." Penelope opened her mouth to ask something, but he cut her off. "And no, before you ask, I'm not showing you. I will show Morgan and JJ, but not you. It's going to be a surprise."

"Fine," she huffed in mock annoyance.

"Anyway, Matt wanted to borrow my phone to look something up, and low and behold, he opens it up to an engagement ring page."

Penelope laughed. "Oh, I can just picture his eyebrows jumping right to his hairline."

Luke joined her in laughter. "That they did. He asked me why I was looking at engagement rings, and I told him I was planning on proposing to you soon, and the room went dead quiet. Reid asked me 'but don't you need to be dating for a while before you do that?' So of course I told him how we've been together for two and living together for one, plus we've had this conversation, we know it's something we both want. I thought they had just missed something, because I thought for sure you would have brought it up at girls night or something."

"No, I never did! They never asked, and I suppose I could have brought it up, but I thought they were getting their fill of info from you at work!"

"So anyway, they all know now, and Rossi decided to throw us this celebratory dinner."

Penelope paused. "So... I know that you're going to propose... and you know what my answer is going to be, since we've had this conversation already. So where are we? Are we engaged?"

Luke considered this. "Hmm, not quite. We're planning our engagement. We're... engaged to become engaged."

"Engaged to become engaged. I like that."

"Okay. So you keep working on planning that engagement party that I know you have a Pinterest board for, and I'll work on planning the proposal."

Penelope rested her head on Luke's shoulder. "Okay. Sounds like a plan to me."

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

"Okay," Tara said that night at Rossi's. "You guys have said you've been together, but how long, exactly? Dates, we need dates, there is a shit ton of money riding on this."

"How much, exactly, is a shit ton?" Luke asked. His arm was around Penelope's shoulders, something he was sure he had been doing every night they had been out together for the past two years. It really boggled him how their friends had missed something that was so obvious, at least to them.

"Each person put in $50, so the pot is sitting pretty at $300."

"Jesus Christ," Luke said with a laugh.

"Well, our first date wasn't until after your first case without me, but he asked me out at my going away party."

Matt's eyes went wide. "Holy shit! Man, you did not waste a second."

Luke looked down at his girlfriend, a lovestruck grin on his face. "Can you blame me?"

Penelope smiled back up at him before kissing him lightly on the lips.

Tara took a sip of her scotch. "Hmm. Gross."

"So," Emily said, quite pleased. "I believe this means I win?"

"Damn you, Prentiss," Rossi said, reaching for his wallet.

Everyone else forked over their fifties, and Emily fanned herself with them. "Ah, there's nothing like the smell of wiping the floor with your friends."

Tara flipped her the bird, along with a sarcastic smile.

"I really want to know how you all didn't know," Kristy said. "Because we all knew." She gestured at herself, Kristy, Will, and Max.

Matt turned to his wife. "Wait, you did?"

"Yeah," Max said. "We have Profiler Partners' brunch every Saturday you guys are away. Penelope's been coming for the past two years."

Luke turned to Penelope. "Wait, you do?"

"Mhmm. They're great. It's like our own little support group, since it's not always easy. Savannah and Andrew come too, when they're in town."

"That's really amazing," Tara said.

"Wait." JJ turned to her husband. "So you knew about this, and you didn't tell me?

"Yeah, because I thought I would need to tell you about Penelope's relationship. Hey, babe, did you know that your best friend and godmother to our sons is dating your co-worker, Luke, whose clear feelings for each other and obliviousness you've been complaining about for years? Come on, how was I supposed to know that I knew before you did."

"Okay, that's fair," she conceded.

"Well in case it's not abundantly clear," Reid said, gesturing at the decked out yard around them, "we're very happy for you two."

"So happy," Tara agreed.

"To Luke and Penelope," Rossi said, raising his glass.

The others followed suit. "To Luke and Penelope!"

#Garvez #Garvez fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Tara Lewis #Matt Simmons #Emily Prentiss #David Rossi #Spencer Reid #Kristy Simmons #Max Brenner #Light/mentioned/side Maxcer

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avis-writeshq · 6 months

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05 — enchanted

summary: “please don’t be in love with someone else”/“please don’t have somebody waiting on you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, no use of (Y/N) warnings: alcohol (reader gets drunk lmfao), jealousy, slight miscommunication, austin (aka: bartender girl from s4), special mention to special people wc: 4.9k a/n: everyone say thank you @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH ilyvm zara <33 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Although you haven’t been a part of the BAU for more than one year, it didn’t stop you from maintaining the connections that you had in all your years of working there. Sure, the scheduling times could be better, but that didn’t stop the team from spending their rare day off to spend time with you. After all, the adjustment of seeing you every day to once in a blue moon was a difficult one to make.

O’Keefe’s has been the main victim of the team’s shenanigans, its doors open for the seven members of law enforcement, all eager to get their hands on some well earned rest and relaxation. Drinks are passed around the booth and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Derek get his ‘groove thang on’ with a few girls in the bar. Today is one of the rare occasions when the team didn’t have a case, an even rarer day when the team didn’t have to take on any new or incoming cases.

“How’s life treating you?” Emily asks cheerfully, sipping at her strawberry daiquiri. You gather that tonight is one of those nights.

You smile, sipping at your own beverage of choice. “Good! Way less stressful than working at the BAU, that’s for sure. And the hours are good, too.”

JJ snorts from beside you. “Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not jealous. How’re the kids?”

“I can’t say much because of confidentiality and all that, but they’re doing well. A lot better, thank goodness but it just goes to show the aftermath of the things that you guys deal with. I mean, I still think about all the victims we’ve helped and it sucks that we can’t do anything to help them further.” You finish your tangent with a long sip of your drink before leaning back against the booth. “Anyway, how are you guys?”

Penelope comes shuffling past carrying a series of cocktails, her absolutely monstrous platform heels not aiding her in her slightly tipsy task. “Do not even get me started on work. No work! None! We’re having a fun day. Ergo, no work talk.”

You laugh in response, moving to the side to allow her room to sit in the booth. “No, Penny, you’re right. No work talk.”

The drinks are dispersed and your gaze shifts to where Spencer is standing, laughing awkwardly as he tries to follow along to Derek’s dancing and socialising. He looks incredibly out of place in his brown argyle sweater vest, navy tie and freshly pressed slacks, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt.

“Nah, Spencer could definitely be a ladies’ man if he plays his cards right. And I mean that literally,” Emily says, bringing you out of your daydream.

Your head snaps in her direction, trying to calm your facial features and microexpressions. Regardless of your attempts, after a year of not practising, you don’t do as well as you hope. “What?”

JJ grins at you, her eyes lighting up knowingly. “We’re just talking about who’s the biggest hotshot in the BAU.”

“Wouldn’t that be David?” You ask meekly, your finger swirling along the edge of your glass. You had met David Rossi on occasion, once by accident when you were having a night out with the girls and the other during a proper introduction two weeks later. “Didn’t he have, like, five wives?”

“I had three thank you very much,” Rossi intervenes swiftly, holding his glass of whisky on ice.

“Sorry, my bad,” you respond jokingly, snickering as he shakes his head and stalks over to where Hotch is sitting and drinking his rum.

Penelope lets out a loud laugh. “I think we’re forgetting the obvious: our very own Chocolate Thunder.”

“Well, fine,” Emily drawls, waving a hand dismissively, “but Spencer has that innocent vibe to him, y’know? The kind of guy women go crazy over.”

JJ clicks her fingers in remembrance. “Didn’t a bunch of prostitutes try to pick him up in that one case?”

“What?” You ask again, albeit a little shrilly as you try to dismiss the surprise in your tone.

“He didn’t take them,” Emily says quickly in an attempt to ease your discomfort. “But he did pick up a girl a few months ago. Austin?”

Penelope nods at that, putting down her cup. “Oooh, yes! I remember her. He showed me a picture. She’s pretty.”

“I mean, he did pick up Lila too.” JJ reminds the team, shooting you a sly smile. “You remember her, don’t you?”

You force out a laugh and bite the inside of your cheek in the process. “Yeah. Who’s Austin?”

“I think I still have a picture!” Penelope says, brandishing her phone from her coat pocket. She types something in before sliding it in your direction. “Pretty, right?”

Austin is certainly pretty, even in the uncoordinated selfie Penelope shows you of her and Spencer. He’s slightly out of frame, his lips set into a sweet smile while Austin practically glows. Her brilliant green eyes flash in the camera and her dark hair frames her face perfectly. She and Spencer are close in the photo, with him holding the phone clumsily and she has a hand on his arm.

“Uh huh,” you murmur distractedly, averting your gaze from the photo as an ugly feeling creeps into your chest. “Really pretty.”

Emily looks at you curiously. “You didn’t know about her?”

You shrug in response, the smile on your face insincere. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about Spencer.”

The group exchange a couple glances at your tell-tale body language, watching as you scoot past Penelope and out of the booth, making your way to the bar. You’re all too grateful for a reprieve from the teasing as you order another drink and take a seat, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your mind goes through all the interactions you’ve had with Spencer over the years. Were you really that foolish to think that he would feel that way for you? Maybe you were reading too much into it, you try to reason, running your fingers through your once styled hair. Maybe, in some stupid and twisted way, all of Spencer’s interactions were platonic.

You scoff inwardly to yourself. Right. Because picking someone up at two o’clock in the morning is entirely platonic. Sleeping in the same bed as someone because of nightmares is totally normal between friends. In any case, you could have sworn that he–

“Trouble in paradise?”

An unfamiliar voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and you turn to the man who takes a seat beside you. “Uh… something like that.”

The man hums, a smile on his handsome features. His dark brown hair is fluffy and, in its own charming little way, suits him. He reminds you a lot of Spencer, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles along with the timbre of his voice. He’s also very different to Spencer, especially with his sweater that has a bright orange pumpkin on it, paired with a matching orange scarf. A pair of red tinted sunglasses hang on the neckline of his sweater, and you doubt that it would do much good to block the sun.

“I’m Matthias,” he says good naturedly, beaming. “I’m with my sister, Laura,” he explains, gesturing to a lady sporting dyed auburn coloured hair, and she waves with a matching smile.

You introduce yourself, pointing to the booth. “My friends are over there.”

Matthias nods, undeterred by your company on the other side of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”

***

After what felt like hours of dancing (it was really only fifteen minutes), Spencer and Derek make their way to rejoin the group. The feeling of sweat matting his skin is one of many reasons as to why Spencer hates dancing. That, and the fact that there were far too many people on the dancefloor. What’s worse is the fact that he’s sure that none of them have ever heard of the word ‘deodorant’. He cringes at the thought of all the germs that could be festering on his skin as he sits at the booth, his eyes shifting to wear your bag lays haphazardly on the red cushions.

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, turning to Emily and placing your bag so that it’s in a safer and less hazardous position.

She hums, pointing in the bar’s direction. “Getting a drink. She’s just cooling off.”

“Cooling off?” Spencer echoes, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean she’s ‘cooling off’?”

Penelope offers an apologetic smile, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “We… might have told her about Austin?”

“You what?” Spencer can barely believe his ears as he looks at the group incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it,” JJ says hastily. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“React like what?” Spencer’s voice is strangely stern, his eyes narrowing as he turns to the rest of the team. “I don’t like Austin. She’s nice but I don’t like her.”

Derek’s brows lift in surprise and confusion. “Did you go out with her after the case?”

Spencer’s ears burn in embarrassment and he turns to his friend in offence. “I asked her for help. I don’t like Austin like that. I needed advice.”

“Advice,” Emily repeats, turning in the direction of the bar. “You mean about…?”

Spencer doesn’t stay long enough to head the rest of Emily’s sentence or to answer it, making his way over to you are. Part of him wishes that he stayed put, especially when he sees what you’re doing. In an instant, his nose is scrunched up in distaste as he spies the random stranger chatting you up. His eyes lock with yours and he relishes in the way they light up as you wave him over.

“Hi,” he breathes, standing beside you.

“Hi!” You gush, beaming at him. “Saw you on the dancefloor.”

“You’ll never see it again,” he says honestly, stealing a sip of your drink. It tastes like vodka and the strawberry lipgloss you use (he only know what it tastes like because of its very on the nose packaging: a giant strawberry. He wishes he knew for other reasons).

You laugh, bright and loud, before you gasp excitedly. “Oh, Spencer, this is Matthias! He’s been keeping me company.” Then, you lean closer to him, your voice a very exaggerated whisper as if the person you’re talking about isn’t in the seat next to you as you tell Spencer, “he’s a director.”

Matthias waves off the statement, chuckling along. “Nothing famous though.”

“He’s a liar,” you tell Spencer enthusiastically. “Did you know he went to New York University? Crazy, right? Like, the school of arts or something. Oh! And he’s also from Vegas! You two are so alike.”

Spencer nods half-heartedly as he tells you, “you know, I went to MIT and CalTech.”

“Well I know that, silly!” You say with a drunken laugh, poking at his cheek. You turn to Matthias with a proud grin before reaching for a shot. “Spencer’s a genius. He’s a super smart genius.”

“That’s what ‘genius’ means, angel,” Spencer reminds gently, prying the little cup away from you. “No more. You’re drunk and we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Your face falls and your lips curl into a frown. “But Spencer I’m thirsty!”

“You have water in your bag,” he prompts, squeezing your shoulder and helping you off the barstool, not paying this Matthias person any mind. “Okay? Let’s go back to the others.”

You nod eagerly, stumbling a little as you wave goodbye. “Bye, Matthias!”

“Uh huh,” Spencer dismisses, leading you back to the table by the small of your back. He leans a little closer to murmur in your ear, “why did you leave the others?”

You shrug dismissively, leaning into his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, angel, it does,” he says carefully, “tell me?”

You huff in your own clumsy drunken way. “You should ask Austin. Or go pick someone else up. Emily says you’re turning into a ‘ladies’ man’.”

Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. “I don’t like Austin,” he tells you in earnest, holding you close to his side as you stumble back to the booth. “I mean it, angel.”

“Bet you call everyone angel,” you grumble under your breath. “Bet you let everyone call you ‘Walter’ too.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately, a hand on your waist. “I only call you that. Besides, why would I let someone call me by my middle name if it isn’t you?”

You huff again, slumping in the booth as Penelope shuffles inward to give you more room. Your arms cross over your chest in annoyance and frustration and you turn away from Spencer’s direction. He doesn’t need to be a profiler to know that you’re pissed off at him. Somewhere in your hazy drunk mind, you’ve made it out as him being the bad guy.

Spencer shoots the other girls a pointed glare, gesturing at you as if to say ‘This is your fault’ because, in reality, it is. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t be mad at him. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself drunk with some random guy who went to New York University. Spencer mocks Matthias in his head. Stupid Matthias and his stupidly good hair. Spencer runs a hand through his own growing locks, grimacing when he realises that it reaches his shoulders now. Maybe he should get a haircut later.

“Angel,” Spencer tries again, kneeling down next to your chair. “Let’s get you home, alright? Please don’t be mad at me?”

You mutter something incoherent, not bothering to look in his direction.

“I’m not in love with Austin,” he tells you, his tone a mix of firmness and gentleness. “Really, I’m not. We’re just friends, angel, I promise.”

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath as you get out of the booth. JJ guiltily passes you your bag and you take it out of her hands as Spencer grips your arm with one hand, the other on the small of your back.

“Not a lie,” Spencer says, walking you to his car. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Not after Lila.”

“Lie-la,” you say bitterly as you get into the passenger seat. “Stupid actress.”

He laughs at that, getting behind the wheel. “Yeah, angel. Stupid actress.”

“You kissed her in a pool,” you continue as you fumble drunkenly with the buckle of the seatbelt. “You don’t kiss me in the pool.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn at your words as he puts your seatbelt on, his fingers grazing yours. “It never came up. Besides, I hate pools, you know that.”

“Germ-y,” you respond knowingly, a silly giddy smile on your face. “I know you the best.”

“Exactly,” he hums as starts the car, his words flowing smoothly as he considers how drunk you are. There’s no way you’d remember this, right? “Why would I find another girl when I have you who knows me best?”

Your cheeks glow with pride at his words and you laugh. “Exactly.”

***

It’s late. Far too late and you toss and turn in bed. Your eyes are heavy but your brain won’t shut up, swirling with the memories of the previous night. You’re not really sure what happened after you got to the bar, only remembering snippets of the night. The entire time was a blur: you remember getting upset at the girls (or rather, at the information they were feeding you), meeting someone– Mason? Matthew? You can’t even remember– and then downing three shots. It’s awfully stupid of you, yes but then somehow you got home safe and sound with a note on your kitchen counter from Spencer.

You felt a little silly upon the finding of the note. Of course Spencer would take you home; it’s not like the girls were particularly sober by the time you wanted to leave. Regardless, reading the note made you feel incredibly stupid, more stupid than usual, and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself six feet underground.

‘Hi angel,’ it read in Spencer’s messy scrawl with chaotic lettering and swirly g’s. ‘You’re probably really hungover right now so there’s a Tylenol on the counter and a sandwich in the fridge. Please drink water; I’m sure you’re also severely dehydrated from the alcohol. I know you’re upset at me but please just forget about what the others said about Austin. I don’t like her like that. Be safe and call me when you wake up.’

The note was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, just Spencer being his usual ridiculously lovely self. You didn’t mind that he took care of you, either. It’s more-so the fact that you genuinely could barely remember what you said that him. You’re betting on it being something exceedingly dumb (you’re making a habit of it, much to your own chagrin), especially considering how much you had to drink that night. Maybe you should start abstaining from drinking from now on, especially if Spencer was in the vicinity.

The note is now pinned securely to your cork board, a pretty lavender thumb tack holding it in place. Your gaze drifts to it for a moment then to your clock and you groan into your pillow. This is dumb. Sleep is dumb. Your clock blinks with the numbers ‘02:01’ in red mocking letters and you resist the urge to scream. After blindly searching for your phone, you step out of bed while rubbing your eyes.

The lingering question keeps you up as you pace back and forth beside you bed. If Spencer doesn’t like Austin, who does he like? It can’t be Lila. You would have known if they kept in contact. Then again, you had no idea who Austin was so who knows what secrets Spencer is keeping? What if there was another girl? What if your entire friendship with Spencer was exactly that– friendship. You slap the palm of your hand to your forehead. Were you really that stupid?

It’s in that moment when your phone begins to ring. The tune plays through the room and you know it all too well; the Doctor Who theme song that you spent a whopping two dollars and thirty-seven cents on to add it as the custom ringtone for Spencer.

“Hello…?” You answer quietly, your voice choking. “Walter?”

“Angel,” he murmurs, and you can hear shuffling in the background. “Why are you still awake?”

You hum, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs quietly on the other side of the line, scratchy from the lack of sleep. “Can I come over?”

“Always.”

He hangs up after that and you press the pads of your fingers into the corners of your eyes again. You’re exhausted, far too exhausted to be hosting guests, but this is Spencer. How can you ever say no to him? So, instead of sulking around and spending far too long doing nothing, you fashion yourself a cup of tea and flick the lights on. The book you were reading is thrown haphazardly onto the cushions of your couch but you can’t bring yourself to pick it up.

The jiggling of the door handle brings you out of your little mood, and Spencer lets himself in with the key you gave him, locking it securely and taking his shoes off to reveal his sock choice of the day: one bright green and the other in fuchsia with buttercup yellow spots. He’s wearing a crinkly white t-shirt that hangs over his gangly frame and grey sweatpants. For something so basic, he looks absolutely criminal in it. You pinch yourself as punishment for thinking such a thing.

“Hey,” he breathes, sitting next to you. He runs his fingers through his hair, frowning a little. “Do you think I should get it cut?”

You laugh, almost spilling your tea. “You came to my apartment at two in the morning to ask what I think about your hair?”

“Yes,” he agrees before laughing, “no! Of course not. I just thought of it.”

A hum leaves your lips as you curl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I like long hair on you. Besides, you’d look good in any hair cut.”

Spencer preens at your words, enjoying the feel of your touch in his hair. “You’re a liar. I know what I looked like four years ago. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” You insist, beaming at him as you poke his cheek. “You were really cute back then. Like a baby.”

He flushes again at both the compliment and the contact, his mind committing the way you say ‘baby’ to memory. He thinks it again and again; baby, baby, baby.

“I was not a baby,” He tells you, half in jest. “I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” you quip, the sleep deprivation making your head go loopy. “Barely. Doesn’t matter, you’re still baby.”

Spencer scoffs lightly, poking your side. “If I’m a baby, what does that make you? A foetus? A zygote?”

You let out a quiet scream in protest, whacking him over the head with a throw pillow. “Ew, Spencer what the hell?”

He snickers in response, shielding his face with his forearm. “If I’m a baby and you’re younger than me, you must be at an earlier stage of development. So? Which is it, are you a foetus or a zygote? C’mon, angel, you passed eighth grade biology.”

“You’re an ass,” you chastise jokingly, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. Sometime amidst the commotion he must have gotten closer to you. Your noses are almost touching and your breath hitches in your throat.

He smiles sweetly, his own cheeks warm and flushed with embarrassment as he maintains eye contact. “I thought I was ‘baby’.”

What the hell? Is this really Spencer Reid? Silly, awkward, nerdy little Spencer Reid? This must be a very convincing body suit and an even more convincing voice altering machine because this is not Spencer Reid. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks and ears so quickly that it’s enough to make you go dizzy. Maybe you’re a lot more sleep deprived than you thought.

“Are you drunk?” You croak out meekly as he cages you in, his forearms on either side of your head as he leans you against the couch.

He laughs– he has the actual audacity to laugh– and he shakes his head. “No, angel, I’m not drunk. You know I don’t drink enough to actually get drunk. Besides, I drove here.”

“You drove here,” you repeat, a little dazed from how close he is. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Almost three now but yes,” Spencer agrees, smiling.

“You hate driving,” you remind him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Especially at night.”

He hums in agreement. “I do. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

You kick yourself internally. ‘Oh’? Who the hell says ‘Oh’? This is it. Your life is over. Maybe you should move to another state. Change your name, shave your head, and get a different degree because you’re almost certain that it’s the end of the line for you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago?” You say it like a question and you suddenly feel yourself sweating. It definitely got hotter in here.

He murmurs your name, his fingers grazing the skin of your jaw gently. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I ran into you four years ago and almost gave myself a concussion,” you say, averting your gaze as you tried to calm yourself down.

“I’m so glad I met you,” he repeats softly, his nose brushing against your cheek. “Look at me, angel.”

You wet your bottom lip nervously as you look at him, his hazel eyes a little greener in the low light of your apartment. His legs are on either side of your hips and he brushes his thumb against your chin.

“I want to kiss you,” Spencer says lowly, albeit a little breathlessly, and you can hear hoarseness in his words. “Can I?”

You’re dead. You’re either dead or asleep, that is the only explanation you have for this entire situation. You’re either dead and in heaven or asleep and dreaming. It is that plain and simple.

“What?” You croak out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs.

“I know you wanted to do it in a pool but I’m pretty sure your apartment gym is closed now, angel,” Spencer says, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”

The only thing you can manage to do is nod, your eyes flickering to his lips for a split second, watching as the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your brain barely has any time to comprehend the words he said (since when did you say that you wanted to kiss him in the pool?) because in a rush of confidence, Spencer cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a tantalisingly slow kiss. His eyes are closed and his hands are eerily soft, the gentleness in which he holds you reminiscent of one holding porcelain.

He pulls away after a moment, his cheeks burning and a smile on his face. You can’t even breathe as you just stare at him, lips parted in surprise. What do you even say to that?

“Thank you?” You manage to stutter out, heat creeping up your neck.

He laughs again, breathless and beautiful, as he kisses the side of your face. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer brushes an eyelash from your cheek, beaming at you as he does. “It’s late,” he tells you, getting up from the couch and freeing your limbs. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” you respond, your head spinning. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says back, trying to hold in a laugh. “I’m free next Friday. Do you want to go out?”

“Go out?” You echo, “we always go out.”

“I know.” He smiles at you again as he makes his way to the door. “I meant– you know. We can go out.”

A beat passes and your head is awfully slow, whether from the kiss or from the sleep deprivation, you’re not entirely sure. “We can go out.”

“Great.” He pauses, taking a step towards you before kissing your cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll–” you gape at him again as he opens your door to leave. “You hate texting.”

He nods, slipping on his shoes. “I also hate driving at night. Your point?”

“Right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course I will, angel,” he promises, “get some rest.”

Get some rest? How the hell are you supposed to get some rest after all that? With one last wave, Spencer leaves your apartment, leaving you hoping that this wasn’t just some thing. Maybe this was the very first page of your story– a very embarrassing start to your story. There is one thing for certain though: Spencer is not in love with someone else.

***

It’s a Tuesday when Penelope calls you. You had just finished up with a client when your phone begins to ring.

“Penny!” You gush, unable to stop the smile from stretching onto your face. “I am stupid, I said ‘thank you’? Who the hell says thank you after someone kisses you?”

“Who kissed you?” Penelope asks, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own tangent you would have noticed that she sounded tearful.

“Spencer did!” You exclaim, slapping a hand to your forehead. “He’s sitting there and he looks amazing and he smells really good and I am stupid.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Penelope says quickly, and you can imagine her waving her fluffy pen around. “He kissed you and you said thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that was very polite of you,” she says, trying to sound happy before her voice cracks.

You frown immediately, taking a seat in the wheelie chair in your office. “Penny? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Spencer,” she says woefully, sniffling. “He wanted me to tell you something. It’s not looking good, honey, but– but he wanted me to give you a message.”

“Penny–” You stop short when you hear Spencer’s voice. It’s a recording from his phone, and you can only really tell because of the crackling audio on the other side of the line.

“Is it on?” Spencer asks before clearing his throat. He sounds breathless, his words breaking off at some parts and you know that it’s not from the bad audio quality. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter. If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

Through the recording you can hear a shuffle, like the sound of a sliding door being opened, along with a quiet, “Prep the victim for transfer,” before the recording cuts out, leaving you with Penelope on the line.

She calls your name quietly, choking on her words. “Are you okay?”

You hang up.

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littlecarmine · 1 year

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EMILY PRENTISS and DAVID ROSSI | 3.17 “IN HEAT”

#cmedit #criminalmindsedit #cm #criminal minds #.gif #emily.gif #emilyprentiss #emilyprentissedit #cm 3x17 #criminal minds 3x17 #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan mention #spencer reid mention #<- the true stars of this set <3 #apologies for the zoom in on rossi #idk why they keep doing this to us #qp

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 9

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

Warning: car crash, leg injury, ptsd hinted at, storms

Word count: 887

The case was over and you were driving back, there was heavy rain and strong wind that was supposed to last a few days minimum. And with the hotel you were staying at (and every other hotel) fully booked, it meant that you’d have to drive back. It wasn’t too long a drive, only seven hours. You were each taking it in turns to drive, with Aaron currently driving, you behind the passenger seat. You were lucky enough that you have been supplied with an eight seater - you could all fit in with your go-bags with plenty of room. It was your turn to drive next. You weren’t exactly looking forward to it, your anxiety had been playing up all day and you couldn’t quite pin down the reason.

Sensing eyes on you, you look up, catching your boss’ eyes flicking to you in concern every thirty seconds. “You should get some sleep,” He said, you gave a small shrug.

“I’m not tired.”

“What’s wrong? You’ve been acting off.”

“I don’t know,” You replied, “I just feel like something is wrong, that’s all,”

Aaron gave a nod, “I’m sure it’s nothing,”

“I hope so,” You laugh, “But, yeah, no rest for the wicked it would seem,” Aaron huffed a laugh. The case was in South Carolina, an unsub tryinging to ‘clean; the streets of the homeless. The man was rather easy to find and apprehend and soon enough, you were on your way back. You were only three hours into the drive, all of you running on nearly twenty four hours of no sleep. Derek had gone first, driving for an hour, then Spencer (wanting to get it over with), and now Hotch, then you, and then Emily and the chain would continue until you were home.

“You could just be tired,” Hotch suggested.

“Yeah, probably,”

Hotch gave a small smile as you yawned, “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn,” You nodded, bunching Morgan’s hoodie (that you may or may not have stolen from his go bag) into a ball, placing it on the window and resting your head against it. You were fairly sure you weren’t going to get any sleep, but soon enough, the pitter-patter of the rain against the car drew you into a peaceful sleep.

Aaron softly calling your name drew you out of your sleep, he gave you a small smile, “Your turn,”

You nodded, “You want a makeshift pillow?” When Hotch shook his head, you threw the hoodie on over your head. You jogged around the car, slipping into the driver’s seat. Waiting until Aaron was buckled in, you started the car.

Twenty minutes in, you felt tired. And sick. Your eyes felt heavy. Seeing a sign for a rest area with a fuel station a mile or two ahead you breath a sigh of relief. You were going to stop and get a coffee. A coffee sounded great right about now. Blinking felt harder, upon this realisation you opened the window, welcoming the cold bite of the air. It did wonders for waking you up.

The pit stop cam fast, which you were happy about, and you quickly grabbed a coffee, waking Hotch before you did. You made it back in record time with a large cup of coffee in hand, you slipped it into the built in cup holder. After buckling yourself in, you start the engine, resuming your journing (continuing the timer).

There were hardly any cars on the road, which you were happy about. Although, your anxiety started to worsen. You sighed, perhaps the caffeine was causing your anxiety to heighten. You turn the radio on, the volume set at two. You hummed away to the song.

The screech came out of nowhere and the headlights blinded you. The impact crushed your side of the car and you cried out in both in shock and pain from the collision. The airbag released, slamming against your chest and face.

It takes a moment before your brain registers the pain and then it hits you full force, your chest and face hurt, you feel a considerate ab=mount of pressure on your legs that causes you to wince. You head hurts and you think there might be something dripping down your face. You lift your head up, realising the team are also in the car with you. But there’s no one there. Everyone’s gone.

“H’tch?”

A hand is placed on your shoulder and your head snaps to them. Hotch. He’s speaking but you can’t hear him over hte blood rushing through your ears. “Where’s everyone else?” You watch his lips carefully, ‘everyone’s okay, paramedics are on the way’ you nod, hoping you read his lips right.

When the paramedics get there, they quickly assess the situation. The car crunched under the impact of the other car, trapping your legs. No fractures or breaks, or permanent damage, nothing that wouldn’t heal with time. You have a concussion and severe bruising from the airbag, but it could be worse.

A month later, you’re fully healed and your doctors are okay with you being on active duty. You were fine. Except for the nightmare, the fear of cars, the fear of driving, and the irrational connection between coffee and danger.

But that’s a story for another time.

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graveyard-stray · 2 months

Text

Morning Workout | Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader

Blurb

A/N: This is loosely based on that scene with David and Aaron in the elevator where he’s like “you workout this morning?” And hotch is awkwardly like “I didn’t…”

WC: 955

Includes: Mentions of sex, no actual smut, established relationship, secret relationship (not for long), the team makes fun of you and Hotch

It was an average morning in Virginia, It was warm out and the sun was shining brightly over Quantico. Aaron had just arrived at work, having dropped Jack off to school just before heading here.

He was dawning his usual suit and tie, and his briefcase was clutched tightly in his left hand. As he approached the elevator it opened, perfect timing he thought to himself before entering.

The elevator rode up two floors before stopping, the doors slid open to let someone else on. “Morning.” rang the familiar voice of his friend and coworker, David Rossi. “Goodmorning Dave.” He greeted him with a small smile.

David though looked him up and down as he stood next to him, the elevator now resuming its motion up. It didn’t take a profiler to notice Dave’s staring, and Hotch was confused. He turned and hummed inquisitively.

“You workout this morning?” David asks with a smirk, motioning with his eyes to Hotch’s hair which was messier than his usual perfectly kept look, and his tie which was coming undone. Hotch looks down before clearing his throat nervously and reaching up to fix his tie.

“I didn’t.” He mumbles as he makes an attempt to fix his appearance. Dave laughs to himself, “hmm I wonder who the lucky lady is.” He teases. Aaron stands up straighter than he already was, to try and be serious and not obvious, “its not what your thinking. Just issues taking Jack to school is all.” He said, which he had to admit was a horrible excuse.

Before Dave could reply the elevator stopped and the doors opened, allowing Aaron the perfect escape to a very awkward conversation. Dave on the other hand, knew he needed to figure out who Hotch was seeing and he knew it wouldn’t take long to get it out of him.

Hotch pushed open the glass doors to the BAU office and wasted no time heading up to his personal office, David entering the bullpen right behind him.

The first thing Rossi noticed upon entering the office was you, you were smiling and had this certain glow to you that was strange. Usually in the morning you were grumpy and tired, but not today. Today you were very awake and in a very good mood. The dots immediately connected in his head, you got laid this morning, by the one and only Aaron Hotchner.

Rossi quickly approached you, “someone’s in a good mood.” He teased as he placed his bag down on his desk. You turned to face him, “yeah, aren’t I always?” you responded with a smile. He chuckled, “not this early in the morning.”

You rolled your eyes at him before Derek also approached, “that’s exactly what I said.” He comments. “Your glowing kid.” he added. This warrants another eye roll from you, “Ya know I’m not that much younger than you Morgan.” You respond but Derek knows what your doing.

“Oh no no no, don’t you try to change the subject, You got some this morning, all I’m wondering is who!” He questioned, he was right of course. You nervously gazed up at Aaron’s office hoping to see him there but, he has already shut himself inside. This was the huge tell and you knew it.

Derek’s jaw practically dropped, “oh my god. You and- oh my god!” He laughed. you turned back to him quickly, “I don’t know what your talking about I am fine! I’m good!” you frantically defend.

In the mess of things Emily comes over, “now what is happening over here, it’s too early for all this chaos.” She questioned. Derek was still laughing, “Ya know why she’s in a good mood this morning?” He asked rhetorically. Emily cocked a brow at him. “She had a sweet wake up this morning, her and hotch!” upon hearing this Emily gasped.

“Are you SERIOUS!” She exclaimed, a big smile making its way onto her face. “WOW, you and hotch. I must be bad at my job because I did not see that coming!” She said as she sat down, truly in disbelief.

Rossi chimed in, “You should’ve seen Hotch this morning. Hair a mess, tie coming undone. It was truly a sight to behold.” He chuckled, half at the situation and half the teams reactions.

You were practically sweating at this point, very embarrassed infront of your team. Luckily for you, Aaron noticed the commotion and emerged from his office. “Do you all not have work to do? Because I would be happy to assign somethings.” He scolds from the balcony by his office. Everyone jumps at the sudden sound of his voice and the quickly nod and apologize.

“Oh and (Y/N), my office please.” He adds before going back to no his office, followed by the oooing and whistling of the team members.

You closed the door behind you as you stepped into his office, he was leaning against the edge of his desk and looking at you softly. “I take it they figured us out?” He asks, a little smile ghosting his lips.

All you could do was nod softly, “yeah..I’m so sorry Aaron! I didn’t mean to make it obvious, I didn’t even think it was.” you defended, a frown on your face. Aaron came over to you, placing a large calloused hand on your cheek. “Sweetheart. It’s alright. They were bound to find out eventually” he assured you.

“Your really not mad?” You asked meekly. He pressed a kiss to your temple and smiled down at you. “I promise.” He said.

You knew the team would continue to tease you about it, but you were sorta glad you could share your love for Aaron with your closest friends.

#aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #x reader #fanfic #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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mcntsee · 1 month

Text

— ★ tomorrow

↳ summary: “I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for her face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

↳ warnings: hospitals, mentions of gunshot wounds, pain, regret, not proof-read. No use of “y/n”

↳ author’s note: This is fluff, I promise the end is really sweet! This is also inspired by different, random, pinterest quotes my friends sent me. Enjoy!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

No one enjoyed hospitals. The colors lacked vibrancy, the sounds became repetitive after a few minutes, the antiseptic smell was overpowering, the food tasted bland, and the anxious wait for news about a loved one was excruciating.

Unfortunately, the team was all too familiar with hospital waiting rooms, and even more unfortunate was their familiarity with being patients themselves.

Thankfully, the Federal Employees' Compensation Act provided some relief. Without it, they couldn't even begin to fathom the astronomical medical bills they'd be facing.

Tonight, however, finding themselves stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the hospital waiting room had not been part of their plans.

The young genius's head throbbed relentlessly, a sensation he'd endured for weeks. The unimaginable pressure around his entire head, compounded with the bright light reflecting off the hospital's shiny white walls, the incessant beeping and the sounds of loved ones crying doing nothing other than intensify his discomfort.

The nurse they had bombarded with questions upon arrival had emerged not long ago to thankfully inform them that everything was alright. The surgery had gone well, and she was now in recovery. Soon enough, if they wished, they could stop by her new temporary room and visit her.

By now, most of the team had returned to the office. Hotch had been called back to work to tackle the pending files on their desks. Fortunately, he had allowed Rossi and Reid to remain behind. Ostensibly, their task was to update the team on her condition, but both of them understood that even if that hadn’t been necessary, there was no force on earth that could have budged Spencer from his spot, where he had been stationed for the last however many hours.

Spencer could feel David's gaze piercing through him. He wanted to snap at him, but he knew his current behavior had undoubtedly attracted more attention than just the older agent's. Clutching at his head, tugging on strands of hair intermittently, his leg bouncing up and down, with eyes tightly shut—his agitation was palpable.

“Kid, they said she’s alright. You need to relax.”

It was true, they had been told that, but it did little to reassure him. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios. Her wound could become infected, or there might be undetected damage to internal organs. He fretted over potential complications like inflammation of the peritoneum, the formation of blood clots, or even damage to blood vessels leading to reduced blood flow to vital organs, potentially resulting in organ dysfunction or failure.

“The survival rate might seem high, but statistically speaking, complications can arise, even with the best medical care.”

“Spencer—“

“For instance, studies have shown that gunshot wounds to the abdomen carry a significant risk of infection, with rates as high as 20%. And there’s the possibility of peritonitis, which occurs in approximately 10% of cases.”

“Kid—“

“Organ damage is also a concern, particularly with injuries to vital organs like the liver or intestines. Even with the most advanced treatments—“

“Reid!”

For the first time since he sat down, his leg ceased its relentless movement. His hand, which had been tugging at the ends of his hair, relaxed and dropped to his lap, along with the hand he had been waving in the air to explain the statistics. His eyes unclenched, the worry in his brow disappearing as the rest of his facial muscles relaxed.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

The genius's eyes met the older agent's worried gaze with deliberate blinks, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead while tuning out the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. “I just— I”

“I never told her and I— I don’t— “ His breathing was uneven, his words tumbling out faster than his mind could keep pace, his mouth struggling to articulate as his chest constricted with anxiety.

A gentle weight settled on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him as it gave a light shake, bringing him back to the present moment and prompting him to pause and take a breath.

“Rossi I- I devoted half my time since meeting her to loving her, only to spend the other half hiding it from her.”

With a sigh, the formerly retired agent settled down next to the much younger agent, his hands staying on the genius's shoulder as he shifted slightly to find a comfortable position.

Reid's gaze lingered on Rossi's face for a moment before he averted it, focusing instead on the bustling activity in the hallway where nurses and doctors hurried back and forth attending to patients.

“Every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile she graced me with, even in her unconscious gestures—“ His gaze returned to the hallway momentarily before lowering to where his hands rested on his knees. With a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Every time I looked at her, the words swelled in my throat. I longed to tell her how much she truly means to me, the happiness and peace she effortlessly brings into my world.”

“To tell her that I love her. That I have for a while now.”

David’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, Spencer's pointer finger shot up in the air, silencing any impending speech. It hovered there for a brief moment before his whole palm opened, effectively halting whatever words David had intended to say and then dropping back down to his lap.

“Every single time, I held back. I stopped myself from reaching out to her, from letting my true feelings spill out, from whispering all the things I desperately wished she knew.” His words cracked along with his voice as he, for the first time, admitted aloud feelings he had hidden for so long. “And with my heart pounding in my ears, I always just watched her, silently promising myself, ‘Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’”

“I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh that escaped his lips, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for the older man’s face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Spencer's admission hanging between them until the ringing of a phone shattered the stillness. With a sigh, Rossi reached into his pocket, retrieving the vibrating phone and glancing at the contact name.

“She’ll be okay, kid.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, the older man rose to his feet, his knee cracking audibly as he turned to leave. Despite his efforts at reassurance, Spencer's profound anxiety remained largely unchanged.

He felt utterly helpless, his mind desperately grasping for solutions, for the comforting embrace of statistical analysis with its reassuring numbers. But instead, there was only silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty, devoid of answers, devoid of the usual cacophony of thoughts and calculations.

He couldn't recall the moment the nurse returned to inform him that he could visit her, nor did he remember following the nurse into the room and settling down beside her bed.

He cast restless glances around the room, his eyes darting from one piece of medical equipment to another, then flitting to the walls and ceiling. His gaze moved incessantly, pausing only briefly before moving on, taking in every detail. Except for her.

Alone in the quiet with her, he couldn't bring himself to meet her frame. To look at her now would make everything feel too real, and his heart was already heavy with pain.

His body felt like it was betraying him. Breathing became labored, thoughts fragmented, and the pain in his heart seemed insurmountable.

He wanted to tell someone— no, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t have a solution like she always did. So he sat there, his hands nervously tugging at strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming cacophony of beeping machines surrounding them.

His heart weighed heavily in his chest, burdened by the weight of pain, regret, and fear. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again, a darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Throughout the night, nurses came and went. Some spoke to him, gave him updates on her condition but he didn’t listen. He tried, he just couldn’t understand it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he reluctantly turned his gaze toward her bed. His eyes lingered on her hand, once so delicate and warm in his, now adorned with tubes and wires connecting her to different machines.

With a heavy sigh, his eyes remained fixed on her hand as he leaned forward, feeling the strain in his back from hours of immobility. With gentle care, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of it, mindful of the wires and tubes.

He remained still for a moment, relishing the warmth of her hand in his before allowing his gaze to travel up her arm, eyes tracing the patterns of the thin, cream-colored blanket that draped over her midsection when they got there. Then, his gaze shifted to her other arm, positioned protectively over her stomach where the wound lay, as if guarding it from further harm.

He studied the blue hospital gown draped over her body, its hue accentuating the sickly paleness of her skin. He traced every curve, every wrinkle, every wire, everything until his eyes finally met her bruised face.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful, devoid of worry. The furrows that typically marked her brow now absent, her closed eyes darting beneath her lids.

Tears welled in his eyes, the overwhelming emotions washing over him as he gazed upon her form. There was no smile, no gentle words escaping her lips, just a faintly parted mouth and serene countenance.

“Please wake up.” he whispered, his voice raspy from not being used in hours. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was evident in the way it cracked, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his throat constricted.

But she didn’t. Not for two weeks.

The medics reassured the team that she was showing positive signs and was going to be fine. They explained that in cases of severe internal bleeding within the abdominal cavity, it was common for patients to take longer to regain consciousness. "Sometimes, this can lead to hypovolemic shock and reduced blood flow to vital organs, including the brain," said the doctor they were currently questioning, one arm cradling a notepad against his chest while the other gestured towards her on the hospital bed, "which contributes to the prolonged unconsciousness she's experiencing."

Once the team's questions were answered, the doctor turned towards the door, his pen moving rapidly across the notepad as he scribbled something down. Upon reaching the door, he paused, pivoting back to face them. "While I can't predict the exact timeline for her awakening, I want to reassure you that we're doing everything we can to support her recovery." Tucking his pen back into his chest pocket, he scanned the room, meeting each person's gaze before lingering on on the genius’.

"Every individual responds differently to trauma and surgery, and it's not uncommon for patients to take some time to regain consciousness," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, his kind smile directed at Spencer. "However, I want to emphasize that she's showing positive signs of progress, and her body is responding well to treatment. She should be waking up soon." With a final nod in the genius’ direction, he opened the door and disappeared into the flow of medical staff and patients outside her room.

The doctor's reassuring words and comforting demeanor provided Spencer with a small sense of relief.

As the days stretched on, nearing the two-week mark since her surgery, Spencer's exhaustion was becoming more evident. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his hair unkempt, and he felt the weight of fatigue settling into his bones. Sitting by her bedside day after day had taken its toll, leaving him feeling drained and with a sore backside.

It wasn’t until night, when he was alone with her again that he made a promise. “If you wake up tomorrow, I promise—“ He delicately released her hand, curling his fingers into a fist before extending his pinky finger to link with hers. “I pinky promise,” he whispered, a soft, trembling laugh escaping his lips as he recalled her insistence that a promise was only truly binding if sealed with a pinky. “If you wake up tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”

He had made up his mind days ago, swearing to himself that the moment she regained consciousness, he would lay everything bare. He hoped that verbalizing the promise would somehow penetrate her unconsciousness and draw her back to him.

As the night wore on and the room bathed in the soft glow of predawn, his senses awakened to a subtle movement near his head, his mind clouded with confusion as he remained still, trying to grasp his surroundings.

He found himself in a hazy state, unable to pinpoint the exact moment sleep had claimed him, yet the sensation of their linked pinkies lingered, his other hand placed gently on her leg, while his head rested on the bed.

It wasn’t until he felt his pinky being squeezed that Spencer’s senses sharpened, his back straightening with a crack as his eyes snapped into focus on her. The familiar furrow returned to her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand instinctively reaching up to rub at her forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as he stared at her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

“Spence?”

Her voice was raspy, her tone confused as her eyes opened and scanned the room. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat, hands releasing hers as he hurried to the table with the water bottles. He swiftly grabbed one, unscrewing the cap as he returned to her side.

She struggled to lift herself up on her elbows, her eyes tracking his movements, fixated on the open water bottle as he presented it to her. With a gentle nod from her, he brought the bottle closer, tipping it carefully as it reached her parched lips, his other hand positioned beneath her chin, ready to catch any droplets that might escape.

After consuming almost half of the bottle, she gently pushed it away from her lips, taking a moment to swallow the last gulp before lying back down.

He remained in a state of shock, his mind racing faster than it had in weeks, attempting to process the moment as he observed her shifting, striving to find a comfortable position.

“Spence?”

“You—” he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “You are awake.”

At his words, a gentle smile, the one he had longed to see for weeks, graced her lips. She nodded in acknowledgment as she looked at him. Without hesitation, he moved forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace, being careful not to hurt her. "You're awake," he whispered softly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He knew he was supposed to call a nurse in —something the staff had reminded him of repeatedly— , but in that moment, he couldn’t bear to let her go. So, he held her tighter, his arms enveloping her as if protecting her from everything, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, thumb tracing soothing circles as he drew her closer.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he released her from his embrace, his body reluctantly withdrawing from her warmth. His hands remained, tenderly cupping her face as he gazed into her eyes, memorizing every detail of her being.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The familiar nerves and doubt flooded back, causing his heart to race so fast that he knew that if he had been the one hooked up to the machines, medics would have surely burst into the room thinking someone was having a heart attack.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face, absorbing every detail illuminated by the gentle glow of the sun filtering into the room.

In his hesitation, his mind revisited every memory he shared with her. He recalled the moments he wanted to confess but held back, as well as his conversation with Rossi. Then, the memory of their pinky promise last night resurfaced, reminding him of his commitment. He couldn’t break a pinky promise.

“Spencer?”

“I love you.” There. He said it. His gaze lowered in fear of rejection, the nerves in his stomach growing, but he kept going, he had to. “I am so unimaginably in love with you.”

“Spencer—“

“No, I need—“ he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, gazing still fixated downward as he cleared his throat from the imaginary knot that was beginning to form there. “I need you to know that every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you talk to me, it’s like my whole world lights up.”

“And when you look at me, it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s just you.” With a deep inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, colors swirling behind his eyelids from the pressure, before slowly exhaling and looking up to meet her gaze. “I can’t even scientifically explain how you make me feel. There is no book, or research article that explains what you make me feel.”

One of his hands left her face, gesturing through the air as he attempted to explain everything without the safety net of statistical knowledge. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like my heart speeds up so much that, scientifically speaking, I should be dead.” The quiet chuckle that escaped her lips reached his ears, easing the tight lines on his forehead as his lips formed into a gentle smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because being near you makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Every little thing you do, it just… it makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

“God, I’ve loved you for so long.” His hand halted its relentless movement and lowered to push the hair out of his eyes before running down his face with a grunt of frustration.

"I've fought multiple inner battles trying to tell you how I feel, only to back down at the last minute, silently promising myself that I would do it the next day."

Her eyes softened at his words, her lips pulling into a sad smile as his remained parted, eyes teary as they left her gaze and focused on his lap. “And then you got shot and I—“ The memories of everything that happened in the last two weeks rushing back to him. "I thought I had run out of next days.”

Her hand, which had been holding his against her cheek, shifted gently, cupping his cheek and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape his eyes.

With a sigh, he looked up to meet her eyes again, his own free hand coming up to hold the hand she now had on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his head resting against her hand as she rubbed soothing circles against the stubble that had appeared after weeks of not shaving. “I adore you.”

His face inched closer to hers, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m fine with whatever you want as long as I'm able to have you in my life," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "I love you so, so much. Always." With that, their foreheads separated and his lips moved up to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air as she processed them. After another second, Spencer moved, standing up and letting her know that he was going to go get a nurse before quickly disappearing.

The nurses flooded her room with warmth and care, each one exuding kindness as they attended to her needs, explaining her situation, answering questions, and expressing relief that she was recovering well.

Spencer stood patiently by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he observed the nurses with gratitude, thanking them as they left after ensuring everything was in order.

As the last nurse made her way to the door, she slowed her footsteps, casting a reassuring smile at Spencer. “I told you she’d be alright, sweetheart,” she said with a gentle tone.

Marisa, the lovely old nurse, had not only been concerned about his best friend’s well-being but also his. The genius could confidently say that, had it not been for Marisa, he probably would’ve starved in that hospital chair.

She would often stop by during her morning shift, offering reassurance that she would be alright, often bending a few hospital rules to make Spencer more comfortable, providing him with the comfiest blankets, or allowing him to take showers in the bedroom’s bathroom so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

She also insisted on him taking breaks to get some fresh air, eat proper meals, and change his clothes, assuring him that if anything happened, she would call him immediately.

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, the nurse left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

As he settled back into the familiar chair, their eyes met once more, exchanging a silent understanding. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relishing each other's presence. Eventually, Spencer broke the quietude. "I should call the team," he suggested softly.

He rose from the chair, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve his phone. With his back turned to her, he scrolled through his contacts, his foot shifting slightly as he prepared to step away.

Before he could get far, his movements halted by the touch of her hand on his arm, he lowered his phone and turned back to her, meeting her gaze with curiosity. "Wait," she said softly. With a nod, he returned his phone to his pocket, yielding to her gentle tug until he found himself seated by her side on the bed.

A grunt of discomfort escaped her lips as she struggled to sit up, reaching out for his hand for support. Once she was upright, she shifted closer to him. “What are- oomf—“ before he could finish, his question was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his, her hands gripping the back of his head.

His body momentarily stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he tried to process what was happening. When it finally clicked, the initial shock turned into a gentle surrender as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the warmth of her lips against his.

With a soft exhale, his hand instinctively rose to caress her cheek, pulling her face even closer to his and deepening the kiss.

If he had ever believed his heart couldn’t beat any faster than when in her presence, he stood corrected. Now, he was certain he was experiencing a heart attack.

His lips moved against hers so perfectly, as if they had kissed a thousand times before, as if their souls recognized each other instantly.

It was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it felt so real.

He never wanted to stop; her lips were addicting, but when his lungs screamed at him for air, he reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

His head jerked back, eyes wide open as he looked at her, scanning her expression, looking for any hint that she was lying, only to find honesty shining through her eyes.

With a laugh, she took his face back in her hands, pulling him closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You have, and will always be the one my heart searches for in a world full of everyone else.”

With a toothy smile, he pulled her lips back to his, chuckling inwardly, as their lips met, acknowledging that if he thought he reached the peak before, he was mistaken again. His heart was racing faster than ever before. A heart attack of a different kind.

A heart attack that he’d gladly experience a million times more.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #fanfiction #fluff

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mrs-weasley-reid · 1 month

Text

you're too sweet for me

(young) Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Summary: Opposites attract, but Aaron reasons that it doesn't mean the magnets should connect. Just because he's in love with you doesn't mean he has to admit it.

Warning: Angst.

A/N: inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

From the moment Aaron Hotchner met you, he knew you'd be the death of him.

Your bright aura. Your friendly personality. Your witty jokes. Your everything. You.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't drawn to you like everybody else. In fact, he was probably one of the willing victims of your sweetness.

The two of you joined the academy at the same time. Compared to Aaron, you were the one he would call a magnet. You had everyone attracted to you like a moth to a flame, and all you had to do was smile.

Finding out that you both got a position at the Behavioral Analysis Unit gave him such a euphoric daze. Aaron thought he was just happy that he got the job he wanted. But if he had to admit, seeing you was one of the reasons that it felt right.

"Good morning, Hotch!" You came in like the morning sun, filled with energy and blinding light. You slumped on your swivel chair with a chuckle, "Y'know, smiling a little bit won't kill you. How are we supposed to recruit more people to the team if you're frowning all the time?" You coaxed with a playful grin, easing onto your desk that sat across from him.

You were the first person to ever call him Hotch, getting the idea on accident over a cup of coffee. You were in the middle of bringing his mug in the name of being a kind teammate when you rattled on a simple, "Be careful, it's hotch!" followed by bursting out of laughter after the innocent mistake.

And since then, you couldn't call him anything else. Aaron wasn't thinking of correcting you anytime soon. After all, you two have been working together for the past five years, contributing to the continuous development of the BAU.

One other thing...

Aaron Hotchner has been in love with you for years, and kept it buried in the deepest corner of his heart.

Why?

He thought of many things.

First, your coffee order. He took his coffee straight black. The bitterness kept him awake enough to function. You, however, had some step-by-step concoction that kept you insanely energized for the day.

Second, your bedtime. He stays up as late as he could. The silence brought him peace as he listened to his pen scribble on his action report. You, however, slept as early as eight in the evening or as soon as you were allowed.

Aaron wouldn't hesitate to say more, but it'd take him an eternity.

He knew so much about you that someone might render him a creep had he mentioned it to anyone else but himself.

Because one thing Aaron Hotchner knew well was you.

And he knew you'd change in an instant if someone asked you to.

Aaron couldn't possibly have you do such a horrible thing.

The world needed your brightness. Aaron convinced himself that the world needed you more than he could ever do.

You were too good for him, too sweet.

So, why ruin the incredible person you are?

His love for you could be treated with constant denial, but whatever damage he could do to your bright spark would be a crime.

Loving you was a crime.

"I got it!" You erupted in the bullpen, jumping like a three-year-old child. Your vision caught Aaron, who had just walked in. You snatched him into a tight hug as you continued to bounce on your feet.

Aaron couldn't stop his lips from curving, melting into a puddle as he felt your arms wrap around him. His body stood frozen, but his heart was beating so loud he was afraid you could hear it.

Jason Gideon came out of his office to see the commotion, David Rossi right behind him. The two founding fathers of the unit curiously wondered what may have made them stop in the middle of a chess game.

"What's the jumping for?" David had his eyebrows knitted but was enjoying the way you celebrated with joy.

Another reason why Aaron couldn't possibly admit his feelings for you. You were contagious. Your glee always affected everyone, influencing an individual with the tiniest sound of your giggles.

You retracted away from Aaron, facing David. "I got the position in Interpol!" You exclaimed with pride, gasping for air after your prior actions.

Jason and David raised their eyebrows, accordingly giving you a congratulatory embrace. You felt their happiness for you in every bone they had almost crushed. Still, you paid no mind. The news made you feel elated, fueling you with a sense of fulfillment.

"It'd be different to not have you here, but I'm proud of you. Interpol would be glad to have you." Jason remarked with a satisfying nod. "You ready to move to Washington?"

"Even better," You bit your lower lip from excitement, "I'm going to France!" You clasped your mouth with both your hands, containing your squeals behind it.

Aaron heard his entire heart shatter into pieces as your triumph echoed on the walls of the bullpen. Everything became a blur and muffled.

Years of keeping his feelings a secret was no easy task, but at least he got to see your sweet smile each day. He couldn't imagine his life without listening to your random fits of laughter.

How was he going to survive a day without your daily reminder that he was human and not some poker-faced mannequin?

Who would complain about his bitter taste for coffee?

Where would he look when he needed a source of hope in the form of a warm smile?

What would he do without you in his life..?

But you just looked so proud, so excited, so... happy.

So, Aaron Hotchner put up a brave face and soft smile, "Congratulations."

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #criminalminds #criminal minds #cm #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner criminal minds

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 10 months

Text

Something New

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: SO many okay; sub Spencer, oral (m receiving), voyeurism & exhibitionism, fingering/masturbation, HEAVY breading kink, riding, choking, marking, they both got absolutely filthy mouths, a lil begging, cockwarming too- I think I got everything?? Mentions of alcohol as well

Genre: fluff & Smut

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend's friends leads to a few curious discoveries about him for both of you.

***

Your boyfriend is many things. A genius, a profiler, a professor- sometimes, a man with so much to say about pretty much everything, the love of your life- the list goes on. You've been dating Spencer Reid for about a year now and you really can't say you have anything to complain about. He's attentive and funny and thoughtful and kind, and even when work takes him away for days he still manages to make you feel just as loved from afar. Tonight Spencer's invited you out to meet all of his coworker friends. You've heard tons of stories but Spencer has been hesitant to introduce you to them. Not for any bad reasons- he's simply being greedy with your time. Well he was anyway, it seems the team has finally worn him down and you're joining everyone for drinks at a bar.

When you walk into the place, Spencer finds his friends quickly and pulls you close to him as he leads you to the group. Before anything can even be said by you or Spencer the table erupts into noise upon seeing you. There are compliments and whoops and it's hard to pick out any one thing that's being said by the group.

"Settle down guys." Spencer rolls his eyes. "This is my girlfriend y/n."

"It's nice to meet everyone! Spence talks about y'all all the time." You say.

"Well don't just stand there, sit, we have a million questions." One of the women at the table pulls you over to sit next to her.

"Garcia." Spencer sighs.

"Now we mostly use each other's last names, side effect of the job but I'm Penelope, that's Aaron Hotchner- but we all call him Hotch pretty much exclusively, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, and David Rossi." She quickly intros the entirety of the table as Spencer slides into to booth across from you, next to Derek.

"It's so good to finally put names to faces. Considering how much time you spend together I thought he'd have more pictures of you guys but-"

"Interesting you say that because his desk at work is full of pictures of you." Derek muses.

"Dude." Spencer nudges him and you chuckle a bit as pink crawls up his neck slightly.

"His wallet has a photo of you as well." David muses.

"Rossi please." Spencer says.

"I keep lots of pictures of him at work too actually." You smile.

"You do?!" Spencer blinks at you.

"Of course I do. I take pictures all the time. Why does that surprise you?" You muse.

"Wait a minute do you have any pictures Spence would not want us to see?" Emily smirks.

"I'm absolutely positive I do." You nod.

"Oh I have got to see this." JJ says.

"Yeah y/n you have to share-"

"Y/n don't you dare." Spencer's eyes widen cutting Derek off.

"Oh come on Spencer you can't expect us not to want to know." Emily says.

"You can want whatever you'd like but you're not gonna get it." Spencer says.

"They aren't?" You tilt your head.

"Y/n, please." Spencer's eyes are pleading in a way that almost makes you want to tease him more. You of course have no intention of embarrassing him in front of his coworkers but the adorable look on his face tugs at your sadistic side. You hold his gaze for a moment before turning to the rest of the group with a smirk.

"Sorry guys, there are some things I like to keep to myself." You muse and everyone lets out playful sounds of frustration that you laugh at while Spencer settles in his seat.

"It's fine we'll simply separate them and get her to confess that way." Penelope stage whispers to the rest of the table.

"So, y/n, Spencer tells us you're a professor?" Aaron who apparently everyone calls Hotch says. He hasn't spoken much so far but he and Rossi watched the earlier chaos affectionately.

"I am, yes. We met when he was guest lecturing at the university where I work actually."

"Really? What subject do you teach?" JJ asks.

"Architecture and sometimes English."

"Sometimes English?" Derek quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"I'm primarily an architecture professor but I have an English degree as well so I'll teach an English class or two. Not every semester though, it really depends. I mostly fill in when an English professor is out." You shrug.

"That's so interesting. So how did you two actually meet? He refuses to tell us the story." Penelope asks.

"Really? Why Spence?" You look at him.

"I mean I'm not hiding it exactly-" Spencer mutters.

"You'll tell us won't you y/n?" Penelope nudges you.

"Well sure- I dunno how interesting you'll find the story but I'll tell it. He was leaving a lecture he was giving and I was conducting an- in class activity that sort of spilled into the hall as he was trying to leave. He's quite the curious boy so he asked what we were up to and then he left." You shrug.

"How did you manage to get her to go on a date with you if you didn't even try to get her attention?" Derek scoffs.

"This is why I didn't tell you the story." Spencer rolls his eyes.

"He sat in on one of my lectures the next week, at the end of which he spouted about 10 minutes' worth of information about the architecture of the building we were in." You chuckle.

"And that worked on you?" JJ muses.

"I'll admit it was strange- but I thought he was cute. I told him if he had any more obscure details about the university we could discuss it over coffee."

"So you made the first move." Derek says.

"Of course I did." You say.

"Alright! Can we please talk about something else?" Spencer grumbles.

"Come on Spence we're meeting your girlfriend for the first time you can't expect us to not have questions." Emily smiles.

"Do they have to be about the logistics of how we ended up together though?" Spencer rolls his eyes. You can't help but laugh watching him pout at his coworkers.

"I don't mind talking about it baby." You say.

"Yeah she doesn't mind baby." Derek chuckles. Spencer looks at you with a huff.

"Spence why don't you get something to drink for me hm?" You ask him.

"Anything specific?" Spencer stands at your request.

"You can pick just make it good." You say pulling him down to kiss him before he can walk to the bar. "If you wanna ask me questions Derek I'll answer them but my baby is off limits." You wink letting Spencer go get drinks.

"Fine, fine. Changing the subject." Derek smiles at you. By the time Spencer returns with drinks, you're in a completely different conversation with the rest of the table. You spend a couple of hours getting to know Spencer's friends and you'd like to think things go well. It seems like they like you, and you can say for sure that you like them. Of course, as the night goes on, the team lets alcohol loosen their lips. You, not being a big drinker have been nursing the one drink you had Spencer get you and Spencer doesn't drink more than you let him so you two are the most sober at the table, except Aaron who seems to be very mindful of his drinks. Somehow the table has gotten into making up outlandish things about other patrons of the busy bar you're in. A guy sipping whiskey is going through a breakup, a girl on the dancefloor is definitely going home with the guy she's dancing with, someone in a leather jacket 'definitely ties people up'. It seems like a game of who can make up the wildest story about strangers and you just chuckle as they play.

"I bet that lady has a man she puts on a leash." Penelope says of a woman sitting with a group of friends. That one makes you glance at Spencer to see him shift awkwardly.

"No way babygirl. That woman does not seem like the type." Derek shakes his head.

"I dunno I think it's possible. But like wouldn't she have him out with her?" Emily hums.

"Not necessarily. Even a mistress is allowed to have time without her-" Spencer's foot nudges yours before you can finish your thought. You don't think it's on purpose though, he seems to just be tense regarding the conversation.

"You speaking from experience there?" Derek asks you.

"Sorry Derek, that is classified." You smirk.

"Wait a minute what do y'all be getting up to?!" Derek's gaze turns to Spencer.

"Nothing." Spencer's response is sharp and you have to work hard not to giggle.

"Leave him alone Derek we haven't- there's no tales to tell there." You say. You doubt Spencer wants his friends to know those details of your relationship. Especially considering you haven't really explored that aspect of your relationship much. You've had a few conversations about it but you really haven't gone beyond making out and such.

"You're so sweet on our boy genius." JJ coos.

"Of course I am." You shrug.

"Wait what do you mean there's no tales to tell?" Penelope asks.

"I'm more interested in your knowledge of mistressing?" Emily shakes her head.

"Curious to get into that yourself Emily?" You ask.

"Maybe."

"Do you have tips y/n?" JJ asks.

"How did we get here?" You laugh. Drunk conversations are so funny.

"Well now you have to answer the question." Penelope says.

"Talk to your partner? I dunno everyone's different. You should find out what things they are comfortable with before you do anything really. Leashes are usually safe enough for beginners but a lot of the more interesting 'tips' would be- for more advanced stuff." You muse.

"Spencer you have got one interesting girl on your hands." Derek smirks smacking him lightly on the back.

"Please stop asking my girlfriend sex questions holy fuck." Spencer rubs his temple with a sigh.

"Aw but she seems like she knows so much." Penelope says.

"Another time ladies, I'll answer all your questions." You say.

"You will?"

"Absolutely. But I think you guys should maybe start sorting out your rides home. It's- getting pretty late and you've all been drinking." You say when you catch JJ yawning.

"Yeah I'd agree it's time to wind down, especially since this place closes soon and I hate to be the last one out." David hums.

"Do you all have rides home? Are you getting a cab or calling someone? Because you can't drive." You shake your head at the girls specifically.

"I'm fine to drive everyone home." Aaron tells you. "Will you and Spencer be good?" He asks.

"Oh yeah, we've each only had one drink. Either of us can drive." You shrug standing up. Spencer follows your lead and after him, everyone slides out of their seats. A few rounds of goodbyes later, you're on the way home, Spencer driving and both of you enjoying the quiet compared to the last few hours in a rowdy bar. Back at your apartment Spencer lets out a sigh as you both take off your shoes.

"Sorry about them." He mutters.

"What are you talking about? Your friends are great. Do you think it went badly?" You ask.

"No. No, I'm sure they love you. Maybe more than me now. I just meant- they can be a bit unpredictable when they get drunk so, sorry about the weird questions."

"Oh that? Spencer honey there are way worse things a group of profilers could ask me than if I'm a dominatrix." You scoff. "I'm pretty chill when it comes to discussing sex." You shrug walking further into your apartment. You wanna get out of this dress.

"Really?" Spencer follows after you,

"Yeah. Although- I take it you are way less comfortable with that sort of stuff?" You ask.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well- you seemed really tense earlier when they were asking me about the mistress stuff. I just figured." You say.

"Oh- that was nothing." He mutters.

"That- didn't seem like nothing. But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You hum. There's a moment of quiet as you take off your jewelry.

"I don't think my imagination is that active." Spencer speaks again and you turn to look at him. "Not in like, a sad 'my creativity is dead' sort of way. I'm fairly creative. But having an eidetic memory just means my focus is on other things. You know, the information I've read or seen that I can use- usually for work. Of course, my imagination fairs pretty well too. I mean it works well enough that I can reconstruct crime scenes in my head and stuff so it does what I need it to do for work."

"Right." You nod with a frown. When Spencer doesn't continue after a minute you add, "I'm following you Spence but I have no idea where this is going."

"You commented on me being tense earlier."

"Correct."

"It's because my imagination was entirely too active during that conversation." He mutters, almost like he doesn't want you to know.

"Are you- embarrassed because a sexual conversation made you think about your girlfriend sexually?" You try not to laugh because it's not that his embarrassment is funny to you it's just the circumstance of not wanting to admit he finds his partner hot.

"I had an erection at a table with all my friends because my girlfriend was talking about leashing people."

"Are you interested in wearing a leash Spence?" You smirk, leaning against your dresser.

"Don't- I'm not sure." He frowns.

"We can work our way up to it if you are baby. It's not like I'm planning to collar you tonight." You chuckle at his confused look.

"Do you like doing that?" He blinks at you.

"What? Putting collars on people? I mean only if they're into it." You shrug. Spencer takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

"This- is not helping." He says.

"Helping?" You look at him. His hands, which were balled up at his sides catch your attention when they instinctively cross in front of him.

"Wait a second-"

"Don't."

"Are you-"

"Y/n."

"You're still hard from earlier." You say.

"Of course I am. All I can think about is the image in my head of my girlfriend as a mistress." Spencer huffs out.

"Well, we can always replace that image in your head with the real thing." You offer.

"I- I don't- I've never had a mistress before. I don't know what to do." He frowns.

"We'll work our way up to more complex stuff. Tonight'll be simple, pick a safe word and let me do the thinking." You push off the dresser you'd been leaning against.

"A safe word? Uh- winter. Is that a good one?"

"As long as you can remember it, it's perfect baby." You pull him forward by his shirt to kiss him sweetly. Spencer melts against your lips, letting you guide him easily to sit on the bed. You straddle him as you deepen the kiss, your tongue slipping between his lips easily. Spencer seems content to let you have your way with him and you intend to take full advantage of that. Eventually, you pull away from him only to trail your lips to his neck. His mouth drops open with a soft moan as you cover his throat in red marks. You make quick work of the buttons on Spencer's shirt, kissing and marking your way across his chest as you strip him, enjoying the quiet whines he lets out.

"You look pretty covered in marks." You tell him, bringing your lips to his again with a hand at the back of his neck. You drag your nails down his abdomen until your fingers find his belt, undoing it and his pants before you stand up. Spencer's eyes are on you immediately with a confused look and a sound expressing his discontent. "Pants off baby." You tell him and he scrambles to tug them off quickly and settle himself back on the edge of the bed.

"Are you- do you plan to stay clothed?" He croaks uncertainly.

"For now, yes." You say kneeling in front of Spencer. His eyes widen as he watches you wrap your fingers around his erection. He hisses from the contact and gasps when you gently drag one finger along the length of him. Your tongue follows the path of your finger and his breath is coming out shaky by the time you fully put your lips around him. You slowly take as much of him into your mouth as you can fit relishing in the whimpers he fails to hold back. His hands grip the edge of the bed so tightly you think he may rip the sheets as you suck his dick greedily.

"Oh my- god." Spencer chokes out, body practically shaking from your ministrations. When his thighs start to tense you pull off of him entirely and he can't stop the frustrated whine that comes out.

"Sorry baby, but if you cum now you won't enjoy it as much when I ride you." You tell him as you stand up. You give Spencer a few moments to steady his harsh breathing before speaking again. "Undress me." You tell him, turning your back so he can unzip your dress. You hear him stand, feel one hand settle on your shoulder while the other tugs the zipper down, watch his hands slide the straps of your dress from your shoulders and once it hits the floor you step out of it and turn to face him. "Open your mouth." You tell him softly and when he does you slip two fingers between his lips that he immediately begins sucking on. You can feel the action in your abdomen and it takes a moment to get your next instruction out. "Panties off." You tell him. With your fingers still in his mouth his movements are a little awkward but he manages to get your panties off and only then do you pull your fingers out. You set yourself up on the bed pulling Spencer's attention, though he stays where he is. He follows directions very well you realize. Spencer watches intently as you take the fingers that were in his mouth and slide them between your folds. You make quite the show of touching yourself while he regards you, moaning and spreading your legs widely as you toy with your wet heat. You catch his hands open and close a number of times as your fingers disappear inside of you and you know he's dying to touch you.

"Y/n?" He forces out after several minutes of what must've been silent agony for him.

"Yes, Spencer?" You let your reply come out as whiny and breathy as you can muster, swimming in the pleasure you're bringing yourself.

"Am I- do you just want me to stand here?" He asks with a frown.

"What's the matter, baby? Not content just watching?" You ask somewhat tauntingly. "Did you want a taste?" You ask.

"Please." He breathes out. You pull your fingers from your center and hold them out to him. He comes to the edge of the bed, leaning down to take your fingers in his mouth. You allow him to lick the digits clean before you shove him down onto the bed on his back. He tries to sit up but you place a hand against his chest as you swing a leg over to straddle him.

"I'm going to ride you now, okay Spence?" You look down at him for any sign of hesitation but the look in his eyes gives no indication of it as he responds.

"Yes- please. Please ride me y/n." He says. You lift yourself enough to grab his dick and line it up with your entrance before sinking down onto him with a satisfied moan. You brace yourself with your hands on his chest and set a nice rhythm for yourself, bouncing on him relentlessly, spurred on by the endless string of sounds from his lips. A beautiful combination of whimpers and moans and expletives as he begs you not to stop.

"So, pretty. You look so pretty under me baby." You tell him placing fleeting kisses against his lips.

"God I love you. Fuck that feels amazing. Oh my- shit." You can practically see his brain malfunctioning as gets lost in the heat of your walls surrounding him. There's something so satisfying about reducing a genius who always has something to say to a collection of broken sentences and desperate moans.

"I love you too baby, love the feeling of you inside me. Letting me- letting me ride you like this, so good for me." You pant out.

"Y-Y/n I- oh fuck I'm close- I'm gonna cum. Wait you have to- please y/n s-slow down." Spencer's frantic attempt at warning you only makes you want to push him over more.

"I want you to cum Spencer." You tell him.

"W-what? L-like inside- inside you?"

"Yes baby. I want to feel you cum for me." You tell him. Spencer's eyes go unfocused for a moment as if processing your words, then his hands snap up to your waist, the first time he's touched you without being explicitly instructed to.

"You mean that?" He rasps, his hold on your hips tightening.

"Yes Spencer, I mean it." You say drawing your hand up his chest to wrap a hand around his throat. "So don't stop now baby." You add. Spencer lets out a pained groan and shifts his grip on you.

"You can't- can't say those things." He grunts as he sits up and thrusts his hips up into you.

"Oh? And why's that Spence? Don't you want to cum inside me?" You mutter kissing and nipping at his collarbone as if there aren't enough marks on his skin.

"S-so fucking badly. Wanna fill you up til you're leaking. Wanna- fuck wanna get you pregnant- you'd make such a good mother to my children and god you'd look so good all swollen 'cuz of me." Spencer's barely aware of his own rambling at this point, but your ears prick at the turn his words have taken.

"What a dirty mouth you've got all of a sudden." You muse, your body thrumming from his words. "That's what you want Spence? Wanna fuck a baby into me? Go ahead puppy, breed me if you can." If he hadn't lost it before those words seem to snap something in him and his thrusts get sloppy, they're harder and faster but messy as he chases that end you've teased. "That's it baby- fuck me like you want to put a baby in there. Fill my pussy like a good puppy." Your breathing is ragged and your sentence is broken up by loud moans as Spencer puts all his strength into railing you, but you have no intentions of giving up control of the situation.

"G-god, please. Please. I'm so close." Spencer whines out. Your fingers slip between your bodies and a few tight circles against your clit have you tumbling over the edge.

"Cum for me Spence, lemme feel you fill me up baby." You breathe out the command as you ride the waves of your own orgasm and he's spilling into you moments later.

"Holy fucking hell." He eventually huffs out and you gently kiss his heated skin as you allow him a few minutes to come down from his release.

"How we feelin?" You whisper.

"Like lead and hydrogen at the same time." He mutters and you glance up in time to catch the confused frown on his face.

"You did very well with your responsibilities for tonight Spencer." You tell him.

"Is it- is it always so... intense?"

"Well that was- more intense than I expected it to be. Had no idea you'd have such a breeding kink." You chuckle a little.

"I- I'm sorry that was-"

"No need to apologize. I liked it." You shrug.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah- you're so nasty about it. It's sexy, even if you're not in charge." You say. When you shift to stand up, Spencer's arm wraps around you lazily.

"Don't." He mutters.

"We gotta get cleaned up baby."

"It can wait." He groans.

"If you insist." You smile gently. You didn't expect to go down this road with your boyfriend tonight. But you can't say you're disappointed with the outcome. You learned something new about your boy genius.

***

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