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cerisereids · 28 days

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𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀- 𝘀.𝗿. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟭]

pairing- spencer reid x fem!reader

wc- 3.5k

summary- you meet spencer reid while he's in your hometown on a case. you share one day before he has to leave. what happens when you can't stop thinking about each other?

warnings- sfw, reader is referenced as a woman, canon typical case discussion/emotions, fluff to angst, no happy ending (for now...) takes place in massachusetts for this first part, lmk if i missed any!

a/n- so. i ended up making this multiple parts. it's just too long. here is part 1 enjoy 😚

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The soothing sun of an east coast spring morning bathes your skin in warmth, releasing some tension you have carried in your muscles since you first arrived at your desk this morning. The wind rustles through the trees, the idyllic scenery around you in motion with the breeze. The plants in the rose garden, the leaves and petals swirling around, they all follow the gusts in time, and you wish your morning was so easy. Your eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks as you recall that initial feeling of dread, the way it seeped through your bones when you arrived to work, met with a ransom note left on your desk. One million dollars. That’s how much the sender was demanding. One million for the safe return of Charles Anderson, local politician, diplomat, and the man who owns and funds the very library you manage.

At first, you were convinced it was a prank, refusing to let in the pure panic pounding at your heart until you were certain something was very wrong. Asking for $1,000,000 from a local library almost seemed like a joke to you at first, like a teenager made it up to spook you. It wouldn’t be the first time. You took the note to your boss’ office, eyes widening, panic in full force once you saw the state it was in. Papers everywhere, desk drawers flung open haphazardly, and an open window. Your heart nearly stopped as you raced back to your desk to dial 911.

Your eyes flutter open, back to reality as the tires of a black SUV screech against the library’s parking lot, coming to a halt right before you. You instinctively back away as a group of polished professionals exit the car, guns and badges strapped to their clothes. Your fingers find the pendant of your necklace, nervously fiddling with the small pearl resting on your chest. You greet the man in the suit, who introduces himself as Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You walk the group of concerned faces over to your desk, where the note was originally found. They bag all evidence, and soon you’re left with only two agents. One is a kind woman with black hair who introduces herself as Emily, and the other is, quite literally, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. His brows furrow and his big brown eyes bore widely into yours, checking for any and all signs of distress as he shakes your hand, introducing himself as Spencer.

His hand lingers, his warm palm resting in yours for the briefest moment. A jolt of electricity shoots through your veins all the same. You yank your hand back, not out of disdain, but because of the unfamiliar comfort of his touch. You hardly know this man, only so much as his name, but the mere touch of his calloused palm floods you with warmth, with comfort, as if you’ve known him your whole life. It scared you, but the reassurance in his eyes now puts you at ease. He knows. He feels it, too, you can tell.

Emily can tell, too, apparently. She clears her throat, effectively popping the golden, glittery bubble that surrounded you and Spencer in that moment. Her eyes flit between the two of you and your cheeks burn, you avert your eyes until the embarrassment passes. You suppose this is what it must be like being surrounded by profilers all day, your thoughts and feelings constantly on display. If it were a certain profiler, though, you’re not sure you’d mind so much.

“Ooookay…” Emily trails off, accusation lacing her tone, “I’m going to take a look in Anderson’s office, there could be something there that'll help us find him. Reid, you’re gonna stay here with this lovely lady until we get the all clear,” she nods towards him. Spencer Reid. You replay his full name in your head on a loop, it’s pretty, like him.

His head snaps up toward his coworker, brows furrowed as he stutters, “b-but I thought Hotch wanted me to-”

“Stay with her? While I go investigate? Yes, he did,” Emily finished for him, eyes boring into his in an attempt to send an unspoken message.

You’re no profiler, but now it’s your turn to flit your eyes between the two people before you, deciphering the unspoken words between them. From the blush creeping up the apples of Spencer’s cheeks and Emily’s knowing glare, it’s safe for you to assume she’s throwing him a bone here. Thank God for that.

As she turns to walk away, a lightbulb goes off over your head, “b-but-” you stop Emily as she walks away, and she whips around with an inquisitive look on her face, “is it safe to stay open? I mean, they broke in here and took Charlie-uhm-Mr. Anderson- and I don’t want our patrons to be in danger.”

“That’s an excellent question, Miss,” Emily responds, and the calming tone of her voice puts you at ease, “from what they’ve found at the station, the threat appears to be towards Anderson personally, not any of the institutions he owns. We’d like to keep it open so as to not cause public suspicion, the attention could make whoever’s taken him panic and kill. If anything happens, we’re here, and we have emergency teams on standby.” You nod, fingers once again anxiously fiddling with your pearl as Emily heads into Charlie’s office.

The first few minutes after Emily leaves you two alone is painfully awkward. The two of you stand still at your desk for a beat, both sets of eyes avoiding the other as much as possible while a thick silence settles between you.

“Uhm-” Spencer’s voice cracks as he attempts to use it, he clears his throat before continuing, “you can-you can keep doing what you normally do. I’ll just be here to protect you.”

Your eyes drift to his biceps, which are unfairly toned for such a lanky guy. You wonder how the cotton of his shirt would strain against them while he wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from whoever left the note on your desk this morning. The chaos of this morning would at least be worth something if it leads you there.

“What, like a security guard? I thought you were supposed to be some FBI hotshot,” you flirtatiously test the waters, teasing him gently. Your sparkling eyes now scan back up his neck, to his lips, then back up to his own eyes, and the contact makes you nearly dizzy.

“Oh! Well no-no not necessarily a security guard. Security guards became more popularized in the 1840s when a man named Allan Pinkerton founded the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, which is now one of the largest private security companies in this country, actually! Their primary focus is on protecting institutions and artifacts,” he fidgets with his fingers as he rambles, and your heart grows three sizes.

“Bodyguards, on the other hand, originated over 2,000 years ago during the reign of the Roman Empire. They protected royalty and leaders, so a bodyguard would be a more accurate description.” He finished his thoughts by clasping his hands together, interlacing his fidgeting fingers, while a flat smile appeared on his mouth. He looks almost guilty, like he’s said too much and is afraid you’ll laugh or tell him to shut up.

Luckily for him, though, he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, so you smile and say, “that's really interesting, Spencer, I had no idea," you see him relax a bit at your validation, so you keep going.

"You said bodyguards protect royalty?" it's nearly breathtaking how enthusiastically he nods, his soft hair moving with him, "so I can be, like, your queen for the day, hm?” you raise a brow at him as you fiddle with the end of his tie, and his face is nearly red as a tomato by this point.

“Yes!” he nearly jumps out of his own skin at the contact, and you nearly melt from how endearing it all is, “well, your safety is incredibly important so maybe you can just pick up from where you left off before we got here,” his voice picks up in speed and your heart could burst at the fact that you’ve worked him up this much while doing so little, “you can pretend like I’m not even here, I’ll just be sure you’re safe, while the rest of my team works to safely return Mr. Anderson,” he slows down a bit towards the end, taking a breath and giving you a smile, a real one this time.

You return it, “thank you, Dr. Reid. You being here has already helped more than you know,” he finally initiates eye contact himself this time, his head snapping up automatically, before he could decide not to.

“Go-good,” he clears his throat once more, “I’m glad to help. That’s my job.” You exchange another set of smiles and you wonder how long it will be before you just can’t take it anymore.

“Well, unfortunately, though, there is nowhere for me to pick up on, because the first thing I did when I got here was call you guys,” your smile only widens as he shakes his head, cheeks tinting once more, “oh-no-no of course, yeah that makes sense.”

“Lucky for you, though,” you poke at his chest gently, “it seems as if my first task of the day is restocking the nonfiction section, let’s go!” you chirp as you march along, rolling the cart full of returned books.

“Why is that lucky for me?” he trips over a cord in his attempt to catch up with you, and you giggle, reaching out a hand for him on instinct. To your surprise, he links his pinky with yours.

“For someone who knows as much about security guards as you do, I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you like nonfiction,” you say while you swing your arms back and forth, and he mumbles in agreement.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Wait a minute, so-let me get this straight,” you stop and turn away from the bookshelf to face the tall man behind you. Over the past hour, you’ve reshelved your way to the romance section, “so you have three Ph. D.s, two B.A.s, and you’re working on your third? While working for the FBI?” you push the cart further down the aisle as he walks beside you, leaning against the parallel bookshelf when you stop.

“Yep-yeah, that’s-that is correct, yes. I-uh- I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. You were accurate in your assumption about nonfiction,” he jokes, a sweet smile on his face. His smiles have grown more confident in the past hour, the more you two exchange niceties, anecdotes. You revel in those smiles, soaking in each one like a cat laying in the sun.

“I love that, education is so important,” you remark, and his blush deepens. Whether it’s because of your compliment or the shirtless man on the cover of the pirate romance you’re reshelving, you’re not sure. All you know is that this man before you makes your heart twinge with a longing you haven't felt in years. You want to see that blush on those cheeks everyday for the rest of forever.

“Is that why you wanted to work at a library? Because education is important?” he questions. You can tell he's desperate to keep the attention off his reddening cheeks, the blush now making its way to his ears. You could die at the way the tips of them turn pink, but you choose to answer his question instead.

“My mom always told me that education sets you free. I think it’s so true, no matter how you go about seeking that education. When you know better, you do better, y’know?” you pause, and he nods like you’re the most important person in the world, “I wanted to be able to encourage that in our patrons. I think I’ve done a good job,” you smile as you think back to the successful programs you’ve run through this library: book clubs, after school science fairs, and more.

“I’m sure you have, I can tell that there is immense love and care poured into this building on a daily basis. Your passion shines through you, y’know,” Spencer dotes, and you nearly forget how to breathe. His compliments seep through your skin, making its way into your bones. You shudder. This man is something else.

“So, what made you decide that the FBI was where you wanted to use all this knowledge?” you ask as you ruffle his hair gently, eagerly drinking in yet another smile. This one’s shy, aimed at the ground. A blush he’s so desperately trying to hide creeps up to the high point of his cheekbones, despite his best efforts to conceal his flustered nature from you.

“I had a mentor, he founded the unit back in the 70s. Hand picked me from the academy,” he lets out a nostalgic chuckle at the memory, and you wish you could bottle it up like a perfume, “we were really close, he’s the only person who could beat me at chess, actually," he's looking down when you turn to face him, his foot kicks around at a stray pebble that's made its way inside from the courtyard. You can tell he's not sure if he should say more. You hope he does.

"He quit a few years back without warning, he lost someone he cared about and couldn’t take it anymore. It really wrecked me at the time, but people move on, I guess…” he trails off, sheepishly looking once again towards his Converse. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he's wearing that same guilty face from earlier, as if he’s afraid he’s said too much. It’s not possible, though. You want to know every detail, glimpse into every nook and cranny of this man’s peculiar life.

“I know what you mean,” you start delicately, so he knows you mean it, “Charlie-uhm- Mr. Anderson-” you corrected, “he came to speak at one of my grad school lectures, what, probably five or six years ago now?" you chuckle at the memory, unbelieving that it was already so long ago, and Spencer smiles with you. It makes you feel like the queen of the world.

"From the second he began speaking to us about this library, I fell in love with it. I spoke with him afterwards and it was an instant fit. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him,” the dread from this morning slowly creeps back into the pit of your stomach as you turn to Spencer with sad, wide eyes.

“My team is some of the best in the world,” Spencer reassures you, a hand resting on your shoulder that eases the erratic beat of your heart, “they are doing everything they can to find him and return him safely.”

You greedily lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his forearm against your cheek, “‘m worried about him,” you croak, eyes glossing over, “he’s older than he used to be, y’know. He’s stubborn, but he’s not so spry, especially compared to when I first started working for him. I’m scared,” you confess, tears finally spilling over your lash line.

“Come here,” Spencer whispers mainly to himself, but you pick it up. Butterflies swarm in your stomach as he envelops you in the sweetest hug known to man.

His arms fit perfectly around you as you cuddle into him, utilizing him for every last bit of comfort he’ll allow. You turn your head so your temple rests on his chest, eyes scanning over his biceps, now flexing and straining against his printed button up. You allow yourself to indulge in the tautness for just a moment, before you wrap your arms around him in return. He takes this as a sign to pull you in deeper, tighter, a large hand soothing the expanse of your back in calming circles.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers into your temple, and you shudder at the way his breath hits your skin. You want to feel it all the time.

Once he releases you, you reluctantly return to your shelving. You thank your lucky stars that your back is facing towards him, lest you give up all your cards so quickly. Now that you’ve had that contact with him, you’re not sure you’ll be able to go without it. You can still feel the warmth of his skin as he wrapped himself around you, the softness of his forearms, the way your arms wrapped perfectly around his waist. A giddy weight sits heavy in your stomach, you’re breathless, like you’d been touched by an angel. Maybe you were.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You thank your lucky stars that Spencer was right. Later in the afternoon, his team had found Charlie in an abandoned warehouse by the bay, the men who took him are in custody, and now you’re sitting in a plastic, sticky hospital chair as the steady beeps of an EGK machine torment you from across the hallway. You pick at your nails, desperate to pass time until Charlie’s family gets here. You promised you’d stay with him, why wouldn’t you after everything he’s done for you? What you don’t understand is why Spencer has stayed behind with you.

“You don’t have to be here, y’know?” you say, even though you desperately want him to stay. You nudge his knee gently when you see a small smile form on his lips, “wouldn’t you much rather be closing out this case with your team?”

“I’d rather be anywhere you are, making sure you’re okay,” he tells you matter of factly, eyes looking directly to yours.

Those agonizing big brown eyes have plagued you all day. Every time you catch even the slightest glimpse, an overwhelming ache punctures through your heart, right in the middle. You imagine it’s what being shot with Cupid’s arrow is like. A heavy silence falls between you then. You both know what comes next. Spencer and his team close the case, and he goes home. You both turn your gazes forward, avoiding the other’s sad eyes, avoiding his departure.

A sudden clapping noise jumpstarts you back to reality, and you reluctantly turn away from Spencer to find Charlie’s wife behind you. Her hands are clasped, eyes glassy and wide. You’re frozen at the sight of her, the true gravity of what you’ve experienced settling in fully. A pit sits in your stomach like a rock at the bottom of a lake. You know you must look foolish, but your body can't move, all your energy has been usurped by the otherworldly events of your day. Your red, dry eyes meet her glassy ones, and you wish so desperately you could be of some sort of use.

Spencer thankfully takes over, patting your knee like he can read your mind as he directs Charlie’s distressed wife to the room across the hall. You sit, now alone, with your back to the wall. You feel outside yourself, like you’re floating above the hospital, not actually in it. You’re not blinking, you’re pale as a ghost.

You watch half heartedly through the glass as Spencer explains to her what’s happened. You know he’s told her he’s okay by the way she gasps, pulling him into her arms without a second chance. You feel ridiculously jealous at the sight of it.

When he exits the room to give her some privacy, that same, all knowing silence dawns upon you two again. He stops in front of you, crouching down to meet your level. You keep your gaze on your loafers tapping against the linoleum floor. Spencer takes your wrists in his hands and moves them apart, leaving you no choice but to accept your vulnerability. Your now glossy eyes reach his, and it’s like you can see the ache, the longing for what never was and never could be.

“I-” Spencer starts, but his voice croaks, so he clears his throat and continues, “I had the best time keeping you safe today. I’m really happy we were able to find your boss, I know he means a lot to you,” his voice is gentle, kind, and you want to strangle him for it. Your life has been turned upside down, irrevocably changed, and this is all he’s leaving you with? You foolishly anticipated a grand confession, for him to sweep you off your feet and vow that 90 minutes isn’t that long of a flight, that you could make it work while he’s in Quantico and you’re here. That was your mind’s fairytale, though, and this is real life.

“Goodbye, Spencer,” you whisper through an embarrassing onslaught of tears, “I hope you fly safe.”

You disassociate once more, only pulled back to reality by the feel of Spencer’s soft, chapped lips against your forehead. Then, he’s gone.

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januaryembrs · 2 months

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THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

previous chpt | next chpt

'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7.

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now.

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included.

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings.

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up.

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt.

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t.

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around.

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help.

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover.

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,”

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,”

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her.

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard.

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her.

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside.

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?”

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again.

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her.

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances.

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece.

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare.

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching.

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up.

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms.

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly.

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help.

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face.

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried.

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing.

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home.

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her.

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic.

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed.

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it.

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking.

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed.

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her.

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more.

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm.

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few.

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book.

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,”

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation.

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?”

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend.

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words.

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised.

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse.

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out.

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit.

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t.

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,”

Nothing.

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of.

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot.

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver.

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,”

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then.

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,”

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out.

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle.

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before.

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise.

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,”

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished.

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack.

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese.

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this.

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her.

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,”

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?”

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid.

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty.

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there.

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her.

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now.

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound.

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too.

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning.

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol.

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.”

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile.

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,”

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks.

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway.

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in.

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later.

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing.

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months.

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was.

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again.

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door.

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time.

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years.

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab.

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed.

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was.

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans.

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!”

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck.

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with.

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought.

This never happened.

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning.

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s.

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage.

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more.

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom.

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit.

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down.

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her.

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought.

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her.

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke.

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,”

“Hm?”

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks.

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,”

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her.

He felt like a fool.

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.”

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,”

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth.

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly.

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.”

He would be lying if he said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder.

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock.

She kissed him. She had kissed him.

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again.

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together.

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep.

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow.

–

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leewonkyeom · 9 months

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light a flame | jeon wonwoo | masterlist

☆ synopsis

when your roommate quits his job at the coffee shop you frequent you never imagined the new guy would be hot or even your type. to make matters worse you both study law at the same university.

your friends to try to convince you to get together with him. you try to convince them you just find him really nice... but are you able to convince yourself?

☆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

☆ genre: smau, university au, coffee shop au

☆ warnings: swearing, drinking, implied 18+ content

☆ status: ongoing, updates every thursday and sunday

☆ started: 07.09.23

☆ ended: 21.03.24

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profiles: 1 | 2

chapters:

001: stop thirsting on main

002: i’m not a fucking rat

003: please yn it was for the vine

004: not asking for a friend, i’m asking for me

005: you’re forced to come even if minghao drops of the face of the earth

006: HE’S TALL AND HE GOT A NICE ANGLE SHUT UP

007: you can’t recognize drip even if it’s staring right in your face

008: are you trying to limit my artistic expression?

009: step aside! if anyone’s playing wingman it’s me

010: like slaying monsters?

011: “me as a baby”

012: you obviously know the worth of cancelling

013: is that seungcheol photoshopped as aang from avatar?

014: playing league of legends does not qualify as “having a life”

015: he made me stand outside the coffee shop with a “free hugs” sign

016: good luck, daredevil

017: well, i honestly think you’re both in the wrong

018: then i say spider-man is within the realms of possibility

019: i just wanted the public opinion

020: digital footprint

021: i have faith in the tiger

022: last selfie before we die and i didn’t even look good

023: vernon’s sock drawer isn’t a good hiding place

024: i’m thinking of hanging it in our shared bathroom so seungkwan can be reminded of his good deed

025: oh don’t bring judy into this!

026: staging a storm just so someone can experience the forced proximity trope

027: entering private property in 3... 2... 1

028: i’m not helping a traitor

029: all of my midnight entertainment... gone in seconds

030: yes i will be sharing... / the juices?!

031: uh oh / the ominous period

032: i will go just to prove i’m right

033: oh my god... that woman

034: it means you’re annoying /next

035: i know i’m giving zero context here, but bear with me

036: that guy only has feelings for his right arm

037: how can i dump someone i never even dated?

038: joshua says you can come if you take 10 penalty shots and do a strip tease

039: i can never look any of them in the eyes again... well, except johnny

040: ohh so he’s your super smart study buddy?

041: i didn’t know we had chan’s biggest fan right here

042:i didn’t know you were sending all that, chan. sorry.

043: just a peck

044: as real as spider-man

045: so arguably, it wasn’t even my fault

046: shut up and make out with wonwoo instead

047: special deal only for my boyfriend

048: i’m literally throwing rocks at your window as we speak

049: i’m just training you to be wonwoo’s little pet

050: i’m not having a dog ruin the ambiance

051: epilogue

bonus chapter

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rainydayathogwarts · 2 months

Text

Skin on Skin - Aaron Hotch

Summary: You forget about the hickeys on your neck and when your boss finds out, he's not happy about it. Warnings: Smut, jealous!Hotch, degrading (slightly), semi public sex (they're in an empty office). I think this is the single dirtiest fic I have ever written. Enjoy! wc: 3.2k

It was the hot days in July where you were forced to come into the office that took away your will to live. You'd rolled out of the mysterious man you'd slept with the night before's bed, driving home early so you'd have time to shower and change before coming into work. Deciding on opting out of wearing any makeup other than a little mascara, you changed into trousers and a cotton tank top, shoving a field-appropriate top into your bag just in case. You were already dreading the inevitable hair-sticking-to-your-neck type of heat so much that you forgot about the hickeys littering your neck, the hair tie on your wrist an enemy in disguise, waiting to launch its attack.

When you finally entered the bullpen nearly an hour later, you observed your teammates' attire. Emily had done something similar to you, her blouse hanging from the back of her chair, JJ wearing a thin but figure hugging t-shirt. Derek was sporting a loose, plain t-shirt, while Spencer decided to forego his usual sweater vest, his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, you already assumed that Penny was wearing a sun dress without having to see her.

Placing your iced coffee onto your desk, you busied yourself with finding the paper work you had to finish in your desk drawers. "I should have worn a dress." You complain almost immediately, looking up to the sound of rolling wheels from someone's chair. "I agree. You'd send the big boss into a coma if you did, and we'd all be able to go home." Derek retorts almost immediately, to which you scoff. You never told anyone about your crush on Hotch, but you wouldn't deny it to a room of profilers, so they resorted to teasing. "Ignore Hotch, I'd go into a coma if you wore a dress." Emily adds. You grin, looking up at your best friend from your papers.

You huff, already feeling the sweat on your hairline. Your hands busy themselves with gathering your hair at the back of your head, fishing for the hair tie on your wrist when you see your coworkers' faces. "What?" You look behind you, fully expecting a scene in the kitchen based on their slacked jaws and wide eyes, but there's nothing there. Furrowing your eyebrows, you repeat "What?" Derek starts laughing, and Emily brings a hand up to her face, biting at her thumb nail to hide her smile. You let go of your hair as Spencer and JJ turn to observe the scene, which is you apparently, tilting your head quizzically as you tried to recall what you did this morning.

This morning. You rolled out of the unknown man's bed. The man who you'd slept with last night. You audibly gasped, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. You dove down to look through your bag, fetching your pocket-mirror. "Wow Y/N. Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone." Two things happened as Emily spoke these words: Hotch opened the door to his office, hearing every single syllable that came out of her mouth, and you opened your compact mirror, eyes widening at the number and colour of the hickeys on your neck. A trail of three dark red hickeys painted your neck, and you hadn't even thought about covering them before you left your apartment.

Hotch frowned when he heard the words, almost flinching at the thought of you sleeping around. 'Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone'. Did you sleep around? Is that what Emily meant or was she making a joke? Hotch saw you stand quickly, your hips hitting the wood of your desk and his pupils dilated at the sight, his tongue poking out to wet his lips slightly. "I'll be right back!" You yelped, turning to the direction of the bathroom, Emily immediately standing to follow you.

As you smudged concealer on your neck, you silently thanked whatever higher power was out there that you'd had a makeup pouch in your bag, or you'd be totally fucked. Like, way more than you were now. The door was thrown open by Emily, a massive grin on her face. "You got laid! Was it good? Who was it? Why didn't you tell me!" Your eyes fleeted towards her, and you chuckled quietly. "Yes I got laid, it was good - regular good, guy I met at the grocery store. Devon? David? Doesn't matter. I probably would have told you some time today but looks like you beat me to it."

"Oh. Well if it makes you feel better, I think Hotch looked pretty jealous." You spin towards her, your beauty blender in one hand. "What!? He heard!?" You groaned, throwing you head back. Scratch what you said earlier, Emily was the only person you'd confessed your crush to. You sighed. Well now you probably would never get the chance to be with him. You and Emily walked back to the bullpen, separating when you went into the kitchen, and she went back to her desk. You stopped abruptly at the sight of the one and only person you'd been speak of.

You only just noticed what he was wearing. He abandoned his usual blazer, probably left in his office, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Hotch turned around, mug in hand whilst the water was boiling to find you wide eyed and mouth open in shock. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, his collarbones just barely visible. He nodded his head shortly, but you immediately averted your gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with him. "I-" At the sound of you speaking, Hotch's gaze shot back at you from his mug, putting the kettle down. "I'm sorry about what you had to hear this morning, Sir." Hotch shook his head, returning his stare to his mug. "Don't worry about it L/N. We're all adults." He picked up the kettle again, offering it to you. "Oh no thank you. I just want some water. Normal, cold water."

You stared at his steaming mug in bewilderment and laughed quietly. "That's kind of manic of you, I'm not going to lie." Aaron raised an eyebrow and turned to face you completely. "Right but forgetting you slept with someone isn't." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his retort and you felt the blood rush to your face. Aaron let one of his rare smiles pass at his amusement, and took his mug, beginning to walk away. "I'll see you around Y/N".

Hotch's comment had left you absolutely speechless. For the rest of the day you had thought about the smile that graced his face, only for you to see in the office. He'd even joked about the inappropriate comment Emily had made. It was only when JJ had left, and both Emily and Derek were beginning to pack their things up that you glanced up to where Hotch's office was. The blinds were closed, but you imagined he sat at his desk, vigorously writing reports, whilst occasionally throwing his head back and shutting his eyes in exhaustion.

"Now's your time to make a move lover-girl." Emily's breath hit your neck at she whispered and you jumped, looking back to where she stood just over your shoulder. "You scared me!" She didn't say anything else, but winked at you before speeding up to catch up with Derek so she wouldn't have to wait for the elevator alone. Maybe you shouldn't have told her about the encounter in the kitchen, but you decided that she was right. Maybe you wouldn't make a move, but speaking to Hotch would already be a step forward.

You stood up, wiping your hands on your trousers, attempting to ignore Spencer's unforgiving stare. You weren't holding any papers or folders. That was a big tell for Spencer, who knew more than anyone the liking you had taken to your boss, having to endure several car rides with the two of you alone, sitting in the back seat while you spoke. Walking up to Hotch's office, you took a deep breath - last chance to turn back around. But Spencer was watching, and nothing would be more obvious than if you just turned around and sat back at your desk; the walk of shame.

You knocked twice, waiting for an answer. "Come in!" You peeked your head through the gap of the door before letting yourself in, smiling at Aaron, who sat at his desk with his fingers interlocked behind his head. You shut the door behind you quietly. When he realised it was you, he sat up straight, his hands coming down to rest on the desk. "Y/N. What do you need?" He scanned you for papers to sign, or a bag slung over your shoulder as a sign that you were leaving; you were empty handed. "Hi. I just wanted to say I'm sorry again about what Emily said. I'm really glad you weren't bothered about it. I'm sorry. Again."

Aaron stood up from his desk, and your eyes followed his figure as he stood. He stepped aside from the desk, walking towards you. "Actually Y/N," he starts, his body looming over you as the distance between you decreased. "I was quite bothered with what I heard from Prentiss." Your breath caught in your throat, a hand crossing over your body to clutch your other arm. "What?" He nodded solemnly. "Mhm. I was quite upset to hear that you were with another man."

"Oh."

Your jaw went slack, and you looked into his eyes for any sign of a lie. You watched as one of Aaron's hands came up to your cheek, softly holding your face. His hand trailed down until it held the side of your face and his thumb caressed almost the exact spot you had covered with concealer earlier that day. "I don't like the idea of other men being with you. Other men having sex with you." Your breathing quickened, and you were almost certain he could feel your pulse beneath his hand. "Then do something about it."

Aaron's second hand went around your waist, and this time much less gently pulled your body towards his. His second hand snaked around the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. You moaned in shock, both hands resting on his chest. You returned his kiss immediately, going on your tippy toes to push yourself further into him. Aaron grunted into the kiss, walking forward to press you against the door. His hand came off your neck to lock the door behind you and he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you caught your breath.

He watched you almost predatorily before moving to press kisses on your neck. Your sweaty neck covered in makeup. "Aaron. Aaron." You spoke, pushing his head away from you. He looked down at you worriedly, now taking a couple of steps back, and putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make-" "Aaron stop." He looked up at you from the floor, going silent. "I-my neck is covered in hickeys. From-" You watched his face dawn with realisation. He frowned, turning his back to you and your shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Aaron." He walked to his desk, pulling a couple of tissues, soaking them in water from a bottle he kept on his desk. "Aaron." He then turned to face you again. "Take it off. Whatever is covering them. Take it off."

Your gaze switched between the tissues in his hand to his face and you sighed. Men knew so little about makeup. Despite that, you still walked towards him, taking the wet tissues from his hands, rubbing it against your neck, exposing the hickeys that lay underneath the makeup. "Happy- oh!" Your arms wrapped around Aaron's shoulders as he picked you up, placing you on his desk. He returned his lips to yours in an instant, hands gripping your hips. His lips moved to your neck but this time he's sucking the skin on the other side, replicating the hickeys the other man gave you. "Do I remind you of him? Covering your skin in hickeys?" He grunts, his teeth scraping against your skin. You gasp and your leg twitched, wrapping around one of his legs.

Aaron pulled away from you, his lips swollen and hair out of place. "Answer me." He snapped, his eyes glaring into yours. You shook your head quickly. "No! No, I don't even remember him!" You whined, attempting to pull Aaron closer to you. "What a slut. Can't even remember someone you were with 24 hours ago." Your hips buck against Aaron's hands when they come to the front of your trousers, beginning to unbutton them. "Stand up." You blindly follow his orders, used to obeying him. He spins you around so you're facing the desk and gives you a nudge, hard enough for you to fall forward, but gentle enough for your hands to catch you before you hit the desk.

Before you know it, your trousers are being pushed down to the floor, and you hear a rip of fabric. You gasp, the air hitting your now bare pussy. Looking behind you, you spot Aaron pocketing your ripped panties. "Aaron!" You whimper, but that only gets you a slap to the ass. "Be quiet! Do you want everyone to hear just how much of a whore you are, begging your boss to fuck you?" His words only make you moan, but his hand makes contact with your ass again. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "Good girl." His hands trail up from your hips to the skin under your shirt. "Now take these off."

Both your tank top and bra come off and suddenly you're standing completely naked in Aaron Hotchner's office, while he stands completely dressed. There's a moment of silence, then the sound of metal clinking. Your eyes follow as he places his belt on the desk next to you and he mutters "Don't make me use this." before pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder. You see his trousers hit the floor, followed by his boxers and you so badly want to turn around and see what he's packing, but you do nothing.

Aaron's dick slides between your thighs and you gasp, bending over slightly and spreading your legs farther. You hear Aaron chuckle at your desperation and suck in a deep breath, but you're given no warning when he begins to enter you. He goes in inch by inch, giving you time to stop him if you feel discomfort, but you don't. "Are you okay?" He asks once he's fully inside, the hand at your hips caressing your skin softly. "Yes." He nods, and just like that his soft demeanour is gone and he's thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace, his pupils dilated as he stares fixedly at the spot where his dick enters your pussy.

His pace slows so he can grab both your hands from the desk, holding them in one of his hands as the other one pushes you down so your torso lays on the desk, the cold wood hardening your nipples. Aaron's hands let go of yours - a silent command for you to keep them behind your back - and he gathers your hair away from your face. He can see the sweat glinting on your skin, it must be uncomfortable, he thinks, but the truth is that you're so deep in pleasure you can't think of anything else but that and trying to stay quiet. You shut your eyes tightly, biting your lip to keep you from screaming Aaron's name uncontrollably for the whole building to hear.

Quiet moans still escape you, and you imagine the sound of skin on skin must be loud, but none of that bothers you, not when you're having sex with Aaron. You squeeze your legs together, a subconscious sign that you're close to your orgasm. Aaron clearly sees it because he's tapping one of your legs and muttering "Spread them for me baby." You feel like you're just laying there limply, but you manage to do as he says, and you moan his name louder than you should when you feel his hand snake between your legs in search for your clit. He finds your clit quickly and begins rubbing circles on it, and even with you so lost in pleasure, you realise that Aaron's thrusts are becoming sloppy.

He's close to finishing too. Aaron's grunts begin getting louder and the hand on your clit is getting quicker and more desperate. Your pussy clenches against his dick and you hear a "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck." In response. Aaron's cum is instantly filling you up, and the extra stimulation triggers your release too. You whimper as you come, legs shaking while Aaron begins to slow his movements, the hand on your clit coming to a stop. He stops his movements completely when your eyes open once more and you stop moaning. Instead, he averts his gaze to where his cum is leaking out of you and running down your thighs.

"Shit baby. Let me clean you up." He mimics his earlier movements, getting damp tissues to clean up your thighs before he pulls out of you. "Aaron." You whimper again at the emptiness, hands coming in front of you to push yourself off the desk. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Stay where you are. Let me take care of you." Once Aaron quickly cleans himself up and pulls his boxers up, his whole attention goes to you, crouching down to clean his orgasm off your skin. He even pulls your trousers back your legs, buttoning them up for you before wrapping his arms around your torso, his back against yours. You lay your head on his shoulder and exhale deeply, moving your neck to the side so Aaron can press kisses there.

"Are you okay?" He asks pulling away from you completely so he can observe your face. "I'm more than okay Aaron. Thank you for- for all that." He presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling away to get the rest of your clothes. "Let me take you to dinner." "Now?" He hums yes and you smile, watching as he puts his belt on. "I'd love that. But Spencer-" "Oh forget Spence," He insists "I'm pretty sure the entire building knows." You smile, fingers looping in his belt hoops to pull him closer to you. You kiss him softly and smile. "Right, well let me go to the bathroom and I'll meet you in the lobby?" Aaron nods, so you turn around, exiting his office with a smile on your face.

At your desk, you grab your bag and look up to meet Spencer's eyes. Your face falls at the look on his. He looks partly traumatised, partly smug. "Well how did it go then?" You feel the blood rushing to your face again and you nod "It went well. Yeah, pretty good." But you run off before he gets to reply, dialling a familiar number on your phone.

"Emily you'll never guess what just happened."

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headkiss · 6 months

Note

omg reader and jack making hotch a cute personal christmas present together would absolutely melt my heart 😭❤️ (and hotch's too)

hi lovely! thank u sm for ur request i hope u like it <333 | 0.8k of fluff with jack and hotch!

Aaron Hotchner breathes warmth into your life.

It’s in everything he does. The way he stocks his cupboards with your favorite snacks, the drawers in his dresser that are now yours, the extra hook by the door for your jacket. You never thought you’d find someone like him, someone who treats you so well.

It isn’t just with you, either.

There’s his team and how highly they speak of him, how highly he speaks of them, too. And, of course, there’s his son.

Jack looks up to his dad in a way that tugs at your heartstrings whenever you see it. He sits in his office with him whenever Hotch will let him, even highlights and writes over fake files Aaron gives him that are much more innocent than the ones the BAU actually deal with.

And because Aaron raised him, Jack has that same warmth his father does, only he doesn’t try to conceal it nearly as much.

You’d been worried at first, about what Jack would think of you, how he’d react to a new person in not only his life, but Aaron’s, too. Now, all you feel is lucky that you get to be a part of their life.

With Christmas coming up, you feel luckier than ever.

Jack had waited until Aaron was in the washroom the last time you were over to ask you if you’d help him make a gift for Hotch, and your answer of ‘of course’ was simple as breathing.

Now, you’re sitting with Jack at the kitchen table, Aaron still at the office. You picked him up from school—something you’re happy to do whenever Hotch needs the help, something that makes you feel lucky, too—and went to the craft store before coming back and setting up.

There are supplies spread across the table, markers and glue, stickers and printed pictures.

“Can you pass me the blue, please?” Jack asks you.

You smile, handing him the marker he asked for and smiling even bigger at his sweet ‘thank you.’ Then, you hear the jingle of keys turning in the door, and you and Jack look at each other surprised, his eyes wide.

“How about this,” you say, “I’ll distract your dad, you hide his present, yeah? We’ll finish it next time, promise.”

Jack nods, his face serious like you’ve just given him a real mission. He starts packing things up right away.

Aaron rarely comes home early, no matter how much he wants to. He’s focused, determined, always doing as much as he can while he’s in the office. So, whenever he gets the chance, he tries to get home sooner. To get home to Jack. To you.

His shoulders feel lighter as soon as he steps inside, as soon as he hears the muffled sound of your voice, the response of his son’s laughter.

You come out of the kitchen, the neckline of your t-shirt loose over your shoulder, a pair of Aaron’s socks bunched at your ankles. “Hey, Hotchner. You’re home early.”

“Hi, honey.” Aaron sets his things down, opting to get you in his arms, instead. He reaches for you at the same time you move towards him, like magnets. He trails his fingertips down your arms, holding your hands in his. “Where’s Jack?”

You squeeze Aaron’s hands once before letting go. “One second.”

You turn back to the kitchen, peeking your head in to find that Jack has, for the most part, cleared the table of any evidence. When you look at him, he gives you a thumbs up, “all clear.”

Hotch knows something’s going on with the way you’re acting. He is a profiler, after all. But he decides not to ask, because he trusts you, and he figures he’ll find out soon enough.

You’ve never been the best at keeping secrets from him.

He comes into the kitchen after you, tossing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer so he can press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Dad!” Jack cheers, rushing to hug Aaron’s legs.

“Hey, buddy.”

When Aaron looks at the table, he notices that Jack must’ve missed a spot when hiding any evidence, leaving behind two markers. Red and green.

He can feel his heartbeat do something funny in his chest, jumping, skipping, like the rhythm has shifted to beat in a different pattern. He thinks about what you must’ve been doing: making some sort of gift with Jack.

Aaron didn’t think he could love his family anymore, then you came into it and everything felt right, like you’d been the last puzzle piece to click into place.

He pats Jack on the shoulder and kisses your head again.

And on Christmas morning, when Aaron opens the scrapbook you and Jack made him, his smile is instant and wide. He swears he feels his heart swell in his chest.

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unseededtoast · 1 month

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Three

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

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

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

"I don't care what it takes or what it costs, I'm going to find who is doing this and I will make sure they never see the light of day again."

Spencer gets to the office unusually early after receiving an ominous text from Derek the previous night asking if Spencer could come in before anyone else gets there.

Ever since that text Spencer has been trying to think of things Derek would need to speak to him so privately about. He went back through his memories with a fine-tooth comb and came up short. He sits his bag on his desk and looks around, seeing nothing but an empty office.

His eyes drift to your desk where he sees both bouquets of flowers and he frowns. Part of him wants to get rid of them for you, but the profiler part tells him to leave them be for now. If the stalker is someone who has building access the removal of the flowers could easily upset him.

A little voice in the back of Spencer's mind scoffs at the idea. He's tiptoeing around a stalker's feelings while you're so obviously torn up about all of this. In a twisted way Spencer feels like the stalker's feelings are being placed above your own and that makes him feel guilty; but he knows in stalking cases that they must be handled very meticulously.

His hand find his phone in his pocket and he debates whether he should text you or not. But before he can decide, Derek steps into the office from the break room with a somber look on his face. Whatever he called Spencer here for is no light matter. Spencer's stomach drops and his chest fills with anxiety as Derek walks over to him.

"Why don't we sit down over here?" Derek says with a sigh, gesturing with a nod to his desk. Spencer follows him wordlessly and pulls over a seat.

"What's going on?" Spencer is able to break through his anxiety to ask the obvious question. Derek picks at the lid of his coffee for a few seconds before he looks up to Spencer.

"What I'm about to tell you is in full confidence, okay?" Derek asks and suddenly Spencer's mouth feels like the Sahara desert.

"Okay." Spencer agrees, his heart pounding in his chest. Derek licks his lips and sighs.

"I found something yesterday, something that implicates her." Derek's eyes sweep to your desk. Spencer's eyebrows furrow, he doesn't quite follow what Derek's saying.

"What do you mean?" Spencer's palms start to feel sweaty, the anxiety lingers heavily in his chest.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself?" Derek says and hands Spencer a folder from his top desk drawer.

Spencer's eyes scan the documents inside and his stomach turns. It doesn't make sense. No, surely it can't be? There's no way.

Spencer closes the folder after looking at every page and hands it back to Derek. His mind is racing at a million miles per second and for the first time in a long time, Spencer is speechless.

"Don't say anything to her I'm still collecting evidence. The others only know a little bit, so let's just keep this between us for now." Derek says as he places the folder back in his desk. Spencer abruptly stands from the seat and nods. He has to get out of here, the air is suffocating.

After Spencer excuses himself he finds a secluded room and takes some deep breaths. He feels like he's stuck between a rock and a hard place; between the truth and a mountain of lies. The only issue is that he can't distinguish truth from lie.

His mind tells him that you can't possibly have done what Derek is accusing you of. There's just no way. But then again, if Spencer disregards your friendship, it makes some sense.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, Spencer walks out to find evidence of his own; though he's slightly afraid of what he might find.

———

After a night of little sleep you drag your feet as you get ready for the day. On one hand you're eager to do some digging but on the other hand you're almost terrified of why your teammates think you're responsible for the altered documents. What could they have possibly found?

When you arrive to the office you don't go to the sixth floor right away. Instead you take a detour to the main reception desk where the usual desk worker sits. You had meant to speak with her on Monday but things quickly spiraled and you had forgotten. She greets you with a sweet smile that you try to reciprocate, but you fear yours is more reminiscent of a grimace.

"How can I help you?" She asks, taking a break from typing.

"Were you here when some flowers got delivered on Monday?" You try not to sound too desperate. The receptionist taps her fingers on the desk as she speaks, her eyes lighting up when she finds an answer.

"I was! They were beautiful." She compliments and you try to swallow the sickness.

"Do you remember who brought them in? Did they work here?" You lean in closer as you ask, eager to hear her response. But your heart sinks when you hear her answer.

"I do, it was an employee from the shop down the street." Her smile reruns to her face while your hope shrivels.

"Thank you. If anyone delivers any more to the sixth floor could you ask who is sending them?" You ask and she nods.

"Absolutely." You give her one more thanks before heading to the elevator. You had hopes that she would give you better information, that the stalker himself would have delivered the flowers. But you realize that all hope is not entirely lost; the flower shop should have record of who ordered.

Your stomach twists as you enter the office, still feeling the effect of the team's attitude towards you. As you walk to your desk you wish any of them would even spare you a glance, or even glare, but it seems they're actively ignoring you. And the one person you can always depend on is nowhere to be found, but he's obviously been here as his bag is slung over the back of his chair.

Hating the silence you pick up the phone and call the florist down the street. This is the most solid lead you have and you figure you may as well track it down. The phone rings a few times before a lady picks up.

"Blooming Bouquets this is Noelle speaking, how may I help you?" Her voice is sickly sweet and you can't help but to imagine a kind older lady on the other end.

"Hi, yes I'm just calling to inquire about two orders placed this previous week. I think my boyfriend might have sent them but I just want to be sure. I'm hoping you can help me with that?" You fabricate your story with ease. People are more willing to help if they think you know the sender.

"Sure thing, was there a card attached?" She asks and you hear her typing.

"Yes, one said something about each flower being a chapter of our story. Does that sound familiar?" You focus on making your voice sound casual, you don't want any sense of apprehension to poke through. The woman types some more.

"Hmm, yes that does sound familiar. But it looks like they paid cash and hand-wrote the note themselves. I'm sorry but we don't keep track of cash orders like that." She says and you want to slam your head against the desk. Of course they don't keep electronic records of cash orders.

"No worries thank you!" You force a happy tone and then hang up the phone.

Of course the stalker would take enough care to cover their tracks every step of the way. If they're smart enough to work for the FBI then it makes sense that they would know to take extreme care like that; especially considering they know you work in the BAU.

You look around and notice that the rest of the team is seemingly working on their own tasks but you suspect they were all eavesdropping on you. They're all likely profiling you right now, even though the team swore to never profile each other.

The feeling of your own teammates turning against you is suffocating and you can't stand it anymore. You're out of leads and your team seems to think you're fabricating everything. With Spencer still nowhere in sight, you go back to Penelope's office and hope that she doesn't think you're making this up too.

You knock on her door and she opens quickly. And you don't have to be a profiler to see the slight change in her facial expression. It seems she thinks you're guilty of something as well. But you know that you're more likely to get answers from her than anyone else. So, you invite yourself in.

"You busy?" You ask softly, stepping into her office. A million different expressions cross her face in a millisecond before she answers back.

"Not at the moment, no." Her lack of questioning and calm demeanor further proves your theory; she thinks you're guilty of something as well.

Or maybe she doesn't and you're reading too far into things. Maybe you're becoming paranoid and making yourself look more suspicious. A thousand different thoughts race through your mind as you take your usual spot in Penelope's office.

She returns to her work without another word and you observe her hand trembling ever so slightly as she types. Knowing her well enough by now, you decide to wait it out and see if she breaks. It's not unusual for her to crack under the pressure and give up some information; no matter how tiny the secret. So you sit, and you wait. But she never breaks. With a sigh, you decide to try one last idea.

"Pen, what's going on?" Your genuine sadness leaks into your words. It's not all some elaborate interrogation, she really is your friend and you really are torn up about everything. Her fingers stop typing and it's like she's a deer in headlights.

"I don't- I can't- I promised-" she stammers and you can see the hint of tears begin welling up in her eyes. Your heart sinks and your stomach churns. Whatever she knows, it's gravely serious if she still isn't cracking.

With pleading eyes and a cracking voice you fight to keep your composure.

"Please. What's going on?" You ask, hoping that she gives you even the slightest hint. But to your dismay, she looks away from you and shakes her head.

"I really can't. I'm so sorry." She wipes her eyes and you stand from the seat. Without saying another word, you exit.

Your throat is tight with emotion, your nerves shot with the mystery of the unknown. And you know that if you're ever going to figure this out that you need to find Spencer. He may be the last ally you have in this office.

———

Spencer spends the majority of the day tucked away in a secluded room where he's free to delve into the information at his fingertips. A mix of paper and electronic records litter the table in front of him, his mind working overtime to put the pieces together. He thinks he might have a good start on the timeline of things and he feels hopeful that the truth will be exposed soon.

He knows you'll come looking for him sooner rather than later, but he's hoping that by the time you find him that he will know for certain whether you're guilty as sin, or if you're being framed.

The watch on his wrist glistens in the light as he checks the time. Knowing that you're likely hunting him down at the very moment, he gathers his things and puts them into his bag. If you did find him here, the last thing he would want you to see is what he's doing.

You're his best friend after all, have been for years. And he doesn't want you to think that he's suspicious of you in the slightest. Truthfully, he feels guilty for even considering that you're some deceptive mastermind; but in this line of work he knows he has to prove it.

By now most of the team should have left for the day. But Spencer is confident that you're still here. He walks back out to his desk and his suspicions are confirmed. There you are, sitting at your desk, hands gripping your head as if you're about to pull out your hair.

You must have heard him entering the space because you turn around. He sees your bloodshot eyes and knows that you've had a hard day. The little voice in the back of his mind is screaming that guilty people can't fake distress like this; but the logical part tells him that it's not impossible for a skilled profiler like yourself to be able to do so.

But he knows you, he's known you for years; and so for the first time in a long time, he wrestles with his logic.

He sighs and walks over to you. Despite his conflicting thoughts about the situation, you're still his friend and he can clearly see that you need someone. Your tired, tear-stained eyes seem to stare into his soul.

It makes his heart break just a little more and he knows for certain then and there that you have nothing to do with this. He would be willing to put his career on it.

———

"Spencer." Your voice is hoarse but you don't care. You keep your bottom lip from trembling as he offers a small, sympathetic smile.

"I'm here." Is all he says, and you're thankful.

"What's going on? Where were you?" You ask him, hoping to hear that he found whoever is doing this. But instead of answering any of your questions, he avoids them completely.

"Listen, you didn't hear this from me, but there might be a file in Morgan's top drawer you might be interested in. Take pictures so you can read them later, be quick about it." His voice is low and serious, far more serious than you've ever seen him and it seems to sober you up from your downward spiral.

You nod, hanging onto every word he says. Your eyes dart over to Morgan's empty desk.

"I understand." Is all you say before he nods and leaves without another word. You watch as he leaves the office, his shoulders tense.

You wait for him to board the elevator before you go to Morgan's desk. Luckily the top drawer isn't locked and you find a single folder in there. Heeding Spencer's advice, you quickly take pictures of the documents inside so you can review them all later. And in under two minutes, the folder is put back exactly how you found it.

Your shaking hand puts your phone into your back pocket and you stroll out of the office as if it's any other day. The office is entirely empty at this point, your footsteps echo in the hall on your way to the elevator. Adrenaline courses through your veins and you can't wait to get home and look over those documents.

But whatever they may say, you know for sure that you still have Spencer on your side. If the rest of the team has turned against you, he's the only one you can count on right now.

The thought of him being the only one in your corner warms your heart. Even after everything the two of you had been through together over the years, this in particular feels like a defining moment.

———

Unknown POV

Looking at the watch around my wrist, I realize I only have a few minutes before I need to leave. The soft material in my hand seems to radiate its warmth throughout my whole body, and I inhale its scent deeply.

It's even more heavenly than I could have imagined.

As I unlock my car door I can't bear to let go of my most prized possession. It took a lot of meticulous planning but it has all paid off. Everything went according to plan.

Her coworkers are divided amongst themselves and think that she is responsible for something she did not do. And while I regret having to essentially set her up, it provides me the perfect opportunity to swoop in and save the day. All I have to do is wait for the call that I know is sure to come soon.

However, I can't say as though I'll be happy to undo what I've done, as I believe it more accurately reflects the BAU's team dynamic and took an immense amount of planning and caution. But I digress, she is worth the struggle.

I drive off into the night, material clutched in my hand, dreaming of what our life will look like together one day.

———

You sit at your dining table in disbelief, phone clutched tightly in your hand. Your eyes quickly read and reread the documents you took photos of and come to understand why your entire team is ignoring you.

Several previous case reports have been altered, under your name. They've been altered in a way that gives yourself credit for finding and apprehending the unsubs, while the other team members appear to essentially be background characters.

You feel sick to your stomach as you read report after report that's been replaced with false information. If this gets out to Hotch you could lose your job for falsifying documents. Though you never touched them after submitting them, the electronic records clearly show that your credentials were used to make the changes.

With sweating palms and a churning stomach you put your phone down and try to make sense of it all. What would someone possibly stand to gain from doing this? Is it to disparage your character? Make your team not trust you? The possibilities feel endless.

Unable to look at the altered reports anymore, you focus back on your apartment. Not having cleaned in days, the place is messy; an organized mess you like to call it. And you need a distraction from everything anyways, so why not tidy up a bit?

You go about picking up clutter and throwing it away, and when you reach the entry area, a small piece of paper catches your attention. Picking it up you read what's been written on it. It's the same note Spencer left you on the table the night he brought you home from the bar. But you could have sworn you left it on the dining table across the apartment.

Too tired to put a lot of thought into it, you simply ball the note up in your hand and toss it away with everything else. It was probably just the wind that carried it over there anyways.

Your next task is to straighten out the furniture from where Spencer had stayed. The couch had been moved a few inches over from his tossing and turning, as it usually does. With ease you scoot the couch back to its designated spot, but realize that the lamp had also been moved.

The lamp is typically beside the window, next to the couch, but instead it's been moved away from the window. With scrunched eyebrows you stare at the lamp, trying to figure out how it could have been moved; it wouldn't have been moved by Spencer on the couch, and you're left dumbfounded.

You move it back to its intended spot, fingers lingering on the cool metal as you try to figure it out. Maybe you accidentally moved it previously while vacuuming and forgot to put it back? You figure that's probably what happened, you've been too tired and busy lately, so it's entirely possible you just simply forgot to move the lamp back.

Feeling something weird in the air, you draw the curtains shut and your body suddenly shivers with a chill. The atmosphere suddenly feels different, heavier almost. And the tiny voice of paranoia begins whispering in the corners of your mind.

Is it just a coincidence the note was found by the front door? And did you really forget to move the lamp back? After all, you can't exactly remember the last time you vacuumed.

These concerning thoughts flood your mind as you operate on autopilot, folding the pile of laundry on your bed. You had meant to fold all of these earlier, but with everything going on, it's fallen to the wayside.

Your fingers tremble with every fold and your knees feel like they could give out. You count on your fingers how many days worth of laundry you had in that pile and realize that you're short one sweater. And you know for a fact you hadn't worn it again since it had been washed.

The note, the lamp, the sweater. Individually each incident can be chalked up to a coincidence or some sort of tired mistake. But when you consider all three elements together, paired with the other weird happenings, you come to one grave conclusion. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and echoes in your head, your mouth is as dry as the desert, bile rises in your throat.

Someone has been inside your apartment.

———

Every second that passes feels like its own small eternity. Your eyes burn from being awake so long, but the adrenaline pumping throughout you prevents you from going to sleep. Sweat won't stop making your palms slick.

The moonlight that trickles through your curtains makes the metal of your gun shine dimly. It hasn't left your side since you figured out someone broke into your home.

You had taken refuge in your bedroom, fearing that being in the living area would make you too exposed to whoever may be watching. Tears had slid their way down your cheeks without you really even noticing, it was like your whole system was going into shock. Sure, you had seen several cases of stalking on the job, but it's a whole different game when you're the one on the receiving end.

Now, sitting alone in your apartment, you understand how all of the other victims must have felt. Isolated. Scared. Sick. Full of dread and impending doom. You saw it over and over again, and you knew what usually comes next. It's at this point when the stalkers usually make themselves fully known.

The thought of someone walking around your home while you were away makes you nauseous. Who knows what they found, what they touched, and what else they may have decided to keep for themselves. Your body involuntarily trembles as you struggle to keep your composure.

This is entirely unlike you. You had never been the one to shrink from a challenge, never once had you backed down from a case when your instincts told you it was dangerous. But here you sit, feeling like a coward.

You sit as still as a statue until the sun comes up.

———

Hours later you find the courage to move from your bedroom. You had your ear pressed to the door listening for movement on the other side for a solid half hour before you decided it was safe to go, but only after tucking your gun into your waistband. Feeling like prey inside your own home is a foreign feeling, and one you'd never like to feel again.

You tiptoe to the kitchen, desperate for some water. With shaky hands you down three glasses and let the empty cup sit on the counter; you simply can't be bothered with putting it away right now, even if you did just clean last night.

Your eyes scan with great intensity to see if you can find anything else out of place, and it's in front of your door where you see a manila folder laying just inside, as if someone slid it underneath the door.

The folder is heavy and stuffed full of pages. You take it to your dining table and open it and immediately wish you hadn't.

There are several printed photos of yourself inside. They're from press publications, your official FBI identification photo, and some look like they had been taken by the stalker themselves. Behind the photos are printed news articles and highlighted are the sentences that speak to your contribution to the case. But it's the annotations in the margins that really catch your eye. For each highlighted sentence there's a note accompanying it. Each note says something to the effect of you deserving more credit.

Hastily, you flip through each page, eyes scanning over the stalker's handwritten notes until you reach the last one. The last page is a simple piece of lined paper, the words look like they were written with a pen. Your stomach drops as you read the last line and your body moves on its own accord, picking up your phone and calling Spencer.

———

Your foot anxiously taps on the floor as you watch Spencer look over the folder. His eyes are intensely focused, his eyebrows scrunched together as he reads, and rereads, every single word. He's organized the photos and pages in a way he understands and you let him do his thing. After all, he's the most intelligent man you've ever met, and the only real ally you have at the moment.

He arrived not even twenty minutes after you had called him. You hadn't even been able to get the words out properly before he told you he was on his way. As soon as he walked through your door, you hugged him as if you'd never see him again.

"Hey, hey it's okay, I'm here now." His voice was soft, tender, and understanding. You took a few moments to take in his scent, face buried in his chest to ground yourself to reality. Eventually, you let go of his shirt and stepped away, looking up to see his concerned eyes.

You told him what happened last night and he was quick to tell you that you should've called him immediately.

"I know Spencer, but I just, I just froze. I never freeze." Your voice betrayed you and you worked hard to keep from crying again. Worry clearly shown on his face, Spencer guided you to the living room for a moment to allow you to relax before you eventually moved into the dining area so he could look at the folder.

And now, here you sit, watching him with tired eyes. But somehow, you only feel relieved that he's here, the exhaustion doesn't seem to phase you as you watch Spencer. He had shown up in his pajamas, his hair not even brushed and his glasses on instead of contacts. It didn't matter though, you already had spare everything for him because he stays over so often.

You admire the way he always looks effortlessly good, and you appreciate how safe he makes you feel. Your eyes linger on his face, where his glasses rest on his nose. Every few minutes he reaches up and pushes them back and you can't help but to smile just a little. You won't ever admit it to anyone, but you like the way he looks in glasses more than when he doesn't use them.

However, you admiration is cut short as he reads aloud the words written on the last page. Even just hearing them makes your skin crawl.

"Don't worry darling, soon enough we will be together, and you will see how much I adore you."

Your eyes lock with Spencer's. His holds an intensity you've never seen before, like a fire had been ignited within them. His jaw tightens and he sets the paper down. You watch as he scowls at the page, his hands clenching and unclenching before he leans forward and grabs the edge of the table. He looks towards you, his face close to yours, and with the most calm voice ever he simply states,

"I don't care what it takes or what it costs, I'm going to find who is doing this and I will make sure they never see the light of day again."

Part Four

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

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

Text

Fire Is The Devils Only Friend

Chapter Six

There was no such thing as making it on your own with a high profile boyfriend. That was why she kept her relationship a secret. But then after a PR fuck up, her boyfriend is forced into PR relationship and she's left on the side lines, missing him

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When Carlos came home, the house was quiet. He called out his girlfriend's name, but she didn't respond. "Piñón!" He shouted, but the dog didn't come running up to him.

It was fine, no reason to panic. She was probably just asleep, stayed up to watch the Grand Prix and was now curled up in bed with Piñón. Carlos left his bags in the hallway and set off towards the bedroom.

But the bedroom was empty and her things were gone. "Cariño!" Carlos shouted, panic in his voice. "Piñón! Baby! Where are you!" He ran from room to room, desperately searching for the two of them.

He must have ran past the fridge three times before he spotted the note. Stuck to the fridge with a magnet from their Bali vacation. Carlos pulled off the note and put the magnet back.

Carlos,

I love you. I will always love you, but I can't do this. Maybe it's because I love you that watching you, kissing and proclaiming your love to another, is so hard.

I took Piñón to my mothers house. You can come pick him up.

She didn't sign it, didn't leave her name at the bottom of the letter, just the address. Carlos couldn't help the strained sob that left his lips, the paper crumpling in his hands.

But he had no time for this. He wanted her back, and he was going to get her back. Grabbing the ring box from his underwear drawer and ran out to his car, driving off before the door was shut.

Carlos broke several speed limits on his way to her mothers house. Several times he nearly crashed; it was a miracle that he rang the door bell in one piece.

As soon as it rang, he heard Piñón barking from inside. He waited, hand holding the ring box in his pocket as he waited for the door to be pulled open.

"Oh," said her mother as soon as she laid eyes on Carlos. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I don’t think it is, is it?" She said, lips pulled tight.

Carlos had dreamed of this moment, the moment he'd get to meet her parents. He thought he'd either be asking for permission to marry her, or showing off the ring he had slipped onto her finger. The ring that was currently in a little black box in his pocket.

"Please, I need to speak to her," he said, squeezing the box.

She rolled her eyes, called for her daughter, and stepped away, leaving Carlos alone.

It was Piñón he saw first. The dog pulled on his lead, trying to get to his master. But she held his lead between her delicate fingers. "His bed is inside," was all she said as she passed the lead to him.

But Carlos didn't take the lead. "Cariño," he said, but she shook her head.

"Don't, Carlos," she whispered. "Didn't you get my notes?"

He swallowed thickly. "My love, I..." He sucked in a breath, pulled out the ring box and got down onto his knee.

"Oh, Carlos. Don't do this," she whispered, her breath shaking. "Please don't do this."

"Marry me," he said as soon as she had finished speaking. "Marry me. I'll leave Ferrari, I'll stop driving if I have to. I just need you in my life."

Suddenly the door was open fully and she was walking Piñón past him. She opened the door of his Golf and placed Piñón inside. She stroked and kissed his head. "Be a good boy," she whispered against his fur. "Be the good boy I know you can be."

She closed the door and walked back inside, grabbed his bed from the living room and shoved it into Carlos's arms. "You can never begin to understand what you mean to me, Carlos. But I can't do this. I tried. I really tried because I couldn't imagine living without you. But even that is too much of a burden on my heart.”

Carlos didn't stand up, not until she had shut the door in his face. But, even then, it took him a minute to stand up. It was only when Piñón began barking from the car that he stood.

His legs were shaking as he stood up and climbed into the car. He shut the door and immediately took off, unable to even stand being on her driveway.

For the last year, all either of them had known was each other. Carlos still had the ring, but he couldn't imagine giving it to anybody but her. When Carlos got back to the house, their house, he put tge ring box back into his underwear drawer. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't their house. It was just his.

Carlos pr have a lot he needed to rebuild from. Just a broken heart. She had nothing. Nothing but her book. She had nowhere but her mothers to live and nobody she could to about this with.

For over a month, Carlos didn't sleep peacefully. How could he when his bed was so cold?

He remembered the first time he invited Rebecca back to his room. Carlos hated himself. As he laid beside her naked body, he hated himself. Because she wasn't her. She would never be her.

Eventually she moved on. It took just over a year, twelve and a half months until she went on her first date. Even then, she couldn't help but think of Carlos, think of the man she had almost married.

Another best seller came out a year after their breakup. Carlos read it. Again and again he read it. In the garage he read it. Laying beside Rebecca, he read it.

There was one time where the cameras caught Carlos crying, tears falling onto the pages of her book. The picture circulated everywhere, but she never saw it.

And, at the end of the year, Lewis Hamilton contacted Ferrari, expressing a desire to drive for the Italy based team. Carlos didn't know this, not until he got the call that his seat was filled.

She was his soulmate. Everything he had put her through in an attempt to keep his seat, and it had all been for nothing.

He had lost her over a seat he didn't have.

Now, he had nothing.

FIN

a/n: oh my god its done. I can't believe it's done. Once again I'd like to thank @darleneslane for letting me bring this series to life

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ssahotchnerr · 9 months

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Thinking about reader always sharing her water with Hotch to remind him to hydrate ehehe. She sets reminders to make sure he actually does hydrate and makes sure to tell the others to do the same as well

gentle reminders

here's everyone's reminder to hydrate!!! cw; established relationship, bau!reader, fluff!

if it weren't for you, the only liquid aaron would mainly consume would be coffee. in such a demanding occupation, especially at his high authority, it made sense.

had trouble sleeping or didn't get enough? coffee. dreading a meeting and needed to be rejuvenated? coffee. had no other choice but to stay up into the early hours of the morning doing paperwork? coffee. the list was seemingly endless.

as a result, you've taken it upon yourself to ensure dehydration didn't strike him, especially from all the dilution coffee itself produced. if he's drinking that much of it, he could at least counteract it by drinking equal the amounts of water. and regardless, he should be consuming more water to begin with; making it more of a habit. his usual excuse of 'forgetting', wasn't going to cut it anymore.

and if he's going to listen to anyone, it's going to be you.

you've preemptively set several reminders throughout the day to better aaron's water intake. your ringer was just loud enough - if tucked in your bag or drawer to gain only your awareness - mindful of it's possible obnoxiousness in the bullpen. if it were to go off loudly several times throughout the workday, it would surely be a reason for complaints. while out in the field, like now, you simply set it on vibrate.

the familiar buzz grabbed your attention, your eyes moving downward to your phone. the screen's lit; the notification of the reminder displayed in the middle.

conveniently, aaron happened to be seated at your left, discussing the geographic profile with spencer and the lead officer, narrowing down the unsub's comfort zone. you screwed open the cap of your water bottle, the seal producing a minor snap, and gingerly setting it down afterwards.

not wanting to interrupt, you simply tugged on aaron's sleeve to gain his attention. his eyes darted towards you in question, and slowly, you slid the opened bottle in his direction.

a gentle, amused almost-laugh puffed out of his nose, not surprised as this was routine at this point, and obeyed. once he managed to find a break within the ongoing conversation, did he grab the water and take a hearty swig. his eyes refound yours, flickering with a warm glint.

it caused your heart to flutter; aaron's eyes softening at your gesture. the quick switch between stoic unit chief, to simply aaron, was a near rare occurrence in the weighted atmosphere of cases, specifically while in the attendance of others. so when it did appear, a greater, more-than-usual surge of affection rippled through you.

but just as quickly as you noticed the lightness, it vanished. aaron's usual pensive expression returned, only his gaze pointed was at you this time, a silent push within it. you rolled your eyes in understanding and retook the bottle from him to take a sip yourself, holding back a smile.

aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, shoulders relaxing in satisfaction.

meanwhile across from you, dave was watching the whole exchange, a rather entertained expression on his face. "how romantic." he mouthed silently - when you noticed his stare.

all in fun, your eyes narrowed at him, before they flicked to his water bottle. with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms and held your gaze, practically daring him, 'okay, your turn.'

dave's tongue clicked in disapproval, solely for his flair for the dramatics, and began cranking open his water. and spencer being as observant as he was, noticed too and urgently grabbed his water, knowing you would be grounding onto him next. he tucked it under his arm, planning to drink once he concluded circling locations on the map exhibited on the board in front of him.

and for those who currently weren't at the precinct - derek, emily, jj, and even penelope all the way back home - you seized your phone, firing off a quick text in your shared group chat: hydrate reminder!

aaron peeked at his phone as his text tone went off, lips tugging into a barely-there, adoring smile as he read the message. his hand found your thigh underneath the table, giving it a doting squeeze.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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icallhimjoey · 1 month

Text

Reinvent Love

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: we got trouble in paradise !!!!! same sidenote once more: you don’t need to have read define close or explain us, but it’ll obviously give you backstory, which might help!

Wordcount: 3.8K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Excruciating, if he thought about it too long. Fine, if he just sucked it up and went with it. If he didn’t spend hours and hours and hours of his time stuck inside his own head, it was fine.

Your pace.

He was going to have to go with your pace.

If Joe was going to win this... contest he was having, mainly with himself, he was going to have to stick to your pace. Like he had done before. And yea, it was slow. Maybe even stagnant most days. But he had always let you take the lead and had always let you find new normals between the two of you.

It had worked like that when you lived together, and it was going to have to work like that now that you no longer did.

Was it awful?

Yes.

Because in which direction were you even moving? Joe had no idea. You might as well have been going backwards, there was no way for him to tell, and it was eating Joe alive. But he was just going to have to deal with it.

Your lead. Your time. Your pace.

With your new flatmate, your inside-the-flat behaviour had drastically changed. What was once the exact location of all the intimacy was slowly turning into a place that resembled outside. Where strangers were (Josh). Where people could perceive you (Josh).

The safety was gone, a little.

When you stirred awake after falling asleep on your sofa, and Joe was still sat by your feet, casually holding onto an ankle still, the first few seconds of seeing him there made you smile. He was watching TV, which was showing something you hadn’t put on, and the changing lights that illuminated him gave you a good look at his profile. At the curve of his nose. At his slightly parted lips. His tongue working along his teeth. Along the inside of his cheek.

God, he looked fucking perfect.

Even with his hair too short and unstyled.

Even with his tongue pushing his face into weird expressions.

You got to wake up slow, felt like you’d been out for over an hour, easily, and loved the little fragment you got of how things used to be. Just the two of you on the sofa. TV on. Soft touches. No one else there to make it weird. To ask questions. To give looks.

Just closeness and gentle affection, a touch of protectiveness as you were being held by the ankle as you’d napped.

But then you heard a kitchen drawer close behind you, and you immediately balled up in a knee-jerk response. You pulled your feet right from Joe’s lap as you tucked in your knees. Ripped your ankle right from his grasp.

And it was silly.

It was just your feet.

Josh likely would’ve seen them on Joe’s lap already.

He would have had to have let Joe in too. You remembered the key you had meant to slip back into his coat pocket but had forgotten about.

All Josh really knew about Joe was that he used to live in the flat, and that you still remained good mates. Close friends. Sort of flatmates still, but not, because, location.

You had gone through every which way of describing you and Joe whilst trying to remain an air of casualness.

Yea, Joe would still come over a lot, since you were friends, you know? Normal stuff.

But then your friend had gone, “Ha. Yea, all right. Good mates. That’s one way of describing it.” Like she’d known anything – she didn’t.

She had no idea.

Not a clue.

She couldn’t have, because you and Joe weren’t like you and Joe were around others.

You didn’t blame her, but you’d quickly changed the subject anyway. Swiftly moved onto a different topic. Asked Josh if he liked pizza, because you had pizza a lot in this flat. Josh did like pizza. But, only without any cheese on. “I’m vegan.” You didn’t think that technically even counted as pizza. But, sure.

It was just your feet.

And it was just Josh in the kitchen, likely not even paying attention to where your feet were.

You realised it a second too late though. Your knees had already been tucked in, and Joe’s face had already fallen. You could see how his eyes darted from you to your new flatmate over the back of the sofa a few times.

In a bid to save yourself, to save the situation, you straightened your legs again and pushed both feet into Joe’s thigh. Masked it as a tired post-nap stretch and smiled through a yawn, doing your best to move on as quickly as you could.

Unbeknownst to you, there had been some quiet conversation going between Joe and Josh. Soft spoken words, no louder than the TV, but not quite whispers either. Voices hushed and kept low because, she’s asleep. And she’d come home and looked like her Friday had lasted a whole month, Josh had chuckled as he picked up the empty pizza box, tidying up.

Joe had scrunched up his eyebrows and couldn’t help his little pout as he’d cast his eyes down to look at you.

“Yea, the pizza sort of gave it away.” He’d said, and for a moment, Josh’s mind swam as it tried to make sense of what Joe’d just said.

And Joe saw, but he didn’t really want to explain it. Didn’t want to tell him that, pizza sort of meant a lot. It was just food, and not even your or his favourite, but there was comfort and routine and pizza sort of belonged to the two of you.

Pizza was yours.

Josh didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, no, this was mine – I had this.”

And, oh, my God, Joe could really fucking kick himself for thinking the worst.

In casual chat, Joe puzzled it together. You’d gotten home. Seemed annoyed. Tired. Overall just in a terrible mood. And Josh had offered you a bite of his pizza – the one he was already eating when you’d walked in. And you’d looked at it for a second and then had gone, “Not hungry. Thank you though.”

Joe was the worst.

He watched you sleep and you looked so peaceful. So soft. He was the actual worst person ever. Drawing conclusions where there wasn’t even anything to be drawn in the first place.

Joe watched you as Josh quietly cleaned the kitchen. Listened as he complained about not being able to open the window in his ensuite, how it would get stuck all the time, and asked if Joe knew anything about that. Joe didn’t tear his eyes away from you as he said, “Yea, she was meant to get that fixed, but ended up just opening the bedroom window to air the room out.”

Your cheeks were slightly blushed, and you sounded a little congested. Joe could hear your breath rumble a bit, like it was getting stuck in your chest. Start of a cold, maybe, he thought, and he knew that it was probably one more thing that had added to all the bad today. All the bad that had made you text him to come over.

To fix it.

And he fucking loved fixing it.

Joe wanted to make you tea and feed you soup and stick you into one of his hoodies. Stuff your hot water bottle into the pocket for good measure. Hold you close to his chest where, sometimes, if he held you there for long enough, you’d suddenly cry. You would sob without explanation, bury your face into his neck, and it was weird but Joe would fucking glow on the inside from the knowledge that you deemed Joe safe enough to get your tears out.

God, he was so fucking gone for you.

Loved you.

Loved you loved you.

Did he not want you to have a nice flatmate? Did he want you to have one that didn’t offer you pizza after a long, rough day? Was he really that terrible of a human being?

No.

He did want you to live with a nice person. One that did offer you pizza after a long, rough day.

It just upset him that it wasn’t him.

He wanted to be the nice flatmate.

Like he had been.

Well.

Fucked that up all by himself, didn’t he?

Joe had to remind himself of all the reasons why he made those personal choices. And the plan had been working. It truly had been. But then you’d just pulled your feet from his lap because Josh was there and... were you embarrassed of him? Was that what this boiled down to?

You pushed your feet into Joe’s leg as you stretched and yawned, and Joe waited for Josh to walk out of the room to tap you just above the knee. To squeeze you there.

You looked up and around, just to make sure you were alone, before you held out your hand that Joe then grabbed hold off. He pulled until you sat up and then, in a rogue move that he didn’t see coming, you leant in to kiss him.

Josh was just down the hall, door wide open.

And you kissed him.

Surprise.

Not moving backwards, then.

It was only short. Just a quick small little thing, but it was lips against lips, and it startled Joe so much, he couldn’t even think to be quiet about it. To not let his lips smack the way they naturally would when giving someone a kiss.

If that bothered you, you didn’t show it, mind too sluggish to catch up to what was happening maybe, and Joe grinned as he softly said, “Hi.” after you broke apart.

“I’m sorry.” was the first thing out of your mouth. You meant for texting him to come over and then promptly falling asleep on the sofa before he had even made his way over. You hadn’t meant to do that.

Joe heard your apology and took it to mean, sorry for the hard flinch away from him, which seemed silly now. You had just gone and kissed him. There was hardly anything left to be sorry for now, was there?

Joe had taken a step forward by being casually intimate with you in front of a stranger - held your feet in front of Josh - and, at first, you had shied away, only to then meet him there on your own terms a second later - be casually intimate with Joe with Josh just in the other room.

A new normal.

Your pace.

It went like that for a while then.

Joe would take your whole hand without asking, only for you to snatch it back and then give him a finger.

Which was fine.

Made Joe secretly smile every time it happened. He started being able to predict it a little too. Knew that if he’d overshoot, he’d end up with what he wanted in the first place too. Which, if you zoomed in on that a lot, could be classified as manipulation.

But you were happy.

So it was fine.

You were trying and so was Joe.

You were trying when, a couple of days later, you found yourself in a pub with Joe and a couple of his friends and he’d convinced you to just get a quick drink, just the one, and yea, that was okay. You could have a drink with Joe’s friends. They were kind, fun people.

You ended up meeting everyone outside, and after a round of greeting, you offered to go get drinks inside. When you came back to join the group, Joe had sat down on a barstool and you went to stand beside him. Handed him his drink. Cheersed him before you went for a sip. And then you felt his hand curl around your hip.

You tried the whole time.

Blushed the whole time too.

You couldn’t hold his hand as you walked home from the pub after that one drink.

But you could accept his scarf getting draped around your neck when he noticed you were cold.

And you were also trying when the two of you were on the tube together, and Joe had spotted someone subtly point their phone at him. Instead of acting like he was alone, like he was just out and about on his own for a second, he sat forward a little and moved his arm to touch your opposite outer thigh. It was meant to be protective, and it did shield you from having your picture taken, but it took a lot for you to not move his arm away and get up to stand near the doors where you could pretend you didn’t even know who he was.

You couldn’t turn around on the escalator to look at him after.

But you could accept the hand on your lower back as Joe guided you towards the exit of the busy station.

You were trying. Actively trying. And it felt like agony if you thought about it for too long. But it was fine if you just sucked it up and went with it.

Joe tried too.

Joe tried his best to be normal about you going out with Josh and some of his friends. Just told you to have a good time. To call him when you got home.

Joe tried his best to be normal when you told him Josh really wanted a dog, and maybe that would actually be so fun, wouldn’t it? You would go to pick out one with Josh, because if it was going to live at the flat, you would have to get along with it too, and wasn’t that smart thinking? Joe had to remind himself that you weren’t getting a dog together, but, that was sort of exactly what was happening, wasn’t it?

And Joe tried his bestest best to be normal when after being buzzed up into your flat, he found your front door left open for him to make his way in by himself, because you were too busy in the living room where Josh was playing guitar and making you laugh by singing about what you were doing and trying to make things rhyme. And then Joe had to try even harder when the song quickly turned into rhymes that made fun of him, which only made you laugh louder.

Yea.

Josh was a nice guy.

But, fuck Josh.

After hearing the giggles Josh was able to pull out of you, Joe became determined to let Josh hear what other noises Joe was able pull out of you.

And for a little while, you relished the attention. Joe had learnt a thing or two about what you liked in bed by now, and he knew how to drag it out for maximum pleasure too.

Joe had laid you down on your own bed, spread you out and undressed you real slow. When you’d gone to grab the hem of his T-shirt, he’d taken hold of your hand and brought it up to his mouth to kiss it.

Just you, then.

All about you.

Which was... you weren’t going to lie, this was fucking fantastic.

But it became a little weird how Joe kept turning his head to look at your closed bedroom door every time you let a moan slip out.

It became a little weird how he kept softly instructing you to be louder for him.

“Come on, let me hear you.”

It didn’t feel wildly out of place, but... something felt a little off about it.

You didn’t mention it until afterwards, when you were sat with your backs against the headboard, and you could see how it lingered on his face; something was off.

“Hey...”

Joe was quick to turn his head to look at you, and he immediately smiled to hide whatever you knew was brewing underneath the surface.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?” you tried to hide your worry with warmth, which was silly, because Joe’d already seen it.

Joe lifted his arm to throw around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, warm sticky skin to warm sticky skin, and he kissed you on your hairline before casually answering, “Yea, of course.”

And you knew he was lying, but you kept quiet. Silently played with the folds of your duvet over your lap and waited until, finally, you heard Joe sigh.

“Promise not to make fun of me,” Joe started, to which you didn’t respond with words, but instead found the hand that wasn’t curled around your shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.

Joe took a moment to find the right words.

“But...”

The silence gave your brain time to panic. A million things went through your mind. Every single little thing you’d done that could’ve maybe upset him.

Something was wrong, and you were the problem, because you had definitely fucked up, hadn’t you?

What had you done?

The key.

Fuck.

You kept forgetting about his key. It was there on your dresser. You could get out of bed and give it to him right now if that was–

“I don’t like that there’s a guy in your bedroom.”

And...

Oh.

Was he... was he being serious?

You moved away from him a little to get a proper good look at his face, and followed his gaze to see he was looking at your bedroom door again.

And... oh, God.

You didn’t like that.

That left a weird taste in your mouth.

Made you frown at him. Made you grimace a little.

You understood what he meant. But Jesus fucking Christ.

“Joe...” you started, moving even further from him, sitting up properly now.

“No, I know... I know,” he sighed, lifting both hands that he then dropped into his lap as he made a stupid face. “It’s stupid.”

Which was exactly right.

Joe was being stupid.

Joe had moved out and had forced you to get a new flatmate and now he was being a real child about it. Was calling your former bedroom your bedroom still, which it wasn’t. Was calling your flatmate ‘a guy’, like he was some random dude, which he wasn’t.

“Josh is my flatmate,” you said, trying to make the point that it was normal for him to be in the flat with you.

And then Joe felt it.

Joe felt whatever was inside of his chest, that stupid dark little monster that had been bouncing around in there all night, he felt it crawl up into his throat. Into his voice box.

It was too quick, the reaction too fast.

Joe knew the words were unfair and undeserved and ridiculously accusatory without any real legs to stand on.

Joe heard himself say it. Heard himself snap the words, and they were out of his mouth before he could even begin to try to stop them from even being formed at all.

“Yea exactly.”

That green fucking monster.

Joe saw how your face dropped. Saw the disbelief and the confusion. The did-he-really-just wheels turning behind your eyes that slowly clicked into their yea-he-did slots.

You knew what Joe meant, but desperately tried to find the humour in Joe’s face, because surely, he must have been joking.

It wasn’t a funny joke.

And then, you realised it wasn’t a joke at all.

Joe didn’t smile or laugh. Just looked at you, expression slightly stern but otherwise blank, and holy fucking shit.

No.

You remained calm.

Wanted to fucking scream at him, yell, “What do you think you’re accusing me of exactly?!” and, “Please say that again, but slower, will you?!” but, you didn’t.

Instead you turned around and slowly got out of bed, taking one of your pillows with you.

“No, baby, wait,”

Baby.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I– I didn’t mean it like that. That came out wrong,” Joe rambled, but you slowly stalked towards the door.

“I’m just,” Joe rubbed an anxious hand across his forehead. “God, I... I don’t know.”

Jealous.

He couldn’t even say it.

But that was okay. You heard him loud and clear, anyway.

“Please come back to bed.”

You reached for the door handle and had already decided you weren’t going to come back to bed. You’d sleep on the sofa and Joe was going to have to think about what he’d just said.

Just before you stepped out, you turned your head over your shoulder and looked at him.

Joe.

Sat in your bed in his old bedroom, chest bared, leaning forward into his own lap like he’d been reaching out for you as you’d taken the four steps it took to get to your door.

And it was the cruelest thing in the whole fucking world to realise right then and there that you... shit.

You fucking loved him.

What he said had hurt, but what he hadn’t said hurt worse. The silent, I know what you are like as a flatmate because I have lived it and now you have another one, rung loud in your ears, and you understood right then that the only reason it felt like your heart was bleeding was because you loved him.

Fuck.

You opened the door without looking, but then heard the soft sounds of an acoustic guitar being played in the living room, and looked towards where it came from.

“Baby,” Joe tried one last time, and one of your hands shot up in warning. He had to stop calling you baby. Had to stop talking all together.

“I’m sorry.” Joe apologised again, voice much softer, much more sincere this time, and you only thought of how Joe wasn’t allowed to be the cause of your pain. Had he not learnt from the past? Had he not listened to you then?

You looked back towards Joe, who was about to open his mouth again to say more apologetic words, you were sure, but you stopped him before he could.

“Joe,” you warned again, but stepped into the hallway anyway, reaching for the door handle on the other side to close it.

Just before you did, you made direct eye-contact with a man who knew he had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, but you just needed him to know extra well.

So you dropped your shoulders and said, “You’re the guy in my bedroom.” before you shut the door.

Joe didn’t move.

Just stared at the wooden panels of the door.

And shit...

You were right.

He was the guy in your bedroom, and why the fuck was he even thinking about anything else?

What else was more important?

Joe had to really force himself to not go after you. You left because you wanted space from him and he didn’t really have any other choice but to take your lead on this one, did he?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Fuck.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

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taglist currently full, sorry

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #define close #explain us #reinvent love

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