"To always make good connections and keep good connections. Always be polite and respectful to everyone you meet, because you never know when your paths are going to cross again in the future. Never burn bridges. Always be appreciative and grateful for the opportunities you get, and take them as they come. "
- Derek Klena
[insp]
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carriage six – spencer reid
summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).
warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3
wc: 1.8k
part two: platform ten
Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.
He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts.
He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.
He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company.
His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser.
She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.
Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.
He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.
***
The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book.
He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.
He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.
“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”
He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”
“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”
You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.
“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”
He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.
“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”
His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life.
“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“
He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you.
“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”
His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat.
“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”
You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”
He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”
He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”
You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”
He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”
“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly.
“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”
“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name.
Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift.
Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag.
“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”
His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”
reblogs are always appreciated!
part two: platform ten
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KINKTOBER DAY FOUR
October 13 -- Virginity
masterlist
author's note: happy friday the 13th!! this is a behemoth, but it feels right to celebrate this day with a little bit of fireworks lol!! thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, I might do more of those throughout the month. thank you for reading and let me know if you want to be tagged! (also, because this took me so long, it isn't as tightly edited as my other work)
summary: To be completely honest, you're struggling a little bit with you new job at the BAU. Spencer is there to help. Oh, and maybe he can help you with a few other things too.
warnings: female reader, losing virginity, fingering, oral (female receiving), grinding, discussion about masturbation and mention of sex toys
word count: 6.9k (sorry? lol)
this is adut content. 18+ plus only. minors do not interact!
Morgan smiles up at you from his desk as you scramble into the bullpen. Garcia is leaning against his desk as she raises her eyebrows. You toss your go bag under your own desk and push your hair out of your face, trying to ignore the pair.
“Rough night?” Morgan giggles, as he pushes the pencil he’s holding through his circled fingers suggestively. Garcia guffaws, but at least has the decency to playfully hit Morgan on the shoulder.
“Can you two behave for like five minutes?” You groan and try to find your ID badge. You literally just had it to get into the BAU department, but now it has mysteriously disappeared. It isn’t on your desk or in any of your pockets, but you do find a couple crumpled up dollar bills that you toss onto your desk without thinking.
The appearance of the bills causes Morgan to whistle. Emily walks over and sees the offending currency. “Damn, invite me next time!” She laughs.
You roll your eyes and don’t reply. Instead, you pull up your go bag and start to empty it. Maybe you accidentally put your badge in one of the pockets, you rationalize.
“What is going on?” JJ asks with a small laugh, gesturing to the contents of your go bag now completely strewn across the desk. Clothing and toiletries clutter the surface and you know you look like a crazy person. And maybe you are crazy. No, you definitely are crazy. Anyone who does this job is absolutely batshit crazy.
Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. You are absolutely not going to have a mental breakdown at eight in the morning in the bullpen, and definitely not in front of fucking Derek Morgan. “I can’t find my badge.” You mutter and drop down to your knees to look under your chair and desk.
You palm the dirty floor, but don’t find anything. Your friends stifle their laughter. “I would help you but this is not a crawl around on the floor kind of dress.” Penelope offers.
“Gee, thanks.” You say to yourself.
“Hey, has anyone seen –” Spencer stops in both his tracks and his sentence when he notices you on the floor. He swallows. “I found your ID badge. Over by the door. I think you dropped it.”
“Wonder boy saves the day!” Morgan exclaims.
Spencer finishes his trek over to you and offers a hand to help you up. You glance up at him, blushing slightly at the angle. Who would’ve thought you’d be on your knees in front of Dr. Reid? Okay, you’ve definitely thought about it, but your imagination didn’t normally make it happen inside Quantico and it absolutely never in front of your coworkers.
“Sorry, my hands are kind of dirty. Uh, from the floor.” You confess and take his hand as you stand up. His hand is warm and soft, like really soft. Like you could easily fall asleep to him rubbing your back in mindless patterns. As soon as you’re on your feet you slip your hand out of his to avoid your mind adding more ammunition to your middle of the night imaginations about Spencer.
“It’s okay.”
“Thanks. For the badge… and –” you take the badge from his other hand and gesture meaninglessly between the two of you.
“You’re welcome.” He smiles at you and you feel yourself redden deeper.
“Alright, alright! Time for kiss and tell!” Penelope exclaims and you blink away from your eye contact with Reid.
“What?” You whip your head around to her.
Emily makes kissing noises and musses her hair. “You. And some mystery person. Last night. Clearly.”
You turn toward her. “No. I wasn’t…” you start, your eyes flick over to Spencer as he walks toward his desk. “There’s no one.”
JJ leans on your desk and raises her brows. “Then what were you doing last night?”
You could not tell them the truth, but it was also impossible to lie to the best profilers in the country, so you give them a half truth. “Nothing. I just had a bad night.” You shrug and start to put your clothing back in your go bag, not bothering to fold it.
The truth is that it had been a bad night because you were struggling with the job. You’d been hired ten months ago and the lack of sleep, the neverending cases, and having to constantly deal with the horrific things humans can do to one another was taking its toll on you. Yesterday had been a day off and you wanted to use it to catch up on sleep, but everytime you closed your eyes, the faces of the people you couldn’t save filtered in. You hadn’t been able to get a good night’s sleep since you started and it had caused a complete breakdown last night. You had pulled up Hotch’s contact information four times ready to quit, but you knew you couldn’t do it. You were here for a reason, you’d stick it out.
Penelope hums. “Well, if it wasn’t a person… then it must’ve been alcohol.”
“Or gambling.” Emily adds.
You roll your eyes. “I don’t gamble.”
“You should. It’s a lot of fun. I’ll play you in Blackjack.” Emily smiles.
“Don’t play with her, she counts cards.” Reid murmurs absentmindedly as he reads over a file at his desk.
“I do not!”
Everyone laughs, but then the laughter dies away when Hotch comes out of his office. “Looks like no one gets to have fun for a couple of days.” Emily groans.
On the flight home after the case, you’re seated across from Spencer. Everyone else is asleep or has headphones in, even Hotch is passed out on the couch, which is rare. You still can’t sleep, so you stare out the window into the darkness as you fly over Virgina. Spencer clears his throat and you roll your head to look at him.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
You allow a small smile to form on your lips. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He swallows and puts the book in his hand down in his lap as he leans forward slightly. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but you don’t really seem like yourself lately. Are you sure you’re okay?”
The sore achy feeling of wanting to cry but holding it in burns your throat. You cough softly. “I’m okay, really. Just – having trouble sleeping.” You give just a little bit of information, hoping it assuages his curiosity.
“Is it that mystery person keeping you up at night?” He asks point-blankly.
Your mouth is agape and you snap it shut, “did you just make a joke?”
“I tried to.” He smiles and you match his smile with your own.
“There really isn’t anyone.” You shake your head. “I’ve never –” you almost let the rest of the sentence slip out, but stop yourself just in time. The lack of sleep is obviously affecting you more than you thought.
“You’ve never what?” The way he moves his body forward in his seat makes your heart thrum in your chest. His body language is clear, even a rookie behavioral analyst could tell, he was prepared to listen to what you have to say. Not only that, but he actually cared.
You bite the inside of your cheek before letting out a sigh. Before you answer, you lean closer toward him, “I’ve never had sex, actually.”
His eyes widen and he clears his throat, “you’re a –”
“Virgin,” you finish for him. “I’m not ashamed or embarrassed by it. And it isn’t like I’m saving it or anything. It just hasn’t happened yet.” You shrug. “In all honesty, part of me just wants to pick some random person and get it over with.” You let out a small breathy laugh in an attempt to make you feel less awkward.
“Why haven’t you?” You meet his eyes. “I mean, just found a random person to get it over with?”
One of your shoulders lifts in a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know. Like when I think about it, I realize that I’d rather have someone I trust, you know. Someone who would take care of me and not just see me as another notch on their bedpost. At least for the first time. And then after that, I’d feel more comfortable just going out and… you know.”
“Notching up some bed posts.” He nods knowingly and you giggle. He smiles, you notice that he enjoys making you laugh. A lot of the time it seems like people are maybe laughing at him or about him, but not you. He’s never the butt of the joke for you.
“Sure, Spencer.” You can’t help, but trail your eyes over him and contemplate the question that’s on the tip of your tongue. “How did you lose your virginity?”
He doesn’t seem offended or shocked by your question. “In college.”
You scoff, “weren’t you like twelve?”
“During my undergrad, yes. But I have multiple PhDs.”
“Of course, Doctor Reid.”
He shifts in his seat. “I was twenty. She was, uh, we worked in the same lab. And had the same research advisor.”
“So you two experimented on each other.” You joked.
Spencer’s face flushed and you felt a pang deep in your stomach. “In a way, yes.”
“I’m joking, Spencer.” He nods in understanding. “Were you like her boyfriend?”
“No, we just –”
“Hooked up.” You finish for him.
“For a couple months, yeah.”
Your mouth drops and you whisper, “you had a fuck buddy?”
His blush deepens. “I don’t think we ever called each other that.”
“What did you call her?”
“I don’t know. We never talked about it. I finished my doctoral thesis before her.” He shrugs.
“Wow, who knew.”
“What?”
“Morgan isn’t the only playa on the team.” You giggle and scrunch your nose, feeling the stress of the last few weeks dissipate from your shoulders.
“I’m not…” he laughs and shakes his head. He glances out the window. “We’re landing soon.” He swallows and leans back in his seat. It was terrible, but you had a strong urge to step across to his seat and straddle his lap and kiss him until you were both breathless. You turn your gaze back to the window and try to force the image away.
Your car wouldn’t start. You forcefully turned the key in the ignition again, and it sputtered and died. As you hit your steering wheel, you let out a frustrated noise and hit it again. You turn to grab your cell phone from your bag to call a tow truck and jump when you hear a knock on your driver’s side window. Spencer stands there apologetically, waving his hand with his closed mouth smile.
He steps aside when you open the car door and get out. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” You laugh bitterly. “My car won’t start and I need to get a tow.” You bite your lip, but can’t stop the tears that bubble over.
Spencer freezes, but then reaches out and touches your shoulder lightly. “It’s okay.” For some reason his comfort makes you cry harder. “Oh, uh, here,” he mutters and pulls you into a full hug. He squeezes you tight against him and rubs your back as you cry into his chest.
“I’m sorry, Spencer.” You blubber into his shirt.
“No, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Is it?” You pull away from his chest to look in his eyes. “I’m failing at this job and –”
“Woah, failing at this job?” He interrupts. “Who said that?” His brows furrow angrily.
“No one.” You blink away the tears stuck in your eyelashes and Spencer reaches up and swipes away one that trails down your cheek.
“You’re not failing. You’re excelling. You’re incredible. Truly, I mean that. I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise.” He swallows and you realize how close to his face you are, his hands wrapped around your back.
You don’t stop yourself, even though you know you should, as you lean into him. His eyes flutter down to your lips, but he doesn’t pull away, so you keep going. Your lips touch his lightly, barely there before you back away.
His hands tighten on you and pull you closer to him. He chases your lips with his and kisses you back, your own hands are on his chest and they twist into his shirt. You kiss him fervently, his hands traveling to your lower back, arching you into him. A moan escapes from the back of your throat and it breaks the spell. Spencer pulls away from the kiss.
His lips are pink and shimmery and you want to kiss him again. Desperately. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his tongue slipping out and swiping across his bottom lip.
“What for?” You blink.
“Kissing you.”
“I kissed you.”
“I kissed you back.”
“And you should do it again.”
His eyes dart to your lips. He wants to, you can tell, but he stops himself. “We shouldn’t.”
“Not here, at least.” You glance behind him and pray that the parking garage is completely empty. If your coworkers acted the way they did this morning about a nonexistent mystery person, you can only imagine their reactions if they saw you making out with Spencer.
“It’s inappropriate.”
“I don’t care.”
“There’s paperwork.”
“Not if we don’t tell anyone.”
“That’s not how that works.” He laughs, you can feel the vibrations of the sound against his chest.
“Do you always play by the rules, Dr. Reid?”
He swallows harshly, you watch the movement of his Adam’s apple bob against the tight skin of his neck. “I’ll drive you home.” He deflects.
You reach up on your toes and kiss him again. His hands spread on your back and press you against him and your hands pull him tighter to you, wrinkling his shirt. You hear footsteps and both of you step away from each other instantly, putting distance between your bodies. You turn your head to see a person you don’t recognize come into view from the other side of the parking garage. They don’t even glance in your direction. The hammering in your chest slows and you turn back to Spencer. He runs a hand through his hair.
“Grab your bag.” He says with an authority that makes you spring into action quickly. Neither of you say anything as you follow him down the rows of agents’ cars to his car. He opens the passenger side for you, the vintage car creaks in protest. He closes the door and you watch from the rearview mirror as he walks around the back of the car toward the driver’s side, his hands in his pocket.
He slides into the car seat and starts the car, it rumbles to life loudly. “I normally don’t even drive to work, just take public transportation. But I had an errand the other day.” He explains absentmindedly as he checks the rearview mirror and slowly backs out of the park spot.
“It’s kismet.”
“I always thought it was interesting that the English pilfered that word from the Turkish language. Considering words like fate and destiny already existed. Some etymologists attribute it to the rampant orientalism at the time. You know, like kismet was more mysterious or mystical or exciting than just simple fate.” He rambles and drives you out of the parking garage. A heady want begins to grow in your lower stomach. “And of course, the Turkish developed the word from an Arabic word meaning portion or lot. Which is fascinating.”
“It is.” You say earnestly.
He glances over at you sheepishly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble.”
“Don’t apologize. I like it.”
His eyes are already back on the road, but you can see his cheeks redden in a slight blush. “Where do you live?” He asks and you tell him. It isn’t a long drive, well it isn’t this late at night. Your morning commute is a nightmare. He gives you a brief look, “why did you join the BAU?”
You exhale a long breath before you answer. “I wanted to help people I guess. Which is so cliche, but it’s the truth. Like it isn’t even about putting bad guys away or whatever. I just want to make the world safer. For everyone.” You look over at him and he meets your gaze for a split second.
“You are doing a good job.” He states. You shake your head. “I mean it. You are. You’re making a difference. You’re helping people.”
“But how do you keep your head above water? I mean… how do you not let it beat you down?”
“We have each other. And you focus on the good.”
You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, letting his words sink in. “Thanks, Spencer. For everything today.”
He pulls into a parking spot in front of your apartment building. “I’ll walk you up.”
You go to unbuckle your seatbelt, but it doesn’t budge. You try again, but again, nothing.
“Oh, sometimes it sticks. Here,” he leans across the middle and reaches for your seatbelt buckle. His fingers graze the outside of your thigh and inhale sharply, electricity buzzing from the simplest of touches. He unbuckles you and you let the seat belt slide across your body, he doesn’t move away from you. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, it enflames you.
“Spencer,” you whisper and turn your head toward him. His eyes slowly trail down your face toward your lips and then back up to your eyes. You can’t take it, so you lean forward and kiss him again. Tentative at first, waiting for him to respond. He does, his hands pulling your face closer to his, deepening the kiss. When you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip you open for him, let him explore and learn. You sigh into his mouth, your hands find their way to the back of his neck.
He slips away from you, breathless, but starts to kiss down your jaw. He mutters your name against your skin. You feel the warmth of his kisses travel down your spine toward your core.
“Come upstairs.” You sigh, when he bites lightly on a sensitive spot on your neck.
“I can’t. I shouldn’t.” He pants against your skin.
“I want you.”
He groans, deep and frustrated, and moves to lean his forehead against yours, both of your heavy breathing intermingling and becoming one. “You shouldn’t want me.”
“Why not? And don’t say the bullshit about us working together. I don’t care, Spencer. I trust you. I want you.”
He backs his head away from your forehead so that he can look into your eyes, his thumb against your cheek brushes back and forth. “You trust me?”
“With everything in me.” He kisses you again, softly, tenderly.
“I’ll take care of you.”
“I know.” You kiss him back and then pull away. He nods and you return it with a nod of your own.
His tongue glides across his lip and he swallows. You blink and he’s moving out of his seat and already at the passenger side door before you can reach for the handle. He opens it quickly and helps you out. It’s old school, but it makes your heart stutter and start. When he takes your hand in his, it feels like two magnets being drawn together. He slams the car door shut and you lead him up to your apartment.
Once you unlock your front door and guide him in, you shut the door and turn to look at him. You flick on the light. He stares at you and asks, “you’re sure?”
“Positive.” You step toward him and reach out to slide your hands across his stomach and then land on his waist. “Do I have to kiss you first again, or –” you don’t have to finish your question before his lips are on yours. His kisses are not tentative or searching, they’re needy and impassioned. Before long, you’re clawing at his shirt, untucking it from his pants and then reaching up to undo his tie.
He stops you as he breathes laboriously. “Wait, we should slow down.”
You continue to work on his tie, perpetually crooked, but now just an obstacle to what you need desperately. “I don’t wanna go slow.”
He moans and you finally get his tie undone and whip it off. “No, we should.”
Your fingers work deftly against his buttons, one at a time, and you look up at him. “I’m a virgin, but I’m not inexperienced. I’m not a delicate flower.”
His expression changes, his eyes grow heavy and he quirks his jaw. “Not inexperienced?”
“I’m not.” You almost sound like a petulant teenager.
“How far?”
“What?”
“How far have you gotten?” Your hands stop almost halfway through the third to last button. You don’t answer. His voice deepens, gravely and sexy, “you’ve clearly kissed before.” You nod. “Have you had someone feel your breasts?” As he asks the question, his hand reaches up and caresses your breast. You lean into the touch. “Has anyone put their mouth on your breasts, marking you as theirs? Rolling your nipple between their teeth?” He inclines his head into the crook of your neck and presses a hot kiss there. “Have you ever had somebody's mouth on your clit?”
Your breathing is sharp and jagged, but Spencer simply continues. “Would you let someone use their tongue to make you come? Or maybe even their fingers? Pump their fingers into until you're squirming?”
“Spencer,” you plead.
He continues to massage your breast as his other hand slips under your shirt and trails across your hips and stomach. “Or do you just mean that you’ve touched yourself? You’ve laid in bed and explored this beautiful body. Know just exactly how to make yourself shiver from your own fingers.”
You’re almost overwhelmed by his touch, his lips on your skin, and his words, your head is spinning, but you’re also desperate for more.
“We’re going to take it slow.” He informs you and it isn’t up for discussion. “Not because I think you’re a delicate flower.” He throws your own words back at you. “But because I want to take my time with you. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to touch every single inch of you with my hands. I want to make you come, I want to feel you come. Over and over again.” You’re practically shaking in his hands when his lips and teeth scrap across your jaw and to your lips. He takes them with his and you’re like clay on a potter’s wheel, malleable and completely at his will, waiting to be crafted into his masterpiece.
“Do you want that?” He breathes on your lips.
You somehow know instinctively that he wants a verbal confirmation, so you answer, “yes.”
He continues to kiss you, deeply, almost like a starved man tasting his first bit of sustenance. You answer with your own fervency. His hand at your hip squeezes and pulls you tight against him and you feel his want against you. It makes you moan. You grind your body against him and his grip tights even more.
“Bedroom. Where’s your bedroom?” He stutters, but doesn’t stop kissing you and you don’t stop either. Your hands are in his hair, pulling and twisting, holding him impossibly close to you. You didn’t know kissing could make you feel this way, simultaneously feverish and desperate, but also insatiable. You felt like you could kiss Spencer for a lifetime and never tire of it. He wasn’t close enough even though your bodies were pressed together, you needed more. The only thought in your brain is simply, more, more, more.
He pulls away from you, both of you taking heaving breaths. His lips were perfectly pink, your body thrummed with the knowledge that you caused such a change in him.
“Bedroom.” The single word went straight to your core. You take his hand and guide him to your bedroom.
Once you turn on the light, he’s behind you, pressing into you. You can feel every part of him, and he kisses the back of your neck. He’s back to being soft and gentle. He brings his hands to your stomach and inches them under your shirt until he has your breasts in his hands.
Your breasts feel heavy and logically you know why. Blood has rushed to them, just as it has rushed to your other erogenous zones, and it is sending a signal to your brain to release oxytocin. But you’re realizing that logic has no place in your head when Spencer’s hands and mouth are on you. Logic means nothing to you at this moment.
“You’re so beautiful.” He compliments as he fondles your breasts, your head lolls back against his chest. He angles his head so he can kiss your cheek. “You distracted me that very first case you were on. Did you know that?”
“No,” your eyes flutter shut when he moves down to kiss your jaw.
“I thought you were so gorgeous. After the case, I went home to my apartment and touched myself as I imagined you. I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t even look you in the eyes the next morning.”
Your mind wanders back to all those months ago. “I thought I had done something wrong,” you remember.
“No, it was me. I was wrong. But I couldn’t stop. I mean you can feel what you do to me.” He was right, you could distinctly feel the effect you had on him.
“I thought of you too.” You confess.
“You did?” His voice is low and breathy and you nod. “In that bed.” He ticks his head to gesture toward it. “Tell me.”
You feel yourself heat with blush. His thumbs brush across your nipples through your bra and your breath gets caught in your throat. You swallow and answer. “I would lie there, normally because I couldn’t sleep. And then I’d think about you. Your hands, I’d think about your hands.”
“My hands?” He squeezes your breasts.
You nod and answer simultaneously, “yes. I’d imagine them on my body, touching me.” He brushes your nipples again and you shiver. “And I’d slip my hand into my underwear, and rub my clit. Pretend it was you.” His hands abandon your breasts and slide around to your back. You step forward as he takes off your shirt and then unhooks your bra and helps you out of it. His hands on your hips turn you to face him.
“I knew you were beautiful. But you’re perfect.” Your instinct is to feel self conscious under his gaze, but you push it away when you notice the admiration in his eyes.
You reach for him and finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt and then peeling it off of him. “Fair is fair.” You say. He laughs, but his laugh dies in his throat when your nails scratch down his chest.
Your hands explore his exposed chest and back, feeling the muscle move underneath soft skin, and he works to rid you of your pants. You use him for balance as you step out of your pants, but as soon as you're standing on two feet again, he backs you toward your bed.
When the back of your legs hit the bed, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. He leans over you, your legs open for him and he kisses you again. Your hands continue their previous tour of his back, now feeling how his shoulder blades move when he grinds against you.
The first time he does it, you throw your head back in a moan. Even though you have multiple layers of fabric between you, you can still feel the heat radiating through you. He does it again and you arch up to meet his movement. When he does it a third time your nails scratch down his back.
He makes a low noise from the back of his throat and you know that your panties are soaked. His lips take a journey down your body, kissing and nipping at your clavicle, your chest, spending a significant amount of time on both of your breasts, and down your stomach. Your clawing at his back by the time his mouth meets the band of your underwear.
“Look at you,” he whispers. His thumb rubs lightly at your clit over the fabric. Your thighs clench and he laughs. “Keep them open for me, baby.” You mewl at the pet name. “You like that? Being called baby?”
“Yes.” You groan out when his thumb repeats his earlier action.
He does it again, almost unbearably slow. “I want to taste you so bad. I’ve wanted to know how good you taste for so long.” His voice is strained.
“You can. I want you to.”
His hands skate up to the hem of your underwear and you lift your hips slightly as he pulls them down. You open your legs for him again and he swallows. “Stunning.” His mouth is on you before you have time to process the word.
Almost instantly, he moans against you, the vibrations causing your toes to curl. Your hands clench your duvet and he pulls away for a split second, “touch me.” You do what he asks, coiling your fingers into his hair. He laps at your clit, creating a pattern and rhythm that makes your buck up to meet him. His hands grip at your hips and hold you in place.
“Spencer, oh fuck,” you ramble. He answers by moaning against you again and then sucking your clit into his lips. You bite down a scream. The heat at the base of your spine spreads across your body. “Oh my god. Oh god.”
He alternates between lapping and sucking at your sensitive bud, your nails practically digging into his scalp, your toes curling, as you try to catch your breath. Just at the moment where it feels like too much, your body clenches and crashes over the edge of your ecstacy, his name falling from your lips repeatedly.
He continues to lap at you softly until your muscles relax in his arms and then he looks up at you, smiling and his lips glistening, “you’re incredible.” You pull him up, so that you can kiss him. You kiss the taste of you off his lips. He brings his head up to look at you, pushes away the stray hairs stuck to your forehead. “Are you going to get sick of me calling you beautiful?” He smiles.
“No, I don’t think I could.” He smiles into another kiss. His hands travel down your body and as soon as one of his fingers slides across your folds, the flames reignite.
“Is this okay?” He asks.
“I want all of you.” One of his fingers slips inside of you and then he pulls it out. He slides it back in and then repeats his action, starting slow and building up to a comfortable tempo, as he continues to kiss you. Nothing about his movements is frantic, but rather languid and relaxed, gently stoking the growing fire inside of you. You grind your hips against his finger and he smoothly adds a second finger. The feeling is different, but not bad as you feel yourself accommodating the extra digit.
“Alright?” He checks in with you, looking into your eyes.
“It feels good.” It’s not like the times you’ve laid here in this bed with your fingers inside you. It’s an entirely divergent sensation that you don’t think your imagination would have been able to conjure. “Really good.”
“Yeah?” He stops sliding his fingers in and out and instead leaves them inside as he pumps them, almost as if he’s searching. He finds what he’s looking for when you gasp and cling to his shoulder.
“Yeah.” You nod furiously, biting down on your lip. He’s no longer building the tension within you. Instead, it’s like he’s playing with a taut rubber band, waiting for it to snap.
You feel your eyes start to close, wanting to roll to the back of your head. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I want to see. Want to see you come apart for me.”
You force your eyes open. “Spencer…”
“I know, relax into it.” His thumb starts to rub your clit. “You’re doing so good.”
“Oh my god,” you start to mutter and ramble again, a mixture of curses and Spencer’s name. You never break eye contact with him. It’s intense, but also intimate.
“Are you gonna come for me, baby?”
You let out a whine in answer and feel a muscle in your thigh twitch. Your core clenching on his fingers, the wet sounds of his fingers inside of you filling the room. The grip on his shoulders is tight and you hope it isn’t painful, but he barely seems to notice, all of his attention is on you. The mixture of admiration and lust on his features is almost too much. But you’re realizing that Spencer Reid never does anything part way or half-assed. Once Spencer puts his mind to something, he’s going to accomplish it. Not only that, but he’s going to put an almost Herculean effort into it. And somehow, you’ve become something he’s put his mind to. The thought makes you lean up and kiss him.
You kiss him until a gasp separates your lips from him. “So perfect,” he muses. Your core constricts and contracts on his fingers. Your breathing is short and your legs feel like they’re shaking, but you can’t really tell. “Come for me.”
One more shaky breath and then you do, the rubber band snaps. Your body arcs up into him and he swallows your shout with his lips, kissing you deeply. Again, he slows down but doesn’t stop, guiding you down from your high. When he does pull his fingers from you, you watch as he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean.
This time you don’t need him to rekindle the flame of need inside of you, it's already there. You reach between your bodies for his belt. Together, the two of you make quick work of the last of his clothing. And then he’s kissing you again, both his hands and your own caress, rub, and grab at each other. You reach down lower and lower, until you meet his hardened length with your hand. You grip the base and he falters.
“I’d love that. Really, I want it so bad. But I won’t last, baby.” You squeeze him again and smile up at him, fluttering your eyelashes. “You’re a vixen.” He laughs, kissing you.
“I want you.”
“Fuck. I don’t have a condom.” You blink, it’s the first time you’ve ever heard Spencer drop the f-bomb. You giggle.
“I have some.” One of his eyebrows raises in question and you shrug. “I like to be prepared. They’re over there.” You gesture toward your nightstand and he stretches over to open it.
“Oh,” he lets out a surprised gasp and just then you remember what else is in your top drawer. “I guess you don’t just use your fingers to masturbate, do you?” He laughs.
You reach up behind you and grab a pillow and toss it at him. He dodges it and it falls to the floor. “Like I said, I’m a virgin, not inexperienced.”
Spencer grabs the box of unopened condoms, opens it and pulls one out. He carefully places the box back, his eyes lingering on your menagerie of sex toys.
“What are you doing?” You ask.
“I have an eidetic memory. I’m remembering… for later.” He smiles and you feel your heart speed up, pounding against your ribcage. You hadn’t had time to discuss anything past tonight. His smile falters. “I mean – I don’t mean to presume anything. Only if you want.”
You reach over to him and pull him back toward you, kissing him. “I do. I want there to be a next time. Other times.”
He looks down at you, searching. “Good, I do too.” He kisses you and only pulls away to put on the condom. He continues his kisses as he moves to position himself, spreading your legs for him. He brushes his thumb over your clit again and you moan. When he lifts his head from yours and glances up at you. You nod your head.
You feel the tip of him at your entrance, pressing against you, but not fully in. That’s all he does at first, until you move on him and allow him to slip into you. He works himself into you, allowing you to stretch around him. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s definitely a new sensation. None of your toys feel like him. Both of you watch as his penis slowly disappears inside of you. He pushes in the last inch with a thrust. There’s a flash of a pinch and you let out a breath.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, just give me a second.” He nods, licks his bottom lip and then resumes his circles on your clit. It only takes a few seconds for you to relax on him. You grind your hips, somehow taking him deeper. He groans. “Move, Spencer. Please.”
He inches out of you and then pushes back in without any urgency or force. He starts the same pattern and rhythm his fingers had used earlier that night. The feeling of him moving inside of you is incredible, you can feel him dragging against your walls. His body against yours, skin to skin, more connected than you’ve ever been with anyone else. Between the feeling of him pumping into and his movement against your clit, it doesn’t take long until you’re clawing at his back, wordlessly asking him for more. He answers, creating a relentless rhythm that you grind your hips to match.
At some point, your eyes had shut and you hadn’t realized and so you force them open again, wanting to watch Spencer come apart just like he watched you. “You feel so good. Better than I could have imagined.” He starts to ramble. “I can’t believe I get to feel you like this. So good.”
His eyes shoot down to watch himself slip in and out of you. “Fuck.” He cusses again. You decide you like when he curses, especially if you’re the reason. He moves his hips and his cock finds the same spot his fingers found earlier and you clench around him as you let out a deep groan.
You lose track of time, it moves at a snail’s pace, but also at the speed of light. Time ceases to exist to you, your world shrinks down to only the two of you, everything else falls away. And then you’re falling again, diving headfirst into an orgasm.
“Yes, yes. I love feeling you like this. Oh my god… oh fuck. I’m gonna –” he sputters.
You reach up and pull his lips to yours, kissing him through his own orgasm. He shakes above you as he pumps into you with a final harsh push. And then when he peaks, he slowly fucks into you through his orgasm. He continues to kiss you until both of your breathing returns to normal and then he lifts his head to look at you.
He smiles and you can’t help it when a huge toothy smile appears on your own face.
“Are you okay?” He inquires.
“I’m perfect.”
His hand reaches up and caresses the side of your face. “You are.”
The next morning you walk into the office still smiling. Everyone is around the desks, including Spencer. He glances over at you and nods in greeting, as if you hadn’t just said goodbye to him a few hours ago, the first golden rays of dawn streaming through your bedroom window.
“Good morning.” You say to everyone. You set your go bag down at your desk and Emily smiles over at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Oh, Morgan. You had it all wrong.” She teases.
Morgan looks at Emily and then over to you. “What?”
“That is the look of a woman who got it real good last night.” Emily laughs, loud and brash. You smile with her and Penelope gasps.
“Tell. Me. Everything.” She runs over to you and grabs onto your arm.
“I have no idea what you mean.” You reply innocently.
JJ smirks. “Oh, she got it real good last night.”
“Is sex all you guys think about?” You joke. The girls laugh and Morgan still seems confused. Spencer is focused on the file on his desk, but his finger isn’t moving down it and you know he isn’t reading it. “I had a good night last night.” You give a small inch, just to stave them off. Penelope squeals. You grab her hand. “And that’s all I’ll say about it.”
“Boo!” Emily exclaims.
Penelope almost pouts. “Oh, you are the worst!”
“I know!” You laugh gleefully. Spencer looks up for only a split second, but you catch it and he smiles at you.
“I’ll find out eventually. You do know that, right?” Penelope warns.
“You are terrifying.” You squeeze her arm and turn away from the group to start on your mountain of files. It’s true that eventually everyone would probably find out about you and Spencer, but for now the two of you get to live in your own personal world. You smile to yourself.
tag list: @spenciesprincess @catalinasroom @tylevx @alicentswife @ingrid69rs @sobbingcryingattsizzles @infinitegalaxiesworld
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NSFW ALPHABET
THE AARON HOTCHNER EDITION
A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Aaron is quick to cuddle after doing the do. He is a big guy but so gentle and is sure to make sure that you are okay. This man loves a bubble bath and after sex will cuddle you up as the two of you soak in the warm water. Conversations can happen too, regardless of whether in the tub or cuddling in bed.
B - Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s body)
Aaron likes his hands and thighs, he is very skilled with his hands and knows you love the size of them, and Aaron likes his thighs because he knows how muscled & thick. Meanwhile, Aaron absolutely loves your breasts the most but Aaron is sure to make you feel utterly attractive and beautiful, whatever size or shape you are.
C - Cum (anything to do with cum basically…)
Aaron definitely has a slight breeding kink going on so he prefers cumming inside you. He also has a secret kinky side when it comes to cum too.
D - Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Due to his job taking him across country a lot, Aaron has developed a love of sexting with you, but he won’t do anything too risqué such as having you fly out or sending panties etc.
E - Experience (how experienced are they, do they know what they are doing?)
Aaron is somewhat experienced, but he makes up for any lack with his ability to learn quick and fast, and he is so attentive. He’s eager and willing to do anything to get you cumming again and again.
F - Favourite Position (again, pretty self explanatory…)
Aaron’s favourite position is probably missionary. He’s a simple guy in that sense as it is so intimate and allows him to show his love, tenderness and affection for you. Aaron also loves it when you take your nails across his back.
G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or are they more humorous?)
Aaron is usually very serious, and yet he has such a soft side that he shows to those close to him which it includes you. There have been times where you’ve both laughed or giggled, but Aaron can be a man on a mission pulling orgasm after orgasm from you.
H - Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)
Aaron is well groomed, and it is dark like his hair. He takes pride in his appearance, and knowing he’s kind of hairy it means he keeps on-top of his grooming but he isn’t bare.
I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? Are they romantic?)
Aaron is a huge romantic which hides behind his stoic self and after everything that happened to his ex-wife, he’s sure to be so so affectionate. Aaron knows that at any moment he could lose you so he’s certainly to be incredibly loving and passionate in so many ways.
J - Jack Off (masturbation…)
Aaron isn’t a sex fiend or an extremely high sex drive, but when he’s away from you on a case it can result in him wanting you. So Aaron will call you up, and jack off to phone sex with you.
K - Kink (what are their kink/s?)
Aaron has a slight breeding kink. He loves being a dad and knows you love being a mother figure for Jack, which makes Aaron want to knock you up so his family can grow. He’s still very virile and potent, and the thought of you round with his baby makes Aaron so hard. He’s also a soft dom, but he’s not into BDSM.
L - Location (where are their favourite places to do the do?)
Aaron loves the privacy of your shared home, more so the bedroom or bathroom as Jack is usually there if not at school or a friend’s home. He has had sex with you in his big black SUV a few times and even once in his office at Quantico.
M - Motivation (what turns them on, what gets them going?)
Aaron gets turned on by you being domestic and being great with Jack, which ties into his breeding kink. He also loves you in any sort of lingerie.
N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs?)
Aaron while he likes dirty talk is against anything too extreme or degrading. He will never degrade you, and is wary of BDSM etc. due to his career seeing too many women being murdered or attacked in sex crimes. He’s also isn’t partial to a threesome either.
O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill etc)
Aaron will have you screaming out in ecstasy from his tongue eating you out, with him giving you a wink. He loves it when you blow him, seeing how flirty you are. Either way, Aaron is a giver by nature and prefers to be the one giving you oral.
P - Pace (are they fast and rough, soft and sensual?)
Aaron can do both. He can fuck you like nobody can, literally pummelling his cock into you and leaving bruises on your hips… but he can also be so soft and gentle to you with candles lit all around you as he devotes himself to making tender love to you.
Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often etc.)
With his commitments to work and to Jack, quickies can happen a lot for you and him as sometimes it leaves little time. Aaron isn’t against them, he does prefer having more time but sometimes a quickie is just so great.
R - Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)
He isn’t experimental outside the house, like he’d never do anything such as public sex etc. Aaron might be game to sex in his SUV or phone sex, he won’t risk the reputation of you, himself or even Jack.
S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)
Aaron is a triathlete, so he can go for a few rounds ! He might be getting on in age but he seems to have the energy of a twenty year old when it comes to you.
T - Toys (do they own toys, do they use toys? on a partner or themselves?)
Aaron doesn’t like toys being used on himself, but he’s open to trying them out on you if you want. He bought you a brand new vibrator and dildo to use when he’s not there. Out of all toys, I only see Aaron using blindfolds and his handcuffs.
U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Oh Aaron can be such a tease! He’s so cheeky and witty that he uses to get you riled up so much.
V - Volume (how loud are they, what sounds do they make etc?)
Aaron is a man of few words sometimes, but he is man who groans and grunts so much when he fucks or cums. His deep voice gets even deeper too, which makes you feel even wetter.
W - Wild Card (random headcanon)
Aaron loves it when you bake or cook for him. He also loves it when you wear his clothes such as his college t-shirt and sweater, seeing them be so large on you. But within all this domesticity is that Aaron loves how clever you are.
X - X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Veiny, long and uncut. He’s somewhat thick but not quite? Either way he knows how to use it well and his Big Dick Energy just radiates from him.
Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive)
Aaron has a reasonable sex drive but he does work cases with sexual elements or murder which can affect his ability, but he knows you never hold that against him. But also with him travelling all over the country means he can be built up and wanting for you.
Z - Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards)
He can suffer from insomnia at times from the sights he sees, and sex with you does seem to help Aaron fall asleep quick. He works long hours, complex cases and then looking after Jack & being with you, that adding sex can make Aaron fall asleep smoothly.
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Do Not Enter
Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
You and the team had just landed back at Quantico after a rather long case and the first thing you wanted to do was head to your desk and pack everything up so you could get home to your thirsty plants.
As you rifled through your drawers, looking for the charger you'd left there before the case had started, your hand came across a small wrapped gift in the very back of the drawer. You pulled it out and into the light, revealing a square shaped present, wrapped in "Crime Scene Do Not Cross" tape? You scanned the room, it was only you and Spencer, every one else had cleared out.
"Oh my god." You heard Spencer whisper, studying you with the present.
"What?" You wanted to drop it. You were not wanting to open a clue to a case or something. Even heroes needed rest.
Spencer twiddled with his thumbs nervously at your response, almost like he'd been caught. "Nothing...that's just old."
You carried it over to him, sturdying yourself on top of his desk as he gazed up at you from his spinny chair. "What is it?" You shook it a little before handing it to him.
Spencer cleared his throat a little, "Well, um, it's an old gift. I got it for you a while ago. Some little Russian bookstore had opened by my apartment and- well, i'll spoil it."
Your face lit up as you grabbed it back from him, kicking your feet as you unwrapped it. It was old as dust, but it was beautiful: a collectors edition of Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. "Oh that's so beautiful." You whispered, completely engulfed in the book.
You leaned forward placing your hand on Spencer's tall shoulder to leave a small kiss on his cheek. Spencer's face lit on fire, but you dove right back into examining the book. It was all so quick it almost didn't even happen, just like the last time you'd done that- a "casual peck". You and Spencer never spoke about it, but you'd been kissing his cheek every once in a while and he couldn't bear to stay silent anymore.
"Why'd you wrap it in that tape-" You started.
"You kiss me a lot." You looked down at him and placed the book to the side of you on his desk.
"I guess so." You continued to kick your feet anxiously, just teetering on the edge of freaking out.
Spencer was quick to realize how anxious you were, so he gently took your hand in his, soothingly swiping his thumb over you skin. "I like it." He mentioned.
Your heart beat so fast you were sure he could feel it through your hand at this point. "You do?" The room felt hot, you felt hot. Without thinking, you slowly slid off of his desk, brushing your skirt off, then letting Spencer pull you onto his lap. Your face lingered so close to his you could feel his sweet breath against your cheek.
"I like you." Spencer gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling you in by the chin for a real kiss. No more games, he felt good against your lips. You pressed harder into him, letting your arms rest around his shoulders and neck.
You kept going until Specner groaned a little, breaking the sounds of anything but your kisses. You pulled back, flustered.
"Is there any more of that Do Not Enter tape for this room?" You asked, causing Spencer to giggle and wrap you up in his arms.
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See How It Shines | Spencer Reid x F!Reader
Summary: You had left the Quantico office for what you thought was your dream job. However, you were quick to find out that you lost a lot more than you found. The love of your life walked away from you, but your love for him never waned. But you can't help but wonder if his soul yearns for you like yours does for him.
Cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3
Warnings: Angst, so much angst, pining. Poorly edited.
Word count: 8.2k
a/n: Howdy, this is the first time I've written for Spencer, and I can't guarantee that the quality is good. This is inspired by Hozier's song "Abstract". Here is my masterlist!
"So that's it then? You're just going to leave?" His voice cracks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.
"Spencer." You whisper and reach out for his face to wipe the tears away, but he flinches from your touch. An overwhelming sensation of sorrow blossoms in you as you watch him shake his head and walk away.
A single tear drips from your face and lands on the floor. The love of your life walks away from you and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.
A steady stream of light rain surrounds you as you stare up at an all too familiar building, your nerves not allowing you to take another step closer just yet. Memories of the past float around in your mind as you contemplate turning around and finding some excuse of why you never showed up. But you know you can't just leave, you can't help yourself. With all the courage you can muster, you force yourself inside of the building, where the cold air hits your wet skin and leaves goosebumps all over.
Each step that you take towards the office, your heartbeat resounds in your ears and your stomach feels like it's been tied into numerous knots. This office used to be like your second home, but now it's like seeing a ghost, a place frozen in time, unchanged. You recall the first day you walked into this building, bright eyed and hopeful for the future which starkly contrasts the last time you left. That memory is tattooed in your mind, unable to forget despite giving it your best effort.
Your chest begins heaving with deep breaths as you find yourself just outside of the elevator and you have to find every last shred of strength within you to not get sick all over the floor. With a shaking hand, you press the button to call the elevator. You've been on this elevator ride more times than you can count, but that was back then, under different circumstances.
The doors close, leaving you alone in the elevator. In an attempt to soothe yourself, your clammy hands grasp the railing and you close your eyes, trying to calm your racing mind. Invasive thoughts crowd your head all at once, remembering who used to ride this elevator with you every morning and how you're going to have to face him once more after that last ride. Before you're ready, the doors open and you have no choice but to step out.
With each approaching step it feels like you're making your way through wet concrete, your feet feel like they're being tethered to the floor, not wanting to progress forward. Once you reach the office's door, it feels like every set of eyes is on you instantly. But perhaps that's just your paranoia.
Keeping your head held high in a faux display of confidence, you look around and see your old desk, still empty and unoccupied. And to your relief, his desk is unoccupied as well but you can tell there are files waiting for him. A clap on your shoulder breaks you from your mental downward spiral and you jump slightly from the contact.
"It's good to have you back, even if it is just for a few days." A familiar voice says from behind you, and you turn to see Derek Morgan with a wide smile on his face. A smile breaks out on your face as well and you embrace your old friend,
"It's good to be back." You say as he wraps his arms around your waist for a brief reunion. You step away from him and sigh, looking around for any other familiar faces, hoping to see all but one.
"He won't be here for another half hour." Morgan says as if he can read your mind. Without delving into that can of worms, you settle for nodding your head and changing the subject.
"Is Hotch here? He said he was going to give me the run down." You say, straightening your jacket to distract yourself from the intruding voice in your mind. Morgan nods his head and takes you to the briefing room, where you find two of your other ex-colleagues, both with smiles on their faces.
"It's good to see you guys." You force yourself to greet them first, taking note of the faltering smile on Emily's face. Knowing the reason for the fake smile, you turn to Hotch who extends his hand to you. Emily does nothing of the sort, and you can't blame her, you understand.
"Here's your file to look over. We'll be wheels up in an hour." Hotch hands you a brown file folder and you nod, opening the front of it to familiarize yourself with the case you'll be assisting them on. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Emily leaving the room, leaving you and Hotch alone.
You and Hotch had developed a close bond while you worked for the Quantico office and it seems that your departure did not interfere with his sentiments towards you. Closing the file, you meet his gaze and you can tell that there's a lot he wants to say, but you also know he won't go out of his way to gossip. Instead of making him suffer with the burden of professionalism, you break the ice first, trusting him more than the others to give you the truth.
"How bad is this going to be?" He knows your question isn't about the case, and he sighs.
"It'll be fine." His tone betrays the words coming out of his mouth, much to your dismay. He's trying to keep you on board with the idea, even if it means faking positivity.
"And you're sure I can't just stay here and help Garcia?" You try one last time to worm out of this assignment, knowing you didn't take it willingly. Hotch shakes his head,
"Sorry, no can do. Garcia is helping another unit and we need you there with us. You know it's easier to get immediate feedback." He strikes down your last attempt and you nod, knowing that he's completely right.
"Okay, see you on the jet." You defeatedly say and take your file folder with you out of the conference room. The uneasiness in your stomach only intensifies with each passing second, knowing that you're closer and closer to confronting your past.
Instead of staying out in the open office space, you find somewhere to hide for the next forty five minutes, like a coward. You find a quiet corner in the breakroom and sit at the table, spreading the contents of the folder out in front of you. Maybe if you fully immerse yourself in the case then this assignment won't be that bad, or at least that's what you're trying to convince yourself of.
The papers in front of you detail the unsub the team is going after. Being familiar with this unit, your brain automatically disregards the information that isn't pertinent to your job. You're not a behavioral profiler like the rest of them, and so the information about picking apart the unsub's actions isn't as important to your job. Instead, you focus on the details regarding the unsub's internet use and who has been targeted. In a way, you're profiling the unsub, you just do it differently than the rest of the team.
As an intelligence analyst, you're more concerned with known usernames, websites frequented, how the unsub uses social media, that sort of thing. You're more interested in establishing a pattern of online behavior that can give insight to an unsub's activity that might not be apparent from the crime scenes left behind. During your time at the Quantico office, this type of analysis has been helpful in over forty cases.
As you read on and mark specific details to help you, your mind reverts to what it knows best; the job. Your thoughts are no longer concerned with facing your past, and all you can think of is how to use the information provided to aid your search. Your dedication to the job is also what landed you in this predicament in the first place, but you try not to dig into what that might mean.
"Hey, there you are, we've been looking for you all over. Wheels up in five." Morgan says and you nod, quickly shoving the papers back into the file and clipping the pen over the front cover. You must've lost track of time, too engrossed in searching for the smallest of details.
Taking the familiar path to the unit's private jet is almost nostalgic, and you kind of miss being able to do this. The Cleveland office never deploys agents like Quantico does, but they offered the position of a lifetime, and you couldn't turn it down. But sometimes, most times, you wish you had. You found that you lost far more than you gained.
The rest of the team is on the jet by the time you and Morgan arrive, and you rush in, mumbling out an apology as you take a seat in the back, where you'll hopefully be left alone for the duration of the flight. As you take your seat and prepare for takeoff, you can feel everyone's eyes burning into you and your heart rate increases, knowing that the one person you'd wanted to avoid is definitely here. His presence is overwhelming and you haven't even looked at him yet. Your heartstrings tug with remorse and pain, remembering the last time you two were on the jet, when things were good.
Knowing you've already gathered all the information you can from the file, you open it again anyways and act like you're deep in thought. Though the profilers can probably see right through this, none of them say anything.
It's a demanding task to keep your eyes trained on the file for the majority of the flight, but after a while your neck starts aching from poor posture. You quietly place the file on your lap and stretch out your muscles, massaging the side to find some temporary relief. You notice that almost everyone has elected to take a nap until the plane lands, but unfortunately, one person opted to stay awake.
Your eyes meet his and it's like the entire world caves in.
His hazel eyes hold your own and you can't stop the racing images in your mind, they're all so vivid. You remember the first time you met him, how you two became so quickly entangled in one another without even noticing. Your feelings for him had encroached on you so subtly, that you didn't even realize how deeply and richly you loved him until you said goodbye.
You'll never be able to erase that moment from your mind. The day you told him you accepted the Intelligence Director job in Cleveland, and that you were transferring. Tears had been running down his cheeks, and you tried to console and comfort him, but there was nothing you could do, the damage had been done. And not a day has gone by that you didn't think of him.
Now that you're face to face with him again, it's like the poorly-repaired crack in your heart has been reopened. You want nothing more than to reach out and feel his soft skin under your fingertips one more time. Though you were the one who broke things off, you mourned the lost relationship with him. Things with him just fell into place, the two of you brought out the best in each other.
But now, looking into his eyes, you notice the spark behind them is gone and only a dull light remains. Your mouth falls open like you're going to say something, but he looks away before your mind can come up with anything to say. Not that he has to listen to anything you say, you understand if he wants nothing to do with you this entire trip.
Truthfully, you were surprised Morgan had welcomed you back so warmly. You knew that by leaving Quantico, and also the love of your life, that you had hurt the team. The team is so intimately woven together, that your departure had left a bad taste in their mouths. Of course some were more understanding, but there were also those who took it more personally. And you can't blame them, after all you broke the heart of the most caring, tender soul in the world.
Realizing you're staring at the side of his face, you tear your gaze away from him and your mind forces you to relive one of your most regrettable moments.
-----
"I took the job in Cleveland. I leave in two days." The words tumble out of your mouth as the elevator door dings and opens to the main lobby. You had tried to find the right time to tell him, but the clock was ticking and time was running out. The hand intertwined with yours drops as the two of you step out into the lobby.
"What?" He says with clear exasperation and disbelief. You had mentioned four months ago that you were interested in the job, and he had encouraged you to at least apply. But that was before you two had become so deeply involved in one another.
"They called me the other night and said they would love to have me as soon as possible. I applied months ago and I didn't think they'd actually consider me for the position." You try to explain to him that you didn't do this after you had grown close. He shakes his head, and you see wetness gather in his lash line.
"So that's it then? You're just going to leave?" His voice cracks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.
"Spencer." You whisper and reach out for his face to wipe the tears away, but he flinches from your touch. An overwhelming sensation of sorrow blossoms in you as you watch him shake his head and walk away.
A single tear drips from your face and lands on the floor. The love of your life walks away from you and you don't know if you'll ever see him again.
-----
The plane lands and everyone grabs their belongings before filing out. You intentionally take a longer time to gather the few belongings you had brought along, and you're careful to make sure he's out of the plane before you leave.
You hang back from the team while they all get ready to head to the hotel to check in before going to the crime scene. They're all discussing their theories about the unsub and you listen in, but make no move to interject like you used to. Instead, you silently get into the SUV and keep your gaze focused on the moving landscape.
Once everyone is at the hotel and checked into their rooms, you let yourself drop the façade. The door behind you shuts and you slide down until you're sitting on the floor, the ache in your chest making it feel as if you can't catch your breath. You knew this was going to be hard, but you never thought it would feel this suffocating. It seems that while the world and the team had moved on, you remain stuck in the memory of what used to be. And you're not sure if you'll ever be able to truly move on. You're not sure if you want to move on.
A knock on your door forces you to stand back on your feet, and you hurriedly throw your things on the bed before returning and answering the door. Morgan stands on the other side, leaning against the doorframe. He smiles softly as he meets your eye and you're quick to put your front back up with a smile.
"Are we ready?" You ask and he nods. You follow him without another word, tucking the keycard into the pocket of your jacket.
"You know you don't have to act like an outsider, it's just us." He tries to soothe your obvious discomfort.
"It feels like I'm an outsider." You admit to him and he stops walking as he continues the conversation.
"None of us blame you for taking the job, it was good for your career. And whatever happened between you and Reid, it was two years ago." He says like the time makes things easier to handle, when in fact, the time just made your heart grow heavy with loss. You avert your eyes from him and nod, starting to walk back down the hall to avoid continuing this conversation.
Once you all had arrived to the scene, you hung around the back. You weren't really needed here, but the team likes to have you here so that you can be up to date with all the information they have. Once their assessment of the scene is complete, that's when you'll go back to the police station where you'll set up your work space for the remainder of the case.
The team and the local police discuss what's been found so far. There was a young male found deceased, gun in his hand with an apparent self-inflicted gunshot. However, there were a few details that suggested that this was not a suicide. The angle at which the bullet entered the victim's head was inconsistent with suicide, and the gun wasn't laying in the manner it should have given the bullet's trajectory. The victim's phone had gone missing in this area as well, but nobody's been able to recover it yet; maybe the unsub took it with them.
The behavioral analysts comb over the scene with intense precision, and you begin looking at things from a different perspective. Your mind begins constructing several theories about where the gun came from, what significance this place has, and where the victim's phone is. As your mind races, your hand scribbles messy notes so you don't lose your train of thought.
Feeling as if someone's looking at you, your gaze turns from your sloppy notes to look around. From the other side of the crime scene, those familiar hazel eyes look into your own, as if they can see into your soul. As soon as your eyes meet, he's turning away and back to the scene, where he points something out to Hotch and then goes on a tangent about the history of something.
You try your best to listen in, needing to hear his honeyed voice. In the two years you had been gone, your mind had failed you and forgot how sweet he sounds. From the distance between you, your ears only pick up bits and pieces and nothing quite makes sense because you miss so much information. But you were never listening for the content anyways.
You finish your evaluation quicker than the rest and so you take out your phone and try to do some preliminary searches. Within a minute you find the victim's social medias and begin combing through them in search of people regularly interacted with, patterns of life, and anything else that might stand out. With your notepad balanced unevenly on a tree trunk, you try to scribble down names to follow up on when a voice from behind you startles you from concentration.
"The rest of us are going to stay here for a while, but you and some others can head to the police station and get started." Hotch dismisses you from the scene and you nod, heading towards the car while still jotting down notes, not bothering to see who else is joining you.
Once your mind starts going on a case it's hard for it to stop, which is both a strength and a flaw. By the time you join the local law enforcement in their car, you're on a mental fast track. The notes you write are indecipherable to everyone but yourself but it all makes sense to you, and that's all that matters.
"So what all do you need?" The local police officer asks from the drivers seat. Your gaze shifts from the paper to the rearview mirror, where the older man is looking back at you with curiosity in his eyes.
"Not a lot. I'll need a computer, access to records, and some warrant forms to get started." Your answer is almost automated from having to answer it time and time again over the years. However, as you go to finish your notes, you notice someone in the passenger seat and your breath catches in your throat. How had you not noticed he was sitting less than two feet away?
The rest of your notes don't get finished. Instead, you're transfixed on the man in front of you. His familiar smell is almost enough to bring you to tears, he still smells like home. You remember spending nights in his apartment in the fall time, huddled under blankets that smelled like him. A comforting scent that let you know that you were safe, you were exactly where you were meant to be.
The police are quick to accommodate your needs and you thank them politely, but your mind is anywhere but where it should be. Instead of uncovering important intelligence for the case, your mind is preoccupied with the man in front of you. As the police set up a temporary workspace for you, Spencer stands right in front of you, but facing away, scanning over images from the crime scene. You know he's got the images committed to memory by now, he's just doing that to avoid you, and so you take the hint.
"Here you are ma'am." The officers show you to your workspace, and you fight back the urge to protest their use of "ma'am". It always made you feel old.
"It's Director, actually." Spencer corrects the officer, and your lips part slightly. Before you can say anything to him, he's already turned back around to study the photos.
"My apologies, here's your workstation, Director. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to assist." The officer then excuses himself. The tension between you and your former lover is thick, but you know that you're not likely to get him alone like this again, and so you force yourself to take advantage of the situation.
"Thank you." Your voice is soft and you bite the skin on your lower lip, a bad nervous habit he once told you. He places the photos on the desk and turns to face you.
"Of course." Is all he says before getting started on his duties. You should've known he was going to be here like this, it's how most cases with the team went. You worry that your preoccupation is going to hinder your investigation, but at the same time you're just thankful to see him again, even if he never says another word to you.
-----
Later in the day, the rest of the team joins you two in the police department to catch everyone up on the information uncovered. The behavioral analysts have deduced that the unsub might be a woman, and you make note of that. Truthfully, your preliminary searches have not been as fruitful as they typically are, and you know everyone notices.
"I'm going to keep going though. I know there's something out there." You say as you admit to them you don't have any solid leads yet, a first for you. You don't miss the pitiful smiles people throw your way, and you bite your tongue to make sure you don't say anything out of line.
The rest of the day you search tirelessly for leads and before you know it, it's dark outside and everyone is gone. Without prying eyes, your shoulders slouch and you cradle your head in your hands. Your eyes burn from staring at the screen, and your list of leads is still too small for your liking. There's still a lot of work to be done.
The frustration with yourself grows and you almost resent your superior for sending you back here. He said that you were requested by name, and that there was no reason for you not to come. Though you could give him a reason, you're sure he would've just told you to grow up. On your way here you convinced yourself that you could do this job quickly but now that you're here, it's apparent that your distraction is going to be an obstacle to overcome. When lives are on the line, it's dangerous to have an obstacle that impairs your work.
But once the quietness of the police station settles in your mind, you find the will to keep working. Maybe without him being here you can actually get some work done. So that's exactly what you do, you work through the night and are thankfully able to come up with some solid bits of information that you think will be beneficial for the behavioral analysts to know.
Information is meticulously placed in an easy to read briefing document, which you print out and staple for everyone, just like you used to. Perhaps if you conduct this just like your other jobs, you'll start to feel more at home and comfortable.
-----
A hand on your shoulder startles you awake, and your eyes blink wildly to try and acclimate yourself with the bright light that's now infiltrating the station windows.
"Did you stay here all night?" Hotch's voice causes your head to swivel to the front door of the station and you rub your eyes, realizing that you did in fact end up staying here all night. You try to downplay this and dodge his question, gathering the briefing documents you had put together and passing them out to the team.
"This is what I found out, there are still more leads to follow, but I think I'm onto some good things here. One person of interest stands out, and that's a girl he recently started interacting with. From what I can tell without getting into his profiles, they started interacting about a month ago, and it appears they were very in love with each other. But she's got some literal skeletons in her closet. Three years ago one of her boyfriends was found dead in an apparent suicide." You conclude your briefing with the most pertinent information. They can read through the rest themselves. You cover your mouth as you yawn, and stretch out the tense muscles in your neck. The agents read over everything and while they read, you turn the computer back on and prepare to do some more investigating.
"Take a break, you were here all night." Morgan speaks up this time, causing almost everyone's eyes to land on you. Every time you blink your eyes feel like they're being scrubbed with sandpaper, but you can't afford to take a break.
"I'll be fine." You offer him a smile, but it doesn't take a professional profiler to see right through it. Nobody says anything else, so you start going down more rabbit holes to uncover more leads about who the unsub might be.
As the agents go to interview people, it's just you and Spencer left at the station. He's taking care of the geographical profile for this case, like he usually does. The two of you work quietly, but you notice that you can't help but look over at him every few minutes with longing and fondness thick in your heart.
Today he's wearing a button up pushed to his elbows with a simple tie, and it shouldn't make you feel any sort of way, but it brings you back to your first day at the BAU. You remember in great detail seeing him for the first time, he was wearing something similar and you had convinced yourself that he despised you because he would never directly interact with you. After a while you had figured out that he was just unsure of how to approach you, he said that he felt flustered around you. But being paired together on cases helped break the ice, and without even realizing it, you had fallen head over heels in love with him. And you had never fallen out of love, not for one second.
Your eyes travel from his shirt to his hair, his chocolate curls still as soft as you remember them. Flashes of late weekend nights pop into your mind and you remember how he'd fall asleep with his head in your lap as you raked your fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep. Then there were the mornings where his hair would be sticking up in random places from how restless he was the night before, and how you fought hard to tame the curls, but were never completely successful.
The coffee cup on the desk next to him catches your eye and you wish you had a strong cup right about now. When the two of you used to work together, you would take turns bringing the coffee. He always liked his with enough sugar to put anyone into a diabetic coma and he always perfectly made your latte every time. He had it down to a science. It's the simple things you miss the most about him, about your time shared with him.
No matter how much time or distance that was put between the two of you, you know that you have no choice but to love him. You love him still, with just as much passion as you did two years ago when you left, and you know there's not a single thing on this Earth that you wouldn't still do for him.
You're not sure if it's the exhaustion finally getting to you or what, but you find that you can't be in the same room as him any longer, suffocating from bittersweet memories. Abruptly, you stand from your seat and make your way to the station's bathroom, catching a glimpse of him as you pass and you feel the sob bubbling up in your throat.
As soon as the bathroom door is closed, the tears you had worked away from the plane, from the hotel, and from the crime scene come sliding down your face. Memories you thought were just painful are now harmful, evident by the deep ache that's taken residence in your chest. You tightly grip the sink in the bathroom and try to get a hold of yourself.
You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror and see dark circles under your bloodshot eyes. Tears gently fall from your lashes down your cheeks, but you make no move to wipe them away. As you stare down your reflection, you're forced to reckon with yourself, to confront what you've been running from for two years.
This is just the physical manifestation of how you've felt inside since you stepped off that elevator a couple years ago. Broken, in disrepair, suffering.
A knock on the door interrupts your meltdown and you clear your throat before wiping away the tears. Before you walk out you try your best to conceal that you've been crying, but you already know it's a lost cause. You're just thankful the rest of the team is out working the case so they can't be witness to just how pathetic you've become.
"Director, are you okay?" The officer from yesterday is waiting for you on the other side of the door. With a final breath, you open the door and plaster a smile on your face, seeing the look of concern he's giving you.
"I'm just fine, thank you." The crack in your voice contradicts your words and you keep your head down as you return to your desk and prepare to bury yourself in work for the remainder of the day. As you walk by, you can just barely see Spencer's head turn to watch you walk by, but you can't bring yourself to look back.
-----
Hours later, the agents are returning from their field work and you've prepared more information for them. You took a deep dive into the girl of interest, the one you highlighted in the briefing, and found that she has had several relationships in the past few months. All of which ended badly, according to social media posts.
"One post in particular claims that she showed up at a previous boyfriend's house with a gun because she was convinced he had another girl over. I've been able to establish a pattern of erratic behavior from her, backed up by a few restraining orders." You yawn as you finish explaining the newly found information. The lack of sleep is most definitely catching up to you but you know you're so close to finishing this case; why stop working now?
The mission-driven part of your brain makes you sit back down to find more evidence of the girl's psychotic behavior, but before you can resume a hand reaches over and shuts the computer off.
"No. You've done more than enough. Go to the hotel." Hotch orders you with a warning look that tells you not to fight him on this. If your eyes didn't feel like a desert, you might have argued back but the thought of fresh hotel sheets, a warm shower, and a moment of rest is too appealing. Perhaps you had overworked yourself.
Relenting, you nod and gather your things while the rest of the team continues discussing the case. You're sure if there are any major developments that they'll contact you, so you don't worry about missing anything major. After all, the case seems like it's coming to a quick close. Which is odd, this case has been strangely easy and straightforward. Why would they call in an intelligence director for this?
The question floats around your head as you catch a taxi back to the hotel. As you shower, you try to come up with anything that makes sense. There are tons of FBI intelligence analysts in Quantico, but your supervisor said that you had been requested by name. This case wasn't particularly daunting, so why didn't they give the assignment to a junior analyst? Why would they specifically ask for you? It just doesn't make sense, there's no logic to it; and you don't like things that aren't logical.
After your shower, you flop onto the crisp hotel sheets with a huff. Your mind is still reeling with the question of why as you drift off into a restless sleep.
-----
"Would you like to come over and watch the movie? I rented it because I just finished the book. And I know the books are always better but I can't help it, I'm curious." You stop yourself from rambling too much, and look up at your coworker with butterflies in your tummy and stars in your eyes. His hazel eyes look back down at you, crinkling in the corners as he smiles.
"You're probably right, the books are always better. But, um, yeah, sure I'd love to watch it with you." Faint redness brushes his cheeks as he stumbles over his words, which you've noticed he only does when he's nervous. It's endearing, you think.
"Great, um, come over at 6?" You ask him, nervously biting at the skin on your bottom lip.
"You know chewing on your lips like that is a bad habit, in severe cases it can lead to the development of fibromas. And yes, I'll be there at six. Is there anything I should bring?" As he finishes his sentence you immediately stop biting at the sensitive skin, making a mental promise to try and break the habit. With a shake of your head, you smile back at him,
"Just bring yourself, that's more than enough." The blush on his cheeks grows redder and you turn on your heel, leaving the office for the evening, giddy with excitement of finally gaining the courage to ask Spencer to hang out after work. You had wanted to get to know him better outside of work, but you had never felt comfortable enough to do it until now.
Later that night, he knocks on your door at six sharp. You practically trip over your own feet as you go to the door, in a frenzy to make sure your clothes are straightened out and your hair is in place. Before you greet him, you take a second to gain your composure.
Spencer is standing on the other side, with a bag of M&Ms in his hand. A sheepish smile adorns his perfectly structured face and you let him in.
"I know you said not to bring anything, but I know these are your favorite." He hands the bag to you and you thank him. A man had never taken enough interest in you to get to know what you like and don't like. But Spencer is different, and you knew that from the moment you met.
"Thank you." A wave of confidence comes over you, and you lean up and place a soft kiss on his cheek.
-----
You awake with a heavy, raw feeling in your stomach and you reach for your phone to check the time. It's eleven at night, and nobody from the team had tried to reach you since you left the station earlier in the morning. Setting the phone beside you, you get out of the bed and decide to talk a walk. There's no chance that you're getting back to sleep after that dream. The dreams about Spencer had stopped about a year ago, and it made life manageable; but now that they're back, and he's right here, just out of reach, it's like you forgot how to function.
Tucking the keycard into your pocket, you step out of the room and quietly shut the door. You're not sure where you're even headed, but anywhere but inside that small room is good enough. As you make your way into the elevator, you rub the grogginess from your eyes. They're still sensitive from the improper rest and tears, but it's the least painful thing you're dealing with.
The elevator doors open at the lobby and you can hear that the hotel's bar is alive with energy. What better way to drown your sorrows? Your feet carry you to the bar and you take a seat at the end, ordering something strong from the bartender. With an unsteady hand, you swirl the liquid around in the glass as someone takes a seat next to you.
"Didn't think I'd see you here." Derek's voice is smooth as usual. Looking up from your coping mechanism, you give him the best smile you can produce. His eyes dart from your face to your hand and he frowns.
"Any developments?" You change the topic of conversation immediately, taking a large swig. He nods his head,
"We got her. The information you found was enough to secure the warrant." He says and for the first time working this case, you feel happy. Catching an unsub before they can hurt anyone else always brought you great satisfaction.
"Good. That's great, glad I could help." You say and finish off your drink, gesturing to the bartender for another.
"The rest of us are over there, come join us. It'll be like old times." He leans up against the bar with a bottle in his hand. The bartender hands you another and you consider it.
"We both know it won't be like old times." Your voice trails off and you stare back into your glass, wanting to look anywhere but at Derek. His plants his hand on your arm, strong enough to pull your attention back to him and behind him you can see the rest of the team taking their seats. You spot Spencer taking a seat next to Emily, remembering how it used to be you that he sat by.
"Stop making excuses. After this who know when we'll see you again? Come on, we've all missed you." Derek has always had a way of getting to your soft spot, and it's almost impossible to say no. Your teeth find their way to the damaged skin on your lip and you look between him and the crowd of your former team, celebrating the arrest.
"Fine. But only if you answer something for me." You make a deal and take another drink.
"Sure." He agrees.
"Who requested me to be assigned to this case?" The question still hadn't left your mind. Derek's expression is unreadable, and he looks over to his colleagues.
"It was Hotch." It's not the answer you were hoping for, but you nod. Deep down you know you wished it was Spencer who had recommended you.
"Why? There are so many good analysts in Quantico." You take another drink, waiting for his reasoning.
"There are good analysts, but none of them are you. Look, Hotch misses you a lot. We haven't been able to fill your position since you left, because none of them can live up to you. The team hasn't been the same without you." His words sting, and you feel even more remorse about your decision. You should've never taken the job. Your shoulder sag in defeat.
"I wish I never left." You confide in him, trusting him enough to open up. He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder and gives a reassuring squeeze.
"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but I think Hotch wants to talk to you before you go back to Cleveland." His words ignite a spark of hope inside you. For the first time since you started the case, you perk up.
"Are you serious?" You can barely believe his words. After everything that happened, you were sure they'd never want you back permanently. You were keenly aware of how protective everyone was over Spencer, and when you broke his heart, you were sure that was the last straw. But maybe things can be salvaged, just maybe.
"Okay I gave you an answer, now come on." He drops the conversation and smiles, leading you over to the table, trying your absolute best to appear happy and not like every single emotion is running through your mind all at once.
"There she is! Our wonder girl!" Hotch's voice greets you as he pulls you in for a hug. You can't help but to smile, his embrace and nickname feeling familiar and comforting. Hotch had taken you under his wing from day one, and you're forever grateful for him.
"Is there an empty seat?" You ask and he nods, gesturing towards the one on the other side of Spencer. The smile on your face falters, but you don't want to make things weird for the whole team, so instead of making a deal out of it you decide to suffer in silence and take the seat.
Maybe a little part of you will enjoy being so close to him. Maybe you can find just a shred of comfort from his proximity. You don't miss the way his shoulders tense as you jump up into the tall stool and you take another drink quickly. The team goes on and on about the case and how the girl was insisting she was innocent while you spin your glass around on the table, mulling over Derek's words.
"This round's on me." Spencer's voice breaks you out of your trance and you look over at him, seeing his wallet opening. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see a polaroid still tucked inside the opening meant for a driver's license. You suck in a sharp breath as if it had just slapped you across the face.
You had almost forgotten about the photo, a moment frozen in time. The two of you smile widely, squinting from the flash. Your arms wrapped around his neck and one of his arms circling your waist as he took the picture. It was the first, and only, Christmas you had spent with each other, neither of you having families to spend the holiday with. The two of you had made it a point to make the other feel special. You had gotten him a new series of books he had mentioned and he got you a pair of rose quartz earrings. It didn't take you long to realize why he had chosen rose quartz.
Hearing your breath, he looks over and sees your eyes trained on the photo. You tear your eyes from the photo up to him, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. How can he be so close, yet so far? Your lips fall open as your brain tries to find the right words, but you come up short. While the others go to get another round of drinks, the two are you are stuck staring at each other, transfixed.
"Spencer." You finally breathe out, eyes scanning his face for any indication of how he's feeling. Butterflies erupt in your tummy. His eyes look deep into yours and you wonder if he can see it, the way your eyes shine with only the deepest love for him. You feel tears well in your lash line, and you don't even care, all you want to do is reach out for him, to feel his arms around you, to have him back.
In that moment, you know you would get down on your knees in the hotel bar and publicly beg for his forgiveness if that's what it took to have him back. To lament about how you wish you had never left him. Confess how every single day you've longed for his touch, his love, and how you know you're undeserving of him. That no matter how many minutes have passed, your heart belongs to him and only him until the end of time.
"Why don't we take a walk?" He finally answers and you nod your head immediately. You jump down from the stool and follow behind him outside the hotel where a light drizzle of rain had started.
He walks a few paces ahead of you, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants until he reaches a lone light post that's illuminating the raindrops. He turns to face you, the golden light reflecting off his smooth skin and you can see how his eyes dance over your face. It feels like hours pass before he says anything.
"How's Cleveland treating you?" It's not at all what you're expecting and it takes you a few moments to process the question.
"Cleveland is...well, truthfully, I hate it there." You decide to completely come clean to him. The raindrops begin clinging to the ends of his hair, magnifying the rich warm hues.
"Sounds like you're doing some pretty good things up there. Hotch has been keeping us updated." He says, kicking around loose pebbles on the sidewalk as he speaks. The tension is reminiscent of your first few interactions with him, and you kick yourself for ever letting him go.
"I'm just doing my job. But I hear Quantico needs a lead analyst." I bring up the topic, just to see his reaction. If he gives any indication that he doesn't want me to come back, I'll turn Hotch down without a second thought. Spencer lifts his gaze back up to you and nods.
"We've been looking for one for a while." A gust of wind makes you shiver from the wetness of your skin.
"Derek told me Hotch is going to ask me to come back." You blurt out, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer.
"They told me." He answers, looking away from you once more. You lick your lips and ask the question that will determine your decision.
"Do you want me back?" The question is loaded, and he knows that too. He stops kicking around the pebbles and just stares down at the sidewalk. When he lifts his head, your wide eyes meet his.
"Do you want to come back?" He answers your question with another.
"More than anything. I've wanted to come back since the first day I left." You confess to him, taking a step forward. Before he can say anything else, you force yourself to say everything you've been feeling over the past few days, knowing that if you don't do it now that you might regret never saying it.
"I should have never left. That job was never worth giving up what we had. I was stupid, I was a damn fool for letting you go. You're all I've thought about every single day, my heart and soul are fractured without you. But I don't expect you to forgive me, I'm not worthy of your forgiveness. And if you don't want me back I'll tell Hotch that I can't take the position." The rain had picked up as you poured your heart out to the man you love.
You watch as he takes his hands out of his pockets and takes a step towards you.
"I've hoped that you would come back every day. I waited for you to walk through the office doors day after day. And I'm sorry for just walking away, I didn't know what to do, the thought of you not being here anymore was too much. I shouldn't have just walked away." You hear his voice start to tremble, and you can't help but to close the distance between the two of you.
You wrap your arms around his neck and his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his body. Tears fall from your eyes onto his shirt, and after what feels like an eternity, he pushes you back slightly, tipping your chin up so that you're forced to look into his eyes. His lips are parted, and he leans in and presses a sweet, tender kiss to yours.
Your hands grasp the sides of his face, as if he would suddenly disappear if you let go. He clutches you with just as much passion, the two of you pressed together as you express everything you have felt over the last two years without one another. The pain, the longing, the love. Spencer breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours.
In the soft amber glow of the streetlamp you can see it clearly, just how your love shines for one another.
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Letters to Emily
Emily Prentiss x Reader
Summary: When Ian Doyle takes away the one person you love, you find solace in writing her letter.
Warnings: Typical talk of Emily being dead. Hurt. Let me know if I missed something<3
A/N: Hi friends! It’s been a while. I’ve been working on this for a while, and idk how I feel about it. I very lightly edited this. Feedback is appreciated as always. Ao3 Link. Enjoy!<3
July 26, 2011
Emily,
I accepted the job. I’m not sure what would piss you off more though: the fact that it’s a desk job or the fact that it’s in Phoenix and I’m leaving Quantico. Leaving the team. I know you’d tell me that I’m making a huge mistake but it’s just too painful.
JJ brings me coffee every morning, just like you did, and even though I know she means well, it’s a painful reminder that you will never bring me coffee again. When I look up from my desk in the bullpen to see the empty one across from me, I’m reminded that I won’t be able to watch you work anymore. I loved watching you pour over files, watching the gears turn in your head. Putting the pieces together and catching the bad guy. You were brilliant.
Emily paused as her vision blurred, the burning sensation of tears threatening to spill catches her attention and shifts her focus. She was angry. Angry at Doyle for forcing her into this mess. Angry at JJ for not telling her that you transferred. Angry at Hotch for even approving your transfer request. Angry at Derek, Spencer, and Penelope; Did they even try to convince you to stay? She took a deep breath, and then another. As she felt her heart rate return to normal, she wiped the tears away from her cheeks and continued reading.
Everything here is a painful reminder of you. Everything. I walk past a framed photo of you every single day and it guts me. Every single time. I can’t keep doing it, so I’m running. I know you’d be so disappointed in me. Virginia isn’t home without you, Em. It stopped feeling like home when JJ told me you “never made it off the table.” I don’t think I’ll ever find your feeling of home again.
I’m not sure how to tell the team about the transfer. Maybe I’ll buy them a round after this case and break the news to them then. Booze and karaoke should soften them up, right?
I don’t think they’re going to take it well. I just hope they skip the guilt trip.
I hate to end this on a sad note, so I will say that I think Arizona will be good for me. Lots of sunshine and wide open spaces. New people, new experiences. I actually think I’m excited, even though I feel guilty for it. I suppose that will get better with time. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, the one item on my bucket list is to go rockhounding out west. Maybe I’ll treat myself once I get settled.
I miss you so much, Em. But I love you even more. Always.
Emily refolded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. As she placed it on the coffee table in front of her, she finally allowed herself to cry. She had done everything in her power to protect you from Doyle and her past. Although you were physically safe, it was clear from your letters that the emotional toll was severe. She was only about halfway through the stack that she found in your bedside table, and she still had three months worth left to read. She knew she wouldn’t finish by the time you got home, but that was okay.
The raven haired woman sighed, picking up the next letter in the pile.
August 12, 2011
Emmy,
Fuck I miss you today. I wish you would’ve been here to ground me though that. Or kick some ass for me. The movers were nice enough to break my bed frame while bringing it up the stairs and then denied doing it. I watched him drop it, babe. I wasn’t even mad until he denied it. Don’t worry, I called the manager and received a full refund for the trouble.
I wish you were here to cuddle on this couch with me. I miss the way you’d hold me. I felt untouchable when I was in your arms. I think you’d like this new apartment though. The master bedroom has a killer view AND a balcony. It also has plenty of south facing windows for my houseplants, and room for many more. My collection has grown exponentially since you’ve seen it last. As odd as it sounds, they’ve helped me through this.
Sorry for the short letter today. Who knew moving halfway across the country would be so tiring? Could’ve fooled me. I love you, Emily. Always.
Emily chuckled lightly at your sarcasm, but soon felt the tears return.
Sadness began to fade within Emily, and anxiety soon took its place. She was unsure of how you would react when you came home after a long day at work to find your not-actually-dead partner sitting in your living room, reading your private letters, no less. Sure, they were technically addressed to her, but she knows you never thought anyone would read them. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to do this, but Emily vehemently rejected all help that the team offered. Hotch offered to call your Supervisor to have them sit you down to talk you through it. JJ nearly begged Emily to help in some capacity, already feeling immense guilt over the situation. Though, she almost let Rossi accompany her when he offered, and she was beginning to regret not doing so.
The regret faded almost instantly as Emily heard a key in the front door. Her heart rate increased and her chest became tight. The reality of the situation had settled in for Emily, and the uncertainty was paralyzing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a sorry attempt to calm her nerves, as she braced herself to face you. She heard the door shut, followed by footsteps that grew louder and louder until there was silence. Emily didn’t dare look up. Even as she heard the loud clatter of what she assumed were your keys colliding with the hardwood apartment floor.
“E… Emmy?”
~
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In the East & West
gif credits @hotch-girl
summary: hotch and reader realize some things.
pairing: gn!reader x aaron hotchner
contents: canon typical violence, kidnapping, unsub death, idiots in love, fluff, get together, some kissin’
an: something i wrote when i was trying to get in the right headspace for writing seeing him part 6!
word count: 1.2k
cm masterlist | requests are closed
There’s only one other time that Hotch has felt this heavy weight crushing his chest. This feeling is linked to events years ago, when he drove to his shared home with Haley, racing the clock. It feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he and Emily move through the corridors of the power plant, trying to find you. He’s grateful to have her by his side, as he can cling to the hope that backup always warrants better statistics.
But, the way he feels like he’s dying comes to him as a surprise. If there’s anything that he can count on in this life is that the two of you will disagree. Somehow you’re too similar and too different all in the same breath. You will grind his gears, like clockwork and he’ll frazzle your nerves until you feel like you’re going crazy. Both things are as fated as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
But he has to get to you. He would do anything to see you again, and while he’s not sure how his feelings for you have silently developed inside him, he doesn’t plan on hiding them from you. All he can do is hope that he gets the chance to tell you. The pessimist in him doesn’t expect anything but rejection.
They find you and the unsub in a steaming hot boiler room. He’s already dead, laying on your lap from where you’d strangled him in the cuffs he has you in. Your brow is bloodied, your face stained with tears. Hotch and Emily move quickly, getting the unsub’s body off of you and you out of the cuffs in just a few minutes.
Much to his surprise, you reach for him immediately, wrapping around him tightly. He holds you close, burying his face in your hair and soothing you as you continue to cry. The reunion, whatever it is, is short-lived as Emily starts to speak into her comms, breaking the bubble. Gathering your wits, you pull away from him, murmuring a soft thanks to him. The three of you start through the power plant again, having a much easier time finding an exit now that they’ve been through practically the entire property.
It isn’t until you’re back in Quantico that Hotch pulls you into his office, wanting to talk about the events. You both sit at his coffee table, he in one of his chairs, you on the couch. It’s all protocol, recounting the events and editing reports up until the end.
He closes the files and takes a deep, steadying breath as he broaches the next subject, “There’s one last thing that I wanted to touch on.”
“About me attaching myself to you, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. Thanks for not making it awkward and just taking it,” You let out a nervous chuckle, running your hands up and down your knees.
“I wanted to do that for you, there’s no reason for you to thank me.”
His admission gives you the courage to say something further, “I don’t know what the hell was going on but all I could think about is you. I don’t know what that means.”
“I was experiencing the same thing, and I think I do know what it means,” He shifts in his seat and you look at him inquisitively, your eyes asking him to go on. “The…panic that I felt when I was trying to get to you…I only felt that when…”
You immediately know what he’s talking about and hurry to cut him off, “Hotch, you don’t have to-“
“I think if we’re talking about my dead wife you can call me Aaron,” He says bluntly.
You run your tongue over your bottom lip, raising your eyebrows, “Fair enough. Aaron.”
He closes his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts again, and once he’s ready to speak he opens them again, “What I’m trying to say is that there’s something here between us, and I know that because of how helpless I felt when I couldn’t get to you.”
“And then there was the relief…” You admit softly, looking down at your hands as your face grows warm.
“I saw that you were okay, and it felt like I was breathing for the first time.”
You nod slowly in agreement, looking up to stare at him for a few beats. The emotions inside of you are a mixture of surprise and endearment. It’s the last thing you expect from him, to not only feel a way for you but to be vulnerable about it. It’s strange to think that your feelings for him are now as clear as day too.
“Can I…can I be near you?” You ask timidly, your fingers knotting together in your lap.
He doesn’t reply with words, just holds his hand out to you. You move with no hesitation, panting yourself firmly in his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck. The intensity of being this close to him, surrounded by his scent and staring into his eyes makes you a little light-headed.
“My turn to ask for something.”
“Ask away.”
One of his hands leaves your waist, caressing your cheek. His gaze is deep and tender, “Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
He closes the gap between you two quickly, eager to feel your lips against his. Unlike the tentative conversation, he kisses you confidently, his mouth soft and sure. Your hands find their way into his hair promptly, knotting in it to bring him closer. His hand tightens around your waist just as he dips his tongue into your mouth, exploring the taste of you. The act has you crumbling against him, a weak moan sounding in the back of your throat. The hand cupping your face runs back over your hair, before finding its place at the nape of your neck to bring you even closer as if you’re melting into him. It makes it easier for him to kiss you even deeper.
And once you’re breathless he pulls away, planting a shorter kiss on the corner of your mouth before he tucks his face into your neck. After a few moments, he hums appreciatively, “Mmm, have you always smelled this good?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I just figured with the attitude…” He keeps his face deadpan and your mouth drops open.
“Are you saying I have a stank attitude?”
He gives you a look as if he’s mulling it over, “In so many words.”
“You’ve got some nerve for a man who hardly smiles.”
“It worked somehow,” His eyes are smug as he quirks an eyebrow.
“So did my quote-on-quote stank attitude,” You retort but there’s a cheeky smile on your face.
“I have to be honest, I thought the bickering wouldn’t come back so quickly.”
“I think the bickering is our thing…it’s here to stay,” You run your hand through his hair affectionately, before pressing your forehead to his.
“And so am I,” He whispers, pressing his lips to yours once more.
if you’d like to be on my hotch taglist let me know!
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Told yall i was gonna get on the fandom g/t content and here we are, criminal minds g/t oneshot written and 3am and not edited once
Cw: brief references to violent crimes having happened/an abduction, cursing
—
Derek Morgan was no stranger to confusing, bizarre, and downright terrifying situations. His line of work pretty much guaranteed that. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think he’d seen it all - the endless horrific crime scenes he’d witnessed had already shown him that there was practically no end to the depths of depravity that the human mind could sink to. This…situation, though, was something different. Mostly because it wasn’t possible.
Or at least, it shouldn’t be possible, though the fact that he was currently experiencing it seemed to suggest otherwise.
Maybe I’ve been drugged? There were plenty of issues with that theory. Say, how his teammates were also staring up at their surroundings with wide, confused eyes, and he was pretty sure drugs didn’t usually cause group hallucinations. Most of his teammates, anyways. Prentiss and Reid were nowhere to be seen, which made sense, given that they’d gone to check the basement. And of course, Garcia was back in her office at Quantico.
That left Hotch, Rossi, and JJ standing beside Morgan. Various degrees of confusion, disbelief, and concern covered their faces. Morgan ended up being the first to break the silence.
“So, you’re all seeing this, right?”
“I’m not sure what I’m seeing,” was Rossi’s reply.
That was fair - Morgan wasn’t really sure either. He tried to reply the last few moments in his mind, in hopes of making sense of what had just happened. They’d arrested the unsub, and hurried to the abandoned building he’d been holed up in in hopes of finding his latest victim still alive. Everything had been pretty normal at that point. As normal as this job ever was, anyways. Reid and Prentiss had gone to the basement, he and Rossi had searched the main level, and JJ and Hotch went to search the upper floor.
After failing to find anything up there, they’d returned and met up with him and Rossi. They’d been preparing to make their way down to the basement when there’d been a bright flash of light. Bright enough to entirely disorient Morgan. When his vision finally cleared, he’d been presented with the scene in front of him. At first glance, he and the others were standing in the same hallway they’d previously been in. The same old table lay against the wall nearby, turned on it’s side. The same cold fluorescent lights flickered above. Their location didn’t seem to have changed.
No, what had changed was something else entirely different. It was the same hallway, but it was also now gigantic. Everything was. The upturned table that hadn’t even reached Morgan’s waist before now towered over them, easily the height of a several story building. The previously barely noticeable cracks that lined the floor were now full on crevices.
“We’re small.” JJ put into words what Morgan was sure the rest of the team was also thinking.
“That’s not possible,” Morgan replied. He didn’t know that much about physics, but he knew enough to be sure that buildings couldn’t just grow. Or people shrink, or whatever had happened.
“Regardless of what’s possible or not, we need to figure out where we are, get somewhere safe, and try to find Reid and Prentiss. Is anyone’s radio working?” Hotch’s face was as neutral as ever, and Morgan found himself grateful for a voice of reason in what felt like an otherwise unreasonable situation. The three of them nodded, checking their radios. They hadn’t been working earlier - something about the cement walls, Reid had started to explain - and it seemed their luck still hadn’t changed.
“Nothing here,” Rossi said. Hotch frowned.
“Alright. Well, that desk over there offers more cover than standing out in the open. I say we-“
Hotch was cut off by a loud, echoing, booming noise. One that was drawing closer. Morgan felt his blood run cold.
“Guys, what’s that?”
“I don’t think I want to wait around to find out,” Rossi said. “Desk, now.”
The four of them took off running for the desk. A distance that had also grown sunstantially. They reached it, climbing over the metal leg that lay against the floor. A metal leg that had previously only been an inch or so in diameter, and was now nearly up to Morgan’s knees. He hopped down on the otherside, joining the others in pressing themselves against the underside of the desk. With the way it lay on its side, it worked almost as a wall in front of them. The booming was still growing louder.
“What is that?” JJ whispered. They didn’t have to wait long to find out, as it turned out, for seconds later, a figure came around the corner at the end of the hallway.
It was Reid. At least, it looked like Reid, except for the same not so insignificant change that their surroundings had also experienced. Morgan felt his mouth drop open. Reid was usually about Morgan’s height. Maybe an inch or so taller. Definitely not dozens of feet taller. Definitely not practically Godzilla-sized. If Morgan had been confused before, he was entirely shocked now.
He managed to tear his eyes away from the giant figure for a second to glance at the others. Even Hotch’s usually neutral face betrayed a look of disbelief, his eyes ever so slightly wider than usual.
“What the hell,” Rossi muttered.
“Hotch? JJ? Morgan? Rossi? Something really…weird just happened.” Reid called down the hallway, his voice echoing around them. Morgan fought the urge to cover his ears at the practically deafening sound. He saw Reid glance down. Towards the pocket of his dress shirt, which was partially obscured by the cardigan he was wearing.
“Right. Sorry,” he said, this time more quietly. Still more than loudly enough for them to hear him.
“We need to get his attention,” Hotch said quickly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, we’re still not sure what exactly is going on here, and-“
It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to Morgan that Rossi would be the one to verbalize doubts about Hotch’s statement. He’d only joined - or rejoined, technically, since he’d been one of the founders - the BAU a few months prior. In that time, he’d shown himself to be outspoken and a little less than a team player on multiple occasions.
“-and Reid can help us figure it out,” Hotch interrupted him. Even in the dim lighting, Morgan could see doubt glittering in Rossi’s eyes. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to what he guessed Rossi was thinking. Reid was his coworker, a veritable genius, his friend…and also currently big enough to crush him without a second thought. He knew Reid wouldn’t do that, of course, but seeing a human that was so impossibly large was unsettling regardless of who it was.
He swallowed, trying to push his feelings of unease aside. Reid would never hurt them, he told himself. Drawing in a steadying breath, he nodded. “Hotch is right. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but we can hardly just hide behind this table forever.”
Rossi didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t make any move to silence Hotch when the other man called out towards the giant. At first, it didn’t look like he’d had any success in getting Reid’s attention. On the third shout, though, the giant’s head snapped their way.
“Hotch?” Morgan was thankful that he once again spoke more softly.
“Reid! We’re over here! By the desk!” JJ joined Hotch in shouting. He’d definitely heard them that time, and began walking towards the upturned desk. Morgan tried to ignore the panic that flitted through his stomach as Reid drew closer. Guilt followed it moments later.
He’s your friend. Why are you scared? You’ve worked with him for years.
Of course, it was less Reid that Morgan was scared of and more his comparitively giant size. A size that became far too real as he drew nearer to them. They barely came up past his ankles, Morgan realized. Maybe Rossi was right to have doubts about this plan, maybe-
“Oh, thank god I found you guys. Are you all okay? This-this shouldn’t be possible. For a number of reasons, starting with the square cube law.” Reid crouched down beside the desk, his gaze locked on the four of them. Morgan felt himself take a step back in spite of himself. He was fairly certain Reid noticed, based on the split second glance followed by a slight frown that crossed his face.
“I think we’re all fine,” Hotch said. “So, you have some idea of what happened, then?”
Reid shook his head. “Well, no. Because, again, this shouldn’t be possible. But apparently you guys have somehow been…shrunken?”
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⎡✨ AARON DIAZ GIF PACK ✨⎤
— CLICK THE SOURCE LINK BELOW for #25 gifs of AARON DIAZ in EPISODE SIX on season two of QUANTICO. All gifs were made by me from scratch and they are sized 268x170. I posted them for roleplaying purposes so please use them accordingly.
warnings: none.
notes: do not claim, repost or edit my gifs without asking – or I will take the pack down.
extra: download link can be found on the page.
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AYO party people...here’s the 4/20 edition of my show. 4 hours and 20 minutes of tech house, deep house, techno, and more mixed by me on the turntables. Stay smokin...
Tracklist
Busta Rhymes - High
J Dilla - Track 24
Vytamin - Speed Limit
Bittersuite - Fingers
Fred Nasen - Static
Geeeman - Rubberband2
Glenn Underground - Jaz-Co-Temp
Lovable Rogues - Integer
Soul 223 - From The Dirt
Lucky Charmz - Latency Jam
Roy Davis Jr. - Moon Beam
Delano Smith - Constant
Losoul - Idealist Jungle
Anonym - Go Deeper
Boo Williams - Tribulation
Lawrence - Rise (Sten Dub 1)
Leonid - Starling Dance
Altitude - Transforming
Ghosts Of The Sky - Melanin
Fred P - N.Y. (Selected Dub)
Brother G - Tech Reshape Series 1
Ion Ludwig - Believe Born Again
Gene Farris - Black History
Rick Wade - Kendra
Adryiano - Anyone Has A Clue Tho
Delano Smith - Stolen Memories
Nature Rhythm - Forest
Dorisburg - Devotion
Parallel 9 - Quantico
Aybee - ATCG
Leonid - SD2
Moomin - Watermelon
Gene Farris - Planet House
DJ Nature - Destiny Reprise
Ghertz - Granular Thinking (Minube Remix)
Laak - The Garden
Vinalog - Military Field
Modernism - Consortium 0.4
Water Field - Palette
Terrence Dixon - Splender
User 004A - Untitled B1
Soul Capsule Productions - Forever Love
Black Jazz Consortium - Blacklight
Iota - Party
Cari Lekebusch - Conrad
Ralph Lawson & Carl Finlow - Lost In Dub
Nail - Greyut
EMG - The Secret Village
nse - Banlieue 63
Rihen - Orimea
Robert Hood - Pole Position
The Gods Planet - No Politic
Microworld - Drum Machine Dreaming
Domu - Heartbeat
Solemndub - Replicant
Echo Motif - Funkhead
Fix To Fax - Synatic Dream (Deep Insider Mix)
Hector Moralez - Day Dreams
Insulate - Sirius
Minube & Andrey Djackonda - Silk
Monk Dub
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jesus fucking christ i'm now aware that i am positively incapable of writing a drabble-length fic. i did not edit this at all so what you see is the product of severe sleep deprivation and a desperate need for serotonin, so i hope you enjoy a healthy 1.0K words of chaos written for s/pencer r/eid from c/riminal m/inds :D
Morgan glances up from his ever-present stack of paperwork as the lights flicker yet again, too exhausted to even try to be annoyed. The BAU had returned from a five-day case in Atlanta barely an hour ago, and in that time, the light rain they flew back into picked up to a severe thunderstorm accompanied by several flash flood warnings, meaning they’re all stuck in Quantico for the time being.
“What’s that, the fourth time in ten minutes?” Prentiss asks, looking over to Reid for a more accurate number. Her mouth falls open in shock when she actually sees him, however, and her attention rapidly switches to Morgan, searching for confirmation that her eyes aren’t deceiving her. “Wait, is he—”
The other agent nods sagely. “Sleeping, for once in his life? Yep.”
“Holy shit,” Prentiss whispers, turning back to the kid. “It’s a miracle.”
It truly is a sight to behold, their resident genius passed out at his desk. Reid had pulled two consecutive all-nighters trying to get ahead of their unsub, brain working overtime on the case. He was barely conscious on the plane ride back; it’s really not a surprise that he’s crashing now. The real kicker is that there isn’t a mug of coffee on his desk, signaling that he didn’t even attempt to stay awake before surrendering to the wills of his body.
“What I would give to be Penelope Garcia right now,” Morgan sighs, a wistful expression crossing his face as he leans back in his chair. “Back at home, finally in my own bed…”
Prentiss makes a sympathetic, albeit slightly mocking, noise in the back of her throat. “Yeah, don’t we all. I just wish they’d dim the lights a little, make it seem a little less like the middle of the day.”
And it’s at that moment, the second the words leave Emily’s lips, that the power goes out.
All of it, gone in an instant, plunging the bullpen and surrounding offices into complete, utter, darkness. There’s a brief second of stillness before Morgan turns to her, eyes wide, and whispers, “What did you just do?”
“N-Nothing, I didn’t— I didn’t do anything,” Prentiss stammers. “The lights just… went out. It was a coincidence.” She’s saved from having to defend herself any further by the sound of JJ stepping into the room, who cases the three of them before letting out a tired sigh, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Not that it matters, really, since no one can see anything.
“Wake Reid up; we’re moving to Hotch’s office,” she informs them. At Morgan’s raised brow and Prentiss’s quizzical look, she adds, “Just trying not to lose track of anyone. You never know.”
They nod in acquiesce, standing in almost perfect sync. Morgan fumbles his way over to Reid’s desk, accidentally slapping the kid on the shoulder in the process. On the bright side, it wakes him up. On the not-so-bright side, though, it startles Reid, and he comes up swinging.
“Woah! It’s just me, Reid, it’s Morgan,” he says, and though he can’t see the kid, Morgan can still imagine his face. His hair is undoubtably mussed up in a loose approximation of a halo around his head, eyes wide with shock. Likely a bit of fear, too, considering that he never really was comfortable with the dark. “It’s alright, the power just went out.”
“We’re heading up to Hotch’s office for company,” Prentiss adds, obviously picking up on the tension. Her hand fishes backwards, eventually making contact with the youngest member of their team, and she grabs his fingers. Morgan takes the other, and they follow the shadowy outline of JJ towards the stairs. Navigating is a tricky task, but they eventually make it through and are greeted by the beam of a flashlight.
Reid drops their hands once it registers, pressing a knuckle firmly under his nose before sneezing softly. “ht’shuu!”
“Salud,” Rossi calls from inside the room, the door now open, courtesy of JJ. They file in, Prentiss sitting with Rossi on the couch while JJ leans against the wall. Morgan simply sits on the floor, tugging Reid down next to him. Hotch hands them each a flashlight, face softening when he sees the weariness on all of their expressions, his own barely concealed.
Reid hums his appreciation, already starting to slump in on himself. Morgan wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to his body. There’s a beat of silence between the six of them, then half of the flashlights click on, immediately followed by Reid sneezing again, face buried in his sleeve.
“What’s that called again?” Prentiss asks. “The reflex thing?”
“Mm… photic,” Reid murmurs, repositioning himself so that he’s leaning heavily into Morgan, as if the exhaustion is a physical thing, weighing him down. He’s still half-asleep, moving like someone’s put him on a slower setting.
The older agent chuckles softly, the vibration passing though his chest to where Spencer’s now practically draped across him. “I forgot about that little quirk of yours,” he says, grinning.
“Sorry if I’m a little out of the loop here, but what’s the Boy Wonder talking about?” Rossi’s puzzlement is written on his face, clear as day, even with the deep shadows the angles of the flashlight beams are adding to his face.
“The photic sneeze reflex,” JJ supplies helpfully. “Basically, Reid sneezes anytime there’s a sudden source of light. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”
He looks at the flashlight in his hand, considering. “So if I do this—”
“h’shuu! it’shhiew!”
Rossi nods, pointing the light back away from Reid’s face. “Good to know.”
The kid’s still hitching, breath stuttering in his chest. His hand hovers in front of his face, and he shudders forward with a final, quiet, “ishoo!”
“Bless you,” Hotch murmurs, casting a stern look towards Rossi. “Maybe we don’t test it out any further.”
“’S okay,” Reid interjects. “It’s not like the power’s going to come back anytime soon, and besides, there’s a refractory period that can last up to twenty-four hours. It doesn’t matter if we try to trigger it or not at this point; it’ll happen regardless.” He sniffles softly, and Morgan squeezes his shoulder in a small gesture of comfort.
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Ice Worms
Dana Scully introspective thoughts during Ice
Rated T, MSR-ish
@xfilesbingo prompt Dana Scully
577 words, read here on AO3
Ice worms. Obviously. What else could it be? Dana Scully huffed a sigh and pulled the borrowed blankets around her in the unfamiliar bed, trying not to think too hard about the previous occupier, laying wrapped in plastic down the corridor. Fucking ice worms.
She had never aspired to be a field agent. Thought about it, maybe. Fantasised about toting a badge and gun and chasing down hardened criminals – putting those months of gruelling training to use – during long days in the morgue. But it had never actually been in her five-year plan – nor her ten-year plan: truth be told, the possibility hadn’t even been on her radar, really, until three months before.
When she’d been recruited out of med school it was on the understanding that, after the standard five months of training at the Academy, she’d continue on at Quantico, working in the morgue and teaching the next intake of trainees. Her father had been disappointed at that: ‘throwing away a perfectly respectable career, Starbuck – your choice of specialism in world-renowned hospitals’ he’d repeated over numerous dinners, so often she’d become accustomed to tuning it out.
But then she’d been approached by Blevins and her whole world had flipped on its head. Within a week she’d gotten re-certified at the shooting range and had passed each of the physical assessments required for fieldwork. A briefing, a slightly sour taste filling her mouth as she read into the words she was being told, the undertones of the conversation, words like spy creeping around the edges of her conscience, shading it in grey as her morals warred within her.
She buried herself further into the depths of the blankets, rubbing her feet together to try and bring back feeling into them.
Being a field agent hadn’t been what she’d been expecting. No, not at all. Normal agents dealt with drug busts and terrorists and serial killers. She dealt with liver-eating mutants and psycho-AI systems and Jersey Devils. And fucking ice worms.
Alien ice worms, if her crackpot partner was to be believed. And whilst she resisted the idea so vehemently, she had also, in those two short months they’d been working together, swallowed down any guilt she felt as she carefully edited her reports to Blevins, made her 2D, paper-confined Mulder sound slightly less crazy than he did when he crowed about his theories in the privacy of their office.
Her teeth chattered, and she clenched her jaw tight to try and stop the shudders that wracked through her body: the heating system that had been overworking itself only hours ago had definitely given up the ghost, the cold wind howling about the station whistling through any fault and crack it could.
Another huffed sigh. She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep with how cold she was now. And certainly not with her infuriating partner on her mind. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but it was no good: she was too cold. It felt like her teeth were going shake right out of her jaw if she kept shivering this way, and without even thinking about it she swung her legs from the bed and – keeping her blankets bundled around her – tiptoed across the cold floor and tugged the desk away from the door, squeezed out and shuffled into the corridor. Three steps, two knocks and he was there, peering out at her.
‘Scully?’
‘Mulder, I’m cold.’
tagging @today-in-fic
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𝓘𝓬𝔂: 𝓞𝓒 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓲𝓭 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽
Here is the growing masterlist for my new fic! I’ll be posting in prob ~2k word count sections. I don’t have an upload schedule, but I’ll try to contribute once a week, and I’ll post and let y’all know if I can’t. Gotta take care of myself yk what I’m saying, but school gets out in a couple weeks so I should be free as a bird in no time.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Summary: A skilled Russian spy is recruited by the FBI, to the B.A.U in Quantico, after she agrees to defect. Gideon finds her, Hotch distrusts her, Morgan and Garcia are endeared to her, but most importantly our resident genius (Dr. Spencer Reid) realizes that he is slowly falling head over heels in love with her. Maybe, just maybe, she feels the same way?
Warnings: As of rn, none, but I will come back and edit this list as I need to.
Spencer Reid x OC (f)
This is both a ship fic of these two and her own story, so be prepared for Plot. It’ll be cute an fluffy, angsty, and all that other shit in between. Haven’t decided if there will be any spice yet, but it’s possible.
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There’s still a lot idk about this fic and how I want it to go so please please please send suggestions! Right now I’m thinking strangers/friends to lovers, with Seven being forward and Reid being adorable and anxious and having them have a mildly angsty flirtation, then a cute relationship with ups and down, could include a wedding- no pregnancy so never fear -and I am oh so tempted to a tragic ending, muwahahahahaha...
Please enjoy lovelies <3 Constructive criticism is welcome, being rude is not.
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PART 1
PART 2
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