xxx

[nervous-tic]

touch to talk

After narrowly escaping the explosion at Liberty Ranch, Spencer seeks out physical therapy. He develops a crush on his physiotherapist, but what does it mean for them as he nears recovery?

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader/ofc category: fluff, a little hurt/comfort content warning: descriptions of physiotherapy/acupuncture, power imbalance relationship, brief implications of past drug use, making out, smidge of possessive!spencer at the end (lmk if i missed anything!) word count: 8.6k a/n: everyday i am fighting for my life to not just sit and write about spencer. can’t believe a 15 season crime procedural made me do this. but uh i’ve never posted fanfiction on tumblr before??? not exactly proofread, nor do i really write anymore so, sorry for the rusty prose!

The catastrophe that was the explosion at Liberty Ranch left both Emily and Spencer battered and bruised. Their bodies bore the injuries home like unwelcomed souvenirs; she, a black eye and a fractured rib, while scrapes and burns decorated his body. Eventually, scars formed, and bruises faded yellow. But Spencer’s most annoying injury was his wrist, a seemingly innocuous ache having taken the brunt of his fall. But still—

“It could’ve been worse,” she told him.

Unable to watch the way she cradled his swollen wrist, Spencer opted to stare out the window overlooking a barren parking lot. It was 6am. Clinics were typically booked weeks in advance, but Derek had told him about his own physiotherapist — one who was flexible with scheduling, reliable, and most importantly, sympathetic to the necessary risks of a job.

Though, in the moment, Spencer questioned Derek’s definition of reliable. He hissed when she gently turned his hand. The pain prompted an unusually candid reaction from him: “But it’s my dominant hand. And I have paperwork.”

Keep reading

[writer-in-theory]

Hero Complex Series Masterlist (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: The reader gets assigned to the BAU for her summer internship, and she’s overjoyed to meet her hero. After a misunderstanding when they first meet, she wonders if maybe he isn’t who she thought he was.

Series Warnings: Age Gap (7 years), References to Bullying, Case-Typical Violence, Language

Total Word Count: 19.2k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst w/ Happy Ending

A/N: She's not on Tumblr, but I'd be remiss not to thank my darling friend for making the moodboard instead of studying for our exam today 💜

Main Masterlist

Send Me A Request!

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Part One: The Hero

Summary: Reader gets assigned to the BAU for her grad school internship. Everyone is incredibly welcoming, except for the one person she was most excited to meet.

Part Two: The Villain

Summary: Reader settles into her role as an intern but faces new challenges (mostly from Spencer) when she travels on a case with the team.

Part Three: The Ingenue

Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of Oklahoma and make a life-changing decision.

Part Four: The Lover

Summary: Reader returns to the BAU older and wiser, but finds things may have changed while she was gone.

[radiant-reid]

I’m Watching

Summary: Requested here. Spencer and Y/n come so close to becoming a couple, but someone else gets in the way

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ( angst then fluff )

Content Warning:  swearing | spoilers for 1x18 Somebody’s watching

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist

Dating was never in Y/n’s plan when she joined the BAU. She was a career-driven 25-year-old with the intent to become the director of the FBI.

Somehow, a lanky, adorable 24-year-old attracted her attention. Spencer Reid was something she never expected to encounter. He was cute, shy, surprisingly funny, and remarkably smart.

He’d let her get her coffee before he got his own cup, he held doors open for her, and he nervously would ask if she was okay after any rough cases. Maybe it was because of how different he was from her usual type that she developed a crush on him. With every sweet gesture, her crush grew.

It very rapidly went from a trivial, childish crush to absolute infatuation. However, Spencer had always been oblivious to her feelings.

Keep reading

[mollygetssherlockcoffee]

Five Minutes Masterlist

Summary: Five minutes is all it takes for Y/N to disappear

Warnings: Kidnapping, Stabbing, mentions of poison, blood, guns, knifes, swearing, violence, death, switching POV (not too much)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Status: Complete

Number of Parts: 6

Total Word Count: 10,801

Five Minutes - Part One

Fifteen Minutes - Part Two

Mere Seconds - Part Three

Thirty Seconds - Part Four

Twenty-Four Hours - Part Five

No More Countdowns - Part Six

[hauntingmothgirl]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Part 2

Hi so a lot of people liked the To Hell and Back series, thank you for the support, it really makes me smile. This was an original idea thought up by @shelikesloki. So thank you so much for the recommendation. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific idea then feel free to ask, my dms and asks are open, but for now here’s part 2! Part 3 will be up tomorrow. PLEASE give me some suggestions of what you want to see! This series spans across the beginning of season 8.

Concept from @shelikesloki: After overhearing Morgan and Reid speaking about Maeve, Y/n has trouble with the idea that she's missed her chance with Spencer. But after the team helps save Maeve, will Reid and Maeve even work out?

☾

After the unsub kidnapped a pregnant lady and removed the child from the womb, leaving both the mother and child at a hospital, the team became frantic. At this point the M.O. was non-existent. A completely different victim combined with a completely different type of crime was enough to label anyone and everyone as a potential victim.

With the idea that unsub might be trying to make up an entire family, we focused our eyes onto infants and children that could potentially be at risk. The placenta being completely scraped out of the female adult victim gave Spencer the idea that it could be linked to Placentophagy. I’d had to force myself not to leave the room once he began speaking, knowing he’d be able to pick up on it. I needed to remain friendly with him, at least for now, to avoid suspicion. He needed to think my silence still had something to do with my made up date, not my undying affection for him. “Consuming the placenta, in the wild it’s common for animals to eat their own afterbirth. It’s super rich in nutrients,” Spencer explained. I stifled a low groan in response, nausea rising as Rossi spoke, “So the unsub might have harvested this last victim… for food?”

In the end, with the sawdust present in the victim’s airways, and nothing in the profile that suggested cannibalism, and with one of the most efficient substrates for compost on the earth being sawdust, we’d discovered she’d been using her victims as human fertilizer. Emma Kerrigan, a widow who ran a small juice and vegetable stand at the farmer’s market according to Garcia, living west of town on a 100 acre farm that belonged to her late husband. She fit the profile of our unsub. I’d stayed at the office while Morgan, Hotch and Blake left to apprehend the unsub.

The flight back to Quantico was quiet, most of the team asleep. When retreating to our desks upon our return to Headquarters, JJ had filled me in on how Henry, her son, was too afraid to dress up this year, a fellow classmate had explained to him that the real monsters always came out on Halloween since they wouldn’t need to disguise themselves. I’d stopped short in my tracks, my gaze moving to Spencer unconsciously. It was Halloween. I’d been so caught up in the case that I’d missed that it was Halloween, Spencer’s favorite holiday.

Filing in our paperwork one by one, the team slowly grabbed their things, discussing their plans for tonight and getting ready to leave, JJ’s raised voice from the doorway caught my attention. “Uh- Excuse me, everybody. I have an announcement to make,” eyes fell to her figure walking towards the center of the room. I grabbed my bag and through it over my chest as I powered off my computer, turning to give her my full attention. “As I’m sure some of you are aware, Henry was a little nervous about Trick-Or-Treating this year,” she started. “But,” she lingered on the word for a moment, “He’s decided to go anyway.”

“Great, what changed his mind?” Rossi asked.

“The BAU did,” Jennifer answered, “I told him that he should go out on Halloween and try to figure out which monsters are real and which ones are not.” Warmth swept through the room slowly, Morgan being the first one to speak, “So he wants to be a profiler.” I suppressed an “awe,” as JJ held a finger up.

“Ah, he wants to be his favorite profiler.” There wasn’t time to process her words, however, before the tiny man himself walked through the door holding Penelope’s hand. Converse were the first thing I saw, mini converse. A beaming Henry wore a blue polo, a gray sweater vest tucked into his tan pants. A red tie peeked out from behind the vest, a satchel draped across his chest. I’d recognize that style anywhere. He was dressed as Spencer.

Cheers erupted from around the office, smiles replacing previous frowns as Spencer rose from his seat. “You look great, Henry!” Spencer exclaimed as the mini version of him bounded over to his desk. A laugh bubbled from my lips before I could stop it. Bending down to the boy’s height, Reid pulled his identification card for the office from his sweater, mumbling to Henry as he attached it to him, “Put this on here.” Henry stood still as Spence clicked it on, looking down to inspect it.

“Now it’s official,” Morgan called from the back of the room. Penelope stood just behind the scene, taking a step forward and bending down to whisper in Henry’s ear, “Tell him.” Without hesitation Henry turned to Spencer, smiling before he spoke, “E equals MC squared.” His voice came out softly, Reid’s eyes crinkled, his mouth making an “o” shape. Morgan’s head threw back, he let out a deep laugh, “There it is!” He exclaimed. It was impossible to hide the giggles now, I couldn’t fight a grin as Spencer raised his hand for a high five.

“The monster’s don't stand a chance,” Blake smirked.

Spencer stood, looking over his shoulder to me. My smile faltered. Just for a moment. But that didn’t stop him from noticing. My eyes burned, misty eyed I stood as a thought echoed in my mind. He’ll be a lovely father. That was all it took, five little words to bend my frame, to sink my heart. A warm liquid trailed down my cheek, I turned away from the team as I touched a hand to my cheek. I hadn't noticed I’d begun crying. I was out of the room before I could comprehend my own movements.

☾

The sound of heels clicking on the floor stopped my sob. “Y/n?” A set of black glittery pumps stopped outside of my stall. “I know you’re in there, are you okay?” Penelope’s voice echoed off the walls. “Did you eat something bad? Cause I saw you run and I’ve got a bottle of Pepto-” She stopped short in the middle of her sentence as I opened the stall door.

There was no point in pretending I hadn’t been crying, she’d stay outside until I left to make sure I was okay, and she’d notice my face at some point.

“What happened?” Her voice came out higher than normal, her mouth agape as she stepped back so I could leave the stall. Her wide eyes followed mine as I stepped toward the sink, resting my hands on the cold countertop. My face was blotchy and red, deep bags had formed under my eyes from the lack of sleep. My nose bright ruby. My cheeks were soaked wet, my lips and eyelids swollen as I turned the faucet on. I let my eyes fall to the water in my hands as I washed them, looking in the mirror just made me feel worse, more small and weak than I already felt. I leaned my head down and felt Penelope’s fingertips gliding through my hair, pulling my hair back as I washed the tears off my cheeks. She waited in silence as I turned the faucet off, pulling paper towels out of the dispenser to dry my face. Finally when I’d recovered what little pride I had, I spun to look at her.

I was surprised to find her eyes understanding and calm, rather than wide and expectant. I struggled to find the words, “It’s just- I can’t- I don't know how to-”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” She asked. Heat flowed into my cheeks as I responded, running a hand through my hair, “It’s who?”

“Spencer.”

There was no point in lying, and who was I kidding anyways? I needed someone. My words choked in my throat so I nodded instead. Arms enveloped me as another sob broke through my chest. heaving, I held my hands together to force them to stop shaking. A numbness set through my body, starting first at my legs and then rising upward. I slumped forward into her arms, my eyes shut tight as a strangled groan leapt from my lips.

I’m not sure how long we sat like that before I pulled back, reminding myself that standing in heels was difficult and Penelope was probably having a hard time right now. I muttered apologies to no avail. Pushing my hair out of my face, I couldn’t keep eye contact with her. “He’s- he’s so happy and- and-”

“And you’re stuck crying in a public bathroom,” she finished for me. “You know about her, don't you?” Her voice was low, controlled, whereas mine broke apart with every sentence.

I worked to keep my composure, “Seeing him with Henry,” I hiccupped, “He‘s going to be such a great father, and not that I ever thought of him as mine, but-”

“You wanted that future with him?” Penelope made this easier, I wasn’t the best at talking through my emotions, she knew when I couldn’t find the right words.

“But now it’s hers. Her future. And I know I never acted on how I felt, but knowing it’s completely off the table now- I don’t know how I’m going to sit across from him everyday,” I was rambling with no endpoint now, so I let my voice fall quiet and stared at the grout between the tiles as Penelope draped a hand over my shoulder. “You could take time off, come back when you’re ready, when you’ve made peace with it?” She suggested.

“I don't know if I can make peace with it. He deserves his best friend and I just don't know how to go back to that,” I sniffled.

“Love, you deserve happiness too, you shouldn’t have to suffer just to make it easier for him,” she said.

It was silent for a moment before a thought entered my head. “How did you know it was Spencer?” Penelope rolled her eyes before giving a smile, “Oh come all the talk about letting yourself get hurt, and the cold shoulder to Spencer? It doesn’t take a profiler to pick up on it. Besides who could’ve missed you fawning over him for the past 6 years?” She giggled. I smiled at that.

“You know he hasn’t even told me about her? I’m his best friend and he didn’t tell me,” I chuckled.

“Oh, call the churches, what ever will we do?” She teased.

☾

I made it out of the bathroom 15 minutes later. Penelope had supplied concealer to cover the redness in my face but there was no covering the swollen lips and eyes. Penelope figured no one would notice and for the most part, no one did. When I emerged to the lobby of our building I found most of the team still there surprisingly, still discussing the plans for dinner. JJ and Henry had already left, along with Hotch taking leave to go see his son. Rossi and Morgan however, had taken seats in the benches to the right.

“Hey, mama, where’ve you been, we’ve been waiting on you,” Morgan called as soon as Garcia was in view. “We had some girly issues,” she replied, she’d been smart to leave it at that, Derek immediately backs away from the topic, wrapping an arm over Penelope’s shoulder as he walks toward the parking lot. Feeling someone’s eyes watching me, I scan my surroundings before I notice brown eyes watching me. I know he picked up on what happened earlier, but he doesn’t mention it as he strides forward. “We’re going to head to JJ’s for the Halloween party, I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go too?” He asked, pursing his lips. I nodded, pulling my coat on as we started for the lot.

He pulled the door open for me and I gave a small smile in response. I was done trying to distance myself. This was going to hurt no matter what, and frankly I wasn’t sure I could manage without my best friend. He wasn’t mine, he never was. And I’d just have to deal with that. “Spence?” He hummed in return, the group was only a couple feet away, getting into their cars as he walked me to mine. “About Comic Con,” his eyes lit up as the words left my lips, “Still have those tickets?”

okay that’s part 2, and like always, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that’s chill too. and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 3, let me know! part 3 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)

Thanks again @shelikesloki

Masterlist

Part 1

[reidscanehand]

congratulations on 3k!! i love your writing sm <3

can i request 94. “I think you’re amazing…even if I don’t say it much, I really do. The things you do…” and 70. “You should break up with him/her/them” for spencer please?

xox

An Off-White Lie

RCH 3K Celebration

Prompts: 94. “I think you’re amazing...even if I don’t say it much, I really do. The things you do...” and 70. “You should break up with him/her/them”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUfem!Reader

TW: cursing, Spencer being insecure, lying, panic attack (Spencer’s), mentions of Spencer’s past drug use. 

Word Count: 1528

He hadn’t meant to lie. Truthfully, he’s a little appalled at his own behavior about all of this. A little bit of the blame can go to Derek. Had Derek not been teasing him about you in the middle of the bullpen (an incredibly public teasing, really), Spencer wouldn’t have had to lie to you. 

“I really think you could just tell Y/N,” Derek teased. 

“Absolutely not,” Spencer replied almost immediately, “she’ll be so creeped out and uncomfortable.”

“Okay, whoa,” Derek said, “she definitely wouldn’t be creeped out-”

“Yes, she would,” Spencer had cut him off. “Of course she would, and rightly so, what else are you meant to be when your nerdy friend has a crush on you?”

“You have a crush on someone?”

Spencer’s blood ran cold at the sound of your voice from behind him. His mouth went dry, his clothes suddenly felt too tight despite how they naturally, loosely fell around his thin frame. Fuck. 

“Um,” Spencer finally swallowed turning to face you - beautiful, stunning you, somehow looking gorgeous at all of 9:03 in the morning under florescent lighting. “Yes.”

“Oh my God!” You sounded excited, but your voice, unless Spencer was very much mistaken, sounded tighter than usual. He was terrified you’d heard Derek say it was you and that you were now uncomfortable being in his presence. 

“Yes...yes it’s, um, it’s...it’s my neighbor!” Spencer could practically feel Derek’s eyes stabbing into him from behind him as he sputtered out this lie. And that’s how it started. You’d been ridiculously supportive, asking him every so often about this fictional neighbor he has a crush on. Spencer had finally started to readily supply information, just responding with things about you. 

“She’s the coolest person I know.” 

“She’s absolutely adorable - even early in the morning.” 

“She does this precious scrunching thing with her nose when she gets compliments.” He’d been surprised you didn’t realize that one was about you. It’s worked, though, as his feelings about you are easier to talk about than any lie would ever be. 

And, in a testament to how much he likes you, this lie has been entirely successful. Entirely too successful, really. He can only blame Derek so much, though. It’s Spencer’s own fault and he knows that. Initially, he hadn’t felt that terrible about it. It was a white lie after all - more of an omission if you really think about it; more of an off-white lie. 

That’s how it had started, anyway. Now it’s a full-blown natural disaster. 

Thankfully (or, not really thankfully), work gets in the way of him thinking too much about it. Yes, serial killers had been on an absolute non-stop spree recently. The team had barely had a moment to breathe in between cases, the turn around’s been insane. Maybe that’s why this case is getting to him. 

Nearly four years out from his dilaudid addiction, Spencer’s been clean and sober nearly the whole time. He carries his sobriety coin in his pocket, the surface always polished clean due to how much he runs it between his fingers. He’s gotten used to people talking about drug addiction. Too close to his own, it had been hard to hear - made him too sad and too uncomfortable. But, in the last two years, he’s been able to detach, not enough to lose his empathy, obviously, but enough to be able to continue to do his job comfortably. 

Not this time, though. 

The physical and emotional exhaustion of no break time in three months is taking its toll. That and the dismissive nature with which the local cops are talking about the victims of this particular serial killer. Words like, junkie, waste, addict, dopehead and useless druggie flowing like water around the precinct. Hotch had, thankfully, recognized the issue and the chief had had a strongly worded meeting with his officers about respecting the victims, but it didn’t stop the local officers from talking whenever their chief’s back was turned. 

It’s the combination of their crude behavior and the fact that the team is getting absolutely nowhere on this case that finally sends him over the edge. Their standing in the conference room, the (frankly useless) geographical profile starts to move in front of him. It’s at this moment that Spencer starts to feel almost claustrophobic, his breathing becoming labored, his throat feels like it’s closing up and his vision is doubling. 

“Spencer,” your voice sounds far away. “Hey, Spencer, hey it’s okay, it’s-”

You stop speaking. He can hear muffled noises in the background. One of the overhead lights gets turned off, dimming the lighting a little bit. The door closes and locks and then he’s getting moved to a chair, your delicate hands on his shoulders. 

You sit him in a chair and kneel in front of him, “Okay, Spence, I need you to try and look at me.”

He sets his eyes on you, the world coming into focus around you. 

“Good,” you whisper gently. “Good, okay. Can you take a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth?” Spencer does this once, twice, and then once more, receiving calming praise from you each time. Once his breathing has returned to normal, you smile, “Could I hold your hands?”

Thankful for your awareness, he puts his hands in front of him, frankly desperate for your touch. 

You smile again and take his hands, rubbing small circles into the backs of them, “Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

Spencer swallows thickly, trying not to cry, “It’s the...the victims. They’re all like...like me.”

“Spencer-”

“I’m just some junkie that can’t do anything right. I keep messing things up and making things worse, just like I always do, and it’s my fault we can’t solve this case and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you cut him off, your voice somehow still calm and gentle. “Hey, none of that is true-”

“Isn’t it?” Spencer meets your eyes again, ashamed at the tears he can feel streaming down his face. 

“It really isn’t,” you whisper kindly, releasing one of his hands to reach up and wipe the tears away from his face. “I feel like none of us tell you often enough, but you are an incredible human being. You’re a genius, yes, and I think you’re amazing, even if I don’t say it much, I really do...the things you do when you work are astonishing.”

Spencer’s quiet at this, trying to stop crying. You’re still looking at him, your sweet smile deepening as you gaze at him, “But I also never tell you that, beyond being a genius, I think you’re absolutely amazing for so many other reasons. You’re kind, you’re funny, and you’re so, so sweet. And overcoming the things that you’ve gone through takes a hell of a lot more courage than I have. Or anyone else has, that I know of, anyway.”

“Th-thank you,” Spencer replies quietly. “That means a lot...coming from you.”

“I’m only telling the truth, Spencer,” you whisper, standing, and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. You tell him to stay in the conference room, leaving to check up on another aspect of the case. 

The two of you are on the way back to the hotel later that evening, Hotch telling everyone to take the evening off. You stop outside his room, looking up at him shyly and opening and closing your mouth before speaking, “There’s something I feel like I need to say, Spencer.”

“What is it?” he asks, looking down at you. You look nervous, which is highly unlike you. 

“That girl...the one you have a crush on...” you look up at him again, meeting his eyes, “I don’t know if you’re...I don’t know if you’re dating her yet, but I think you should break up with her.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, but he stares down at you, not speaking through his confusion for a moment, “Wh-why?”

“Because...” you sigh, steadying yourself before continuing, “anyone who doesn’t tell you how wonderful you are doesn’t deserve you.”

“She does tell me,” Spencer replies, barely fighting a smile.

“Clearly not enough,” you argue, now looking at your feet uncomfortably, “if you still think that you’re-”

“You tell me I’m great all the time,” Spencer cuts you off. “You encourage me and make me feel better than I’ve ever felt before.”

You look up at him in confusion, “But...but I’m not-”

“You’re the girl, Y/N,” Spencer whispers, his hands finding their way around your waist. “I lied and I shouldn’t have because I was worried that you...that you wouldn’t like me, too.”

You stare up at him in awe, a soft smile growing on your lips, “Oh, I so much more than like you, Spencer.” You wrap your arms around his neck as Spencer pulls you closer. 

He smiles down at you, laughter pausing in his throat as he takes you in, allowing himself to look as adoringly at you as he’s always wanted to. His eyes flick to your lips before meeting your gaze again, “I so much more than like you, too.” 

~~~

Link to My Main Master List

Link to My 3K Celebration Master List

[lipstickstainz]

true lies - s. r. (masterlist)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

spotify playlist by @gloirex​

*contains smut

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five*

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen 

[lotrscenery]

[strange-mischief]

incoming call (aaron hotchner x reader)

summary: You think you’re dying. Actually no you’re sure you are but there’s one thing you have to do before you go. One person you need to hear again.

a/n: I couldn’t sleep and this idea came while i was thinking of angsty hotch ideas and so uh. Yeah i’m sorry. I was thinking of making a pt2 but idk yet so lmk if you would read one.

warnings: mentions of dying, blood, angst, mentions of stabbing and being attacked (very brief and not descriptive)

part 2 here

The floor is cold. Or maybe it’s not. Truthfully you had no idea anymore. Your body had begin to shut down and your sense were beginning to go.

You should have been more careful.

You’re a federal agent for gods sake. You should have noticed you were being followed.

Oh well, that was your mistake.

There’s a lot of things you should have done.

You should have gone with the team for drinks. You should have paid more attention. You should have admitted your feelings before it was too late.

But you didn’t.

Blood trickles from your stomach. Your attacker was quick and maybe that was for the best. Just a stab wound to the stomach. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel like one you could just walk off.

It’s not like you didn’t put up a struggle. Scratched the hell out of his face and got a few good punches in. Hopefully the team could get something from that.

The team.

You were going to miss them. Banter with Derrick, the ladies nights, sharing recipes with Rossi, and listening to Spencer ramble on about whatever subject peaked his mind that day.

And your boss, the man you’re in love with.

Aaron Hotchner.

You would really miss him. Breathing becomes harder and harder. Panic sets in as you realize where you are. What has happened. You were bleeding out in your apartment and who knows how long it would be till someone would find you.

You’re so tired. So tired. But you can’t fall asleep.

You can’t close your eyes. Not yet.

The small buzz of your phone catches your attention. Your fingertips just barely reach it. Almost in your grasp. With as much energy as you could muster you reach and grab your phone.

It’s a text from Emily. A picture of the team with the caption saying “wish you were here” You wish you were there too. Laughing and sharing jokes. You wish you could be with your friends, your family.

You didn’t have much time left, it hurts.

It hurts so badly. Calling an ambulance crosses your mind but with the short amount of time you have you didn’t want to call 911.

It’s stupid but you want to hear his voice one last time. Scrolling through your contacts took more energy than you thought but you finally found his name. Clicking on the call button you lay back down, letting the phone rest near your head.

Your vision is begining to blur when you hear the sound of Hotch’s voicemail. He almost always has his phone on him. Practically stares at it when he’s off work waiting for a case but then you remember the rules created by the team for him.

Phone stays off and if it was an emergency about Jack then Jess calls Rossi instead.

Too late for that.

This is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Sorry I missed your call.

Always so serious even in his voicemail. A small laugh turns into a wheeze of pain. The beep rings in your ear. If you can’t hear him one last time, at least you get to talk to him. Kind of.

“Hey Hotch,” Your voice is weak, you should be saving your energy. But for what exactly? Not like anyones coming for you.

“I’m sorry to ruin the team dinner but I just, felt like calling. I just, I wanted to thank you for being a great boss and an even better friend.” A tear falls down your cheek as you stare at the ceiling. Is this going to be the last thing you see? Chipped white paint.

“I wish I had half the skills you did. Maybe if I did I wouldn’t be in this situation. You always did say I was a bit of an airhead.” A small chuckle falls from your lips. Your head was starting to float away with every passing moment.

“I’m sorry Hotch. God I’m so sorry. I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now and instead of just admitting it to you I don’t think I’ll ever get to tell you in person. Maybe its better that way.” You begin to cry harder.

Pain blossoming from your stomach to your chest as your lungs begin to burn. You want to see him one last time. See him smile. He doesn’t do that enough. Ask about Jack. See him light up as he shows you pictures of Jack playing soccer. Stare into those eyes, one last time.

“Jack loves you, he thinks you’re an amazing father. You don’t believe it sometimes and I just wanted to tell you.” That comes out of nowhere but you think its the right thing to say. Your brain can only focus on Aaron at this point. Wanting his comfort. Wanting him to be happy, to not feel so alone.

Alone.

That’s what you are right now and it’s terrible. Bleeding out in your living room alone. Instead of by someone you love. Your breathing becomes ragged as you try to hold back tears.

“I’m so scared Aaron,” You whimper out. Calling him by his first name is a slip up. You blame the loss of lots of blood.

“I don’t want to die alone, I want to be with you and the team. It’s so lonely please I don’t want to be alone.” You’re full on crying now.

Tears rapidly falling and there’s nothing you can do to stop them. You feel weak. Pathetic. Alone.

You want Hotch to burst through your door and take you in his arms. Kiss the pain away and tell you it was going to be alright. But that wasn’t going to happen.

It’s getting harder to stay awake now. Is it really your time? So short. You don’t want to go. You still have so much to do. So much to experience.

“I can’t hold on much longer. I’m so sorry. Please tell the team I love them, Jack too.” Suddenly it feels like all your pain is fading away. You’re so close to feeling free and warm.

If you just close your eyes. Let yourself fall asleep. Only for a moment. Yeah, that’s what you tell yourself.

Just a few minutes of rest.

“I love you Aaron Hotchner,” Your voice barely above a whisper as you use the last of your energy to hang up the phone and close your eyes.

Finally giving in to the temptation of sleep and your fear melts away as you fall into darkness. The last thing on your mind being Aaron, and what a sweet thing to hold onto.

Until, nothing.

Your phone rings but you don’t hear it. A few seconds too late.

Incoming call from Aaron Hotchner

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[directorstarc]

a night in sicily

synopsis: a CIA agent and an FBI agent get stuck working together on an overseas assignment. aaron hotchner doesn't like disobedience and recklessness. you don't like feelings and being told what to do. things fall apart and then fall back in place.

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, rough sex, oral sex (both receiving), daddy kink, degradation kink, d/s themes, minor original characters.

word count: 8.9k

cross posted on ao3

"Fifty years is a long time

Holiday House sat quietly on that beach

Free of women with madness

Their men and bad habits."

Taylor Swift ; The Last Great American Dynasty

-

The drive from Catania to Syracuse would’ve been lovely had it not been for the mounting tempers in the car. You remembered Italy so differently when you were vacationing with your parents in Rome as an eight year old. It was vibrant, hot but not humid, buzzing with tourists who couldn’t believe their eyes. Sicily’s charm had worn off pretty soon, and after two months wandering in and out of shady alleys, you were feeling more like a resident than a tourist.

That might’ve also been because you weren’t a tourist in the first place.

The “kissing incident” (which was what your brain had dubbed it) had gone very awry. The drive from Catania to Syracuse took two hours and you had already entered Syracuse so it couldn’t have been more than three hours since you almost blew your cover.

It felt like three days had gone by.

You fought the urge to lift your hand to your lips and brush your fingers over where the skin was still tingling from his fiery kiss. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a hasty, last minute solution to protect your identity. It wasn’t—he didn’t…never mind.

You knew you were signing up for seven lifetimes worth of trouble when you joined the CIA but not this. Things had unraveled so quickly in the past six months. Samara dying, Rizzo escaping from under your nose and now this.

You glanced at him. His hand was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were going white. The vein on the side of his neck was strained, revealing his thinly-veiled anger.

There hadn’t been time to argue in Catania. You had rushed back to your safehouse, thrown your stuff into the car, closely followed by yourselves and left. The need to scream at him had been taken over by the adrenaline of escape, escape, escape.

Anger was an ugly emotion on anyone but you, especially, didn’t wear it well. It consumed you, until you knew only the red-hot flames of your rage and nothing else. No amount of rationale or logic penetrated your brain once you were pushed over that edge.

The anger was threatening to bubble over any second now.

I had him!

Why did you stop me?

He killed Samara!

Why did you kiss me?

Let me go!

I hate you.

All those phrases were on the tip of your tongue. Confusion and anger had left you frustrated. You surprised yourself by how long you had kept quiet. Three hours of silence was a record for you. But then, he hadn’t said anything. You’d just assumed he was giving you the silent treatment.

Fucking child, you thought, ignoring him right back.

You had him. He was ten feet in front of you. You could’ve killed him, cleaned Samara’s blood off your hands. You would’ve hunted down everyone else in his little gang, you would’ve killed all of them.

But Aaron fucking Hotchner had other plans.

Why did you kiss me?

It was the worst kind of anger, too. The one tinged with the sting of disappointment and failure, the one which threatened to make you cry. The loud anger which made you want to throw things, chuck whatever was nearest to you at his face. The kind which made you want to fall to your knees in front of him and sob as he struggled to pick up every broken piece of your sanity.

Instead, you put your feet up on the seat and hugged your knees, putting your head against the window and staring blankly at the passing scenery.

“I think it’s this one.” Aaron finally broke the three hour silence with his clipped, curt tone.

The car slowed to an ultimate stop in front of an old house, one in a long alley of brick homes. The beach was on the other side, probably visible from the house. Italians didn’t believe in breaking down old homes to create multi-storied high-rises. The old homes with their shrouded histories stayed on, long after their residents perished.

“The map is in your hand.” You replied, opening the car door but not before you heard him click his tongue in annoyance. You stood near the trunk with a hand on your hip, waiting for him to come around and open it. He took his own sweet time too, probably to bother you.

To everyone else, you looked like a tourist couple, dressed in light, airy clothes. Little did they know about the gun tucked into the back of your shorts, hidden away from sight by the long shirt you were using as a jacket.

You picked up your bag as soon as he opened the trunk, storming away from him, eager to put as much distance as possible between the two of you.

There was something vaguely home-like about this safehouse. The one in Catania had felt like a tourist Airbnb because it was decorated to resemble the apartments around it. But this one, while being less colourful, felt more comforting.

The sea was visible from the bedroom window, lapping against the rocks on the beach. Water always had that quality of evoking the rawest of human emotions, hence why there were so many poems written about water. You had stayed in worse locations during your tenure as a CIA agent, the thought of being able to see the sea from your bedroom should’ve thrilled you. But it only made you want to cry more.

Aaron came into the room, depositing his bag on the bed. In a childish fit, you dumped your bag on the floor right then, grabbed the lighter from the front pocket, the map from his hand, and left the room.

Why did you kiss me?

Holding the map over the sink, you lit it on fire. It was imperative to get rid of any physical evidence of your plans or whereabouts lest it get into the wrong hands.

It was impossible to spend every waking moment with someone for two months and not learn things about them. Like the obnoxious amount of toothpaste Aaron put on his toothbrush, Carbonara was his favourite type of pasta, he despised tomatoes, and that he had to sleep with a blanket even if it was warm, just laying the fabric over his shins.

But all you were meant to do was notice these habits, notice them and put them away in your head. Being observant and attentive was your job. When had those little habits turned so endearing?

You could feel his scrutinizing gaze on you as you steadfastly ignored him, watching the flames lick up the paper, burning away all memories of Catania.

Developing feelings for a partner was a big no. It put both you and your partner in life-threatening danger, you became leverage against each other. On an average, it took three or four months to fall in love. Once, a professor conducted a social experiment and succeeded in making two people fall in love in just ninety-four minutes.

Was it love? Was it transference?

“Are we going to talk about what you did?” He asked.

You scoffed and let the charred paper fall into the sink, the embers engulfing the last of it.

“What I did?” You turned the tap on, washing the ashes down the drain, “What about what you did?”

“You put us in danger.”

“And you let a wanted human trafficker escape!” You replied loudly, shutting the tap off with way more force than was necessary and turned to face him. He had that frown on his face again, that terrible, awful frown that he’d plastered onto his face for the first week that you’d known him.

It had gone away slowly, disappearing behind authentic smiles and boisterous laughs. As he grew comfortable with you and at ease with being an undercover agent, he opened up more, telling you about his son and his team and how he liked to play golf but never had the time.

But it was just like Samara always said, the moment you let your guard down, the criminals would come out to play.

“You would’ve blown our cover,” He replied, “So you’re welcome. You know, for the fact that you’re still alive and breathing.”

His tone was cold and mocking and you recognised it well. Being undercover was no mean joke, it was a test of patience and perseverance. You had been chasing Rizzo and his gang for two years now, going undercover a year ago. Even his name filled you with hate and vitriol. He had been trafficking women and children conveniently and undisturbed for years now, selling them off to rich moguls across the world.

“I had him!” You shouted, gripping the kitchen counter, “I fucking had him and you know it!”

“You had nothing!” He screamed back with just as much force, “You had your rage and your insatiable thirst for revenge but you had nothing else.”

Revenge. Another ugly emotion which when coupled with rage acted in a similar way to a Molotov cocktail.

“Do you know how many death warrants you signed? Between today and whenever we get close to him next, he’ll have sold off a dozen women.”

“Please,” He laughed, but the sound evoked no sense of warmth like it usually did, “Don’t pretend as if this is about those women and children anymore. This is only about Samara now. This is about you, and your guilt, and your selfishness!”

“Don’t you dare fucking talk about her.” You seethed, stepping closer to him. He remained rooted to his spot, like he was the great, big, fucking Wall of China.

Losing a loved one was hard. It was incapacitating and debilitating. But losing someone because it was your fault was something entirely different.

A person’s twenties are a difficult time for them to navigate. One is expected to act like an adult while knowing little to nothing about the world of adulting. Even old, everyday things start to feel daunting and new.

Twenty-three in the CIA was very different from twenty-three in a regular nine to five job. It was scary, it was harsh, but you had Samara. Samara who was also twenty-three and struggling and sometimes ended up burning instant noodles, but she was there. You held each other’s hands through the process and vowed to protect each other always when you became partners in the field. Except that only she ended up keeping her side of the promise.

“You can deny it all you want,” He said, “But it doesn’t change the fact that you think killing Rizzo will fill the void in you. It won’t,” He laughed self-deprecatingly, “Trust me, I know.”

Of course, he did. That had been your first bonding point, which looking back, was an intensely personal thing to bond over. Most people chose favourite movies.

“Nothing,” He said lowly, lightly jabbing a finger at your sternum, “Nothing will fill that void.”

“You killed your demon, right?” You asked, enraged, yanking his hand away from your body as if his touch burned you, “Let me kill mine.”

“You’re going to go insane,” He replied, and then mumbled as an afterthought, “Maybe you already have.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

His words were threatening to wrench apart the carefully glued together pieces of your heart. Every night you glued them back together with affirmations that Rizzo would suffer, Samara would be avenged and you would go home. You’d wash every memory of Rizzo and Italy and trafficked innocents off your body just like the way you washed Samara’s blood off your palms every morning. Then you’d fall into bed and everything would go away.

It had to. You didn’t know how much longer you could do this.

“I’m starting to think the CIA sent me with you not to profile Rizzo but to make sure you don’t suffer a psychotic break.”

You struggled to find an apt response. This was a one of a kind partnership. The FBI did not assist on overseas intelligence assignments. But extra help was needed to catch Rizzo, Aaron was well-acquainted with your superior, his Chief ordered him to go, one thing led to another and you found yourself partnered with an FBI agent in the middle of Italy.

“Really?” You mocked, “So I’m psychotic now? Good to know.”

“The Agency is terrified of rogue agents. And you,” He said, every word enunciated perfectly with the intention of cutting through your defenses, “You are teetering on the edge of going rogue. The assignment isn’t half as important to you as revenge now. You, my dear, are on a one-way road to losing your job and becoming a criminal yourself.”

You caught sight of his sunglasses resting on the table, inches away from your hand and felt the urge to throw it at his face.

“Don’t even think about it,” He snapped, as if reading your mind and moving your hand away from the table, “Samara gave her life to save yours and you’re on a mission to get yourself killed again. You think your superior doesn’t know this? You think he doesn’t have backup agents ready to take over the moment he considers you to be truly compromised?”

“Just shut up, Aaron,” You hissed bitterly, throwing the words in his face defiantly, “Just shut your mouth.”

“No, you fucking listen to me instead of being a brat twenty-four seven,” His words sent both supreme anger and arousal down your spine, taking you by surprise, “The only reason you haven’t been removed yet is because no one has as much intel on Rizzo as you. But your superior is itching to get rid of you and you’re helping him like an idiot. And until you stop being an idiot, I’m stuck here with you.”

Stuck.

Why would he use that word? Being undercover…it wasn’t easy. You weren’t easy. You had enough self-awareness to know that. You flared up, switched from sad to happy to annoyed way too fast and had trouble showing any vulnerability. But did he really think you were that awful? More importantly, why did you care so much about what he thought of you?

If you hate me so much, you wanted to tell him, why did you kiss me?

“Go, then,” You mumbled, stepping back, “Leave. The door is that way.”

“You think I don’t want to? I haven’t seen Jack in two months, I barely get to talk to him once a week if I’m lucky! My team is fending for themselves because I’m out here chaperoning you!”

“Fuck, Aaron,” You let out a mirthless laugh, voice thick with the effort of holding back tears, “If you despise me this much, why the fuck would you kiss me?!”

He seemed stumped, glaring back at you silently. The bridge of your nose was starting to hurt which was a sure indication of the tears that were threatening to flow down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry in front of him and give him the satisfaction of watching you break.

“Because,” For the first time ever, he stumbled over his words, “I was trying to protect you! What the fuck else does one do in an abandoned alley?”

Was it just that? Was it just a kiss to assist in hiding your face in case Rizzo looked back and saw you following him? Was it just to conceal your identity in case Rizzo’s men were on the rooftops?

The sensation of the brick wall pressing against your back, the texture of his calloused palms on each side of your face, holding it as though you were some precious being, the scent of his cologne mingling with the flowers from the market you had left behind was too fresh in your mind for you to be able to classify it as a necessary precaution.

“No,” You shook your head like a petulant child, “No, that’s not good enough. Why do I wake up in your arms everyday? Why do you always give me half of your gelato? Why do you do these things if you just want to leave?”

He gazed at you helplessly, the frown melting from an expression of anger to sadness.

“Go if you want to, Aaron,” You said, when he failed to respond, “But at least don’t pretend to like me when you actually hate my guts. Because I’m not a profiler like you…” You turned away as soon as a tear fell over the edge of your eye, “I can’t tell when you’re just pretending.”

Turning away was a mistake because you had nothing to busy yourself with in an empty kitchen. You had enjoyed playing house with Aaron way too much. Somewhere, the lines of pretend and reality had gotten blurred for you. You had started mistaking the intimacy you were supposed to fake in order to pass as a couple to outsiders with what actually existed between you. Which was nothing.

You were expecting another caustic remark from him, maybe even a stumbling justification. But you didn’t expect him to reach forward and turn you around by your arm. Before you could question his intentions, he made them known, crowding you against the counter as he kissed you deeply. He swallowed the small huff of surprise which left your lips, framing your face with his large hands, lazily entangling his tongue with yours.

You wanted to drown in him. You wanted to drown in the feel of his cotton shirt, the spice of his aftershave, the soft insistence of his mouth coaxing yours open. You wanted to. But you couldn’t.

“Stop!” You turned your face away abruptly, pushing him away and holding him at a distance with an outstretched arm, “Why—Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?” He stared at you with wide eyes.

“You can’t yell at me and then kiss me, asshole!” You shoved him, breathing heavily, “I—You can’t do that!”

“No?” He challenged, raising an eyebrow, moving closer to you again, despite your hand that was half-heartedly trying to keep him away, “Why do you stay in my arms and pretend that you’re asleep? Why do you take the tomatoes off my pizza?”

You looked up at him with what you were sure was a pained expression.

Don’t you know why, Aaron?

“Go back to D.C.,” You shook your head, moving past him, “Go back to your son. I’ll manage.”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself,” He said, following you into the bedroom much to your chagrin, “I’m not leaving.”

“I am a trained fucking agent,” You yelled, brushing away the stray tears from your face with a hasty swipe of your hand, “And you don’t want to be here. You made that very clear. So go…go to the Consulate and tell them to get in contact with the Agency. They’ll get you out of here.”

You took out your gun and deposited it in the drawer of the bedside table.

Please put up a fight, you thought, please don’t leave. Don’t go. I need you.

The words coming out of your mouth were in direct contradiction to your thoughts.

“I’m not leaving you.” He said stubbornly.

“Aaron, please,” You sank down on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your face, “I don’t want to argue about this. Go.”

“No.”

“People die around me!” You shouted, “I get people killed! You have a son, think about him!”

Samara’s dying expression was burned into your memory. The agony which lapsed into lifelessness as she bled out on the floor and you struggled to stop the blood in vain. All because she had jumped into the middle of cross-fire to protect you.

What was so worth protecting? Why did you do that? Why did you leave? I needed you! I need you.

You had shouted all those things at her corpse until they had to physically pry you away from her and drag you to safety, kicking and screaming.

“You and me both,” Aaron replied dryly, “And Jack would be disappointed if I just left you here knowing you could die.”

“Don’t tell him then!” You snapped, standing up again, “God, Aaron, just follow the fucking instructions for once in your life!”

“That’s rich coming from you,” He scoffed, “Miss I-don’t-know-what-rules-are!”

“Fuck you, Hotchner!” You cursed, hitting his arm with your shoulder as you attempted to make it past him, out into the kitchen again. God only knew for how long you both had been screaming and moving in and out of the kitchen as a way of avoidance.

You didn’t get very far. Apparently tired of your antics, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back in front of him.

“What the fuck…let me go!” You yelped, struggling to get out of his grasp. But all your squirming and twisting didn’t make him budge an inch. Admittedly, your struggle was also half-hearted. If you really wanted you could have him flat on the ground but he wasn’t a threat in your eyes.

“Enough,” He said calmly, holding you steady, “Enough! Stop moving.”

“What, are you planning to tie me to the bedpost next, asshole?” You huffed, giving your arm one last yank in a failed attempt to free it.

“If need be, yes,” He nodded, face inches away from yours, “Whatever it takes to make you stop behaving like a brat.”

You swallowed, the defiance in your gaze morphing into need and curiosity. Were you both fighting and yelling just to skirt around the obvious attraction towards each other?

Propping yourself up on your toes, you pressed a kiss to his much too inviting mouth. His grip loosened around your arm, as he kissed you back fervently.

“Tell me to stop,” His voice neared a plea, like he was hoping you wouldn’t tell him to stop, “If you don’t want this, we’ll never talk about it again. I promise.”

You knew it was true. If at any point you felt uncomfortable, he wouldn’t touch you, no questions asked. You doubted whether you had ever met a man with more integrity than Aaron Hotchner. The thing was…you didn’t want to stop.

“Please,” Your voice mirrored his pleading tone, “Please touch me.”

He let go of your arm completely, brushing your hair away from your face as he pressed a reverent kiss to your lips. It turned frantic, as you both fought to make up for lost time, time that had gone by ignoring feelings and desires.

His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” He whispered, his breath tickling your face, “Do you?”

“Can’t be longer than me.” Your voice broke off in a ragged gasp as he lowered his mouth to the crook of your neck, placing a chaste kiss there. Except it didn’t feel so chaste, not with the way your knees felt shaky and the surmounting urge to clench your thighs together.

“You have a weird way of showing it, sweetheart.” He mumbled, shifting the strap of your tank top to the side to bite and suckle on the soft, previously unblemished skin. Now there was going to be a very noticeable mark of broken capillaries underneath the skin, coupled with his ownership.

“So do you, I still can’t tell whether you actually like me or not.”

He straightened up at that, gazing at you worriedly.

“…What?” You asked warily.

“I’m really sorry if I hurt you with what I said—”

You started to wave off his apology but he gripped your chin in his hand, silencing you.

“Listen,” He urged sternly, as you struggled to pay attention through the haze of arousal, “I care about you a great deal. Your life matters to me and I need you to be safe. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You nodded meekly.

“Good girl.”

Observant man that he was, he picked up on the small whimper that left your lips at his words, noticing the goosebumps that spread all across your arms despite it being sweltering outside.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” He said, in the same voice he probably used to announce the agenda at meetings, “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue, and then I’m going to fuck you until it’s drilled into your pretty little head that you cannot jump into danger whenever you feel like it,” He dropped your shirt on the floor, playing with the hem of your tank top, “And you’re going to take it because you’re my good little girl. Isn’t that right, princess?”

“Fuck,” You sighed, head tilting back, as his hand slid around your throat, “Yeah, Daddy.”

The hand which had been tracing circles on your lower back paused. There was no movement from either of you for some time at which point you felt inclined to check if he was even into that sort of thing or not.

The edge of his lip was quirked up into a smile as he quietly said, “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

You mirrored his expression, dropping down onto the bed with all the grace of a woodland fairy, resting your weight on the palms of your hands as you gazed up at him.

He pulled the tank top over your head, throwing it to the side. Chuckling, he tucked the hair which had shielded your face from his view behind your ear. He lowered himself to his knees in front of you, finally putting the both of you at comparable heights.

Reaching behind you, he worked your bra open, discarding it on the ground. The light sea breeze entering through the window brushed over your body before he could, cooling your heated skin.

“Fucking beautiful, baby.” He mumbled against the sensitive skin of your breasts, before licking a broad stripe over your nipple. That elicited a soft moan from you, one hand coming up to card through the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him against your flushed skin.

Where his tongue was gentle and caring, the sting of his teeth was harsh as they pulled on your skin. His hands were firm in their grip but his fingers were playful as they toyed with your nipples, relishing in the way your hands bent at the elbows as you leaned back to support yourself on your forearms.

He shifted your hips to take off your denim shorts, maneuvering the stiff material down your legs. All your clothes now lay in a disorganised heap on the floor. It made you chuckle to think that had Aaron not been so…busy at the moment, he would’ve been nitpicking about the mess.

“You’re soaking wet, baby,” He crooned, as you struggled to not press your thighs together, “That all for me?”

“Mhm,” You nodded rapidly, “Of course, Daddy.”

With a lopsided smile, he pulled your panties down your legs. You gasped when he forced your legs wider by lifting them onto his shoulder. As if observing an art display, he dragged a finger up your slit, collecting your arousal. That first touch was always the most electric. He watched you with a sharp, fixating gaze as he put his finger in his mouth, sucking it clean.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” He said, rubbing soothing circles on the soft skin of your thigh, “I could’ve had you for dessert every night.”

“Don’t tease, Daddy,” You jutted out your bottom lip in a show of faux innocence, “I need you.”

“Hm?” Aaron responded, “What do you want, you brat?”

“Your tongue,” You replied, breathless, “Need you to fuck me, Daddy. I—” You bit your lip, hiding a smile, “I touched myself to this, you know? Thinking about your mouth and your fingers and—”

“When?” He asked sharply, looking up at you with a hint of veiled shock on his face.

“In the shower,” You responded shyly, “Mostly.”

“Now I want you to understand something,” He said softly but you knew this was an order, not a request, “This tight cunt of yours…” He slid a finger into you, making your eyes roll back at the sudden stimulation, “It’s mine. Mine to fuck, mine to use, mine to do whatever the fuck I please with it. Got it?”

“Yes!” You gasped, “Yes, got it!”

He let out an insouciant hum before finally lowering his mouth to your dripping sex, licking a wide stripe over it. Your entire body shuddered as a broken sigh left your lips. How long had you dreamt about this? Every time you’d made yourself cum on your fingers, desperately wishing they were his, every time you’d watched him devour his gelato with pure ecstasy on his face.

Thank the lord for Italians, their lovely confectionaries and Aaron Hotchner’s sweet tooth.

“Oh—” You moaned out, clutching his hair as your head fell back, “Fuck…”

He let out a muffled groan around your clit as a response to the way you had harshly tugged on his hair. The reverberations went up your spine, making your toes curl.

You looked up to see his face. He was already watching you, smirking victoriously when your face crumpled in pleasure immediately after catching his eye. His fingers were long and thick, and they felt even better than what you had spent your nights fantasizing about.

The hand that wasn’t busy curling into you slid up your body, gently playing with your nipples, tweaking them and rubbing circles around them.

“I wanna cum,” You whined, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly when the stimulation got too much, “Please?”

“Did the brat finally learn some manners?” Aaron stopped his ministrations, looking up at you with eyes widened in mock surprise. You curbed the urge to lash out at him with the justification that your pleasure was currently in his hands.

It seemed like it would always be in his hands now.

“Daddy—fuck,” You were a whimpering, moaning mess, trying not to fall apart at the edges, “Fuck, please, make me cum!”

He chuckled lowly, keeping a steady partnership going between his fingers and his tongue. It took another whine until he finally rubbed the side of your thigh comfortingly and whispered, “Cum, you needy brat.”

The words, meant to sound like an insulting admonishment, had no sting to them. When you came all over his tongue, you felt surrounded by love and care. He sat back on his heels as you watched him lick his fingers clean, barely managing to suppress a groan around them. The remnants of your arousal glistened on his chin as he got up. You lifted yourself on shaky arms as he kissed you deeply, sharing the taste of you, with you.

“You taste fucking divine, baby,” He gently gripped your face, “Sound fucking divine too.”

“Let me take care of you,” You whispered, palming his very obvious erection through his trousers, “Please.”

Aaron Hotchner was undoubtedly superior among men, but he was still just human. A slave to pleasure just like you and everyone else. He nodded, eyes fluttering shut as his neglected cock finally got some attention.

You pushed the hem of his polo shirt halfway up his stomach until he pulled it over his head in one swift move. For the first time, you saw a shadow of insecurity pass over his face as he tried to come to terms with the fact that his scars were now on full display to you.

Things of trauma were not something to point out. You took no notice of the jagged lines on his stomach as you pushed him onto the bed and slid onto the ground in one swift motion. He seemed relieved that you had bypassed his scars completely and reached for his belt, looking up at him through big doe eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He sighed, watching you work his zip open, “It makes me want to fuck your throat until you cry.”

You smiled, freeing his erection from the confines of his boxers, watching his head fall back, and said, “Do it, then. Make me cry.”

You made the first move, giving the weeping, flushed tip a kitten lick. He hissed as you took in more slowly, moaning around him, overjoyed at the privilege of tasting him on your tongue.

It was a privilege. The way his hand twisted your hair into a ponytail to keep it out of your face, the manner in which his abdominal muscles were clenching with the effort of not just roughly fucking up into your mouth…it was all a privilege. He was looking after your comfort even now.

“Fuck my throat, Daddy,” You whispered, running your hands up his thighs, “I can take it.”

“Baby…” He groaned, tightening his hand in your hair when you swirled your tongue around the tip, “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.”

He finally acquired the determination to do as you had asked, guiding your movements with a firm hand on your head.

“Fuck,” He was breathless, struggling to get a coherent sentence out as you choked on his cock, “Do you—do you know how fucking good you look right now?”

You just hoped that the waterproof mascara you had put on in the morning had lived up to its name because steady tears were making their way down your face.

Aaron only fucked your throat a couple more times, taking obvious delight in the velvet heat of your mouth. Eventually though, much to both your disappointments, he pulled you off his cock, helping you stand up.

“We can do that later, I promise,” He chuckled, thumbing over your bottom lip as you pouted at him, “But I really need to bury myself in you, okay?”

The urge to act out resurfaced again, wondering what kind of reaction you could elicit by misbehaving.

“Are you sure?” You asked, faking skepticism, “You can just finish in my mouth now if you want. Like, stamina goes down with age…right?”

There was a look of disbelief on Aaron’s face for a moment, before it was eclipsed by an expression that screamed that you had made all the wrong calculations.

“Can’t get off unless you’re being a little bitch, can you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

A shiver ran down your spine. Praise was good, praise was comforting, but there was something else about being degraded that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge.

“Daddy—”

“Don’t even fucking try,” He shut down your plea before it began, standing up and towering over you, “Open your mouth.”

You complied, dancing like a marionette in his hands at this point. You anticipated whatever he was about to do, staring up at him with eyes that revealed more excitement than fear. Some people satisfied their need for an adrenaline rush by going on rollercoasters, you did it by pissing off Aaron Hotchner. Each to their own.

He gripped your throat tightly, pursing up his lips as he dropped his spit into your mouth. Your knees felt like they might actually give out at any moment. You were his now, wholly, truly his. You swallowed, knowing that he felt the movement of your throat through the hand which was still wrapped around your neck.

“Next time you think mouthing off like a smartass is a good idea,” He hissed, “Remember that you belong to me, you fucking bitch. And I have no problem doling out punishments to ignorant little sluts.”

You nodded, a rush of oxygen entering your lungs as he let go of your throat.

“Are you still on birth control?” He asked.

You nodded again. Two months in the same quarters with a person would reveal a lot about their habits, contraceptives included.

“Get on all fours.” He gestured towards the bed. You scrambled to follow. The little demon on your shoulder which was asking you to test his limits just to experience his brand of punishment quietened down at the idea of being fucked.

“I’m surprised the threat of punishment shut you up.” Aaron remarked nonchalantly, splaying a wide hand over your back, running it up and down over the soft skin.

“You’re being mean.” You couldn’t keep the pout out of your voice, sounding whiny, like a child getting ready to throw a tantrum.

He laughed, using his hand to guide his cock to your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat in a choked off gasp as he teased your folds with the head, taking obvious pleasure in the way your body was tensing up in anticipation.

Had it not been for the looming threat of human traffickers and the thirst for revenge, you would have classified Italy as a two-month long courtship. In a life like the ones you led where everything was so uncertain and extraordinary, where death was a closer friend than joy, arguing with Aaron about what kind of cheese was best was a momentary respite.

But you’re not safe here, you wanted to sob, and I cannot protect you.

He knocked the anxiety cleanly out of you when he thrust into you smoothly, making you clutch at the bedsheets as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” He grunted lowly, buried to the hilt in you, “So fucking tight.”

You wracked your brain for a response but found yourself coming up empty. You were in no position to dish out sarcasatic quips anymore.

Through every jolt of your body, every push and pull like the opposite poles of a magnet, every tiny whimper that left your mouth, you tried to tell him how much you adored him. You would give him everything in the world.

Except certainty.

He twisted a hand into your hair, swiftly pulling you up so that your back was pressed against his chest. The new angle drove his cock deeper within you and you were certain that had it not been for his tight grip around you, you would’ve fallen back down again.

“You will never,” He commanded, hissing into your ear, “Never, do that again, do you understand? You will not risk your life—fuck—like that again. I will fuck the insubordination out of you and the self-preservation into you, if need be. Do you understand?”

There was no doubt in your mind that you looked a sight. Eyes teary, brows knitted in frustration, body pliant and bending under his will.

“I said,” He yanked harshly on your hair, manhandling you like you were nothing but his doll, “Do you understand?”

“Yes!” You sobbed out, nerves fraught and close to short-circuiting, “Yes, Daddy, fuck, please let me cum!”

He placed a chaste kiss on the nape of your neck when your head bowed forward as a result of his powerful thrusts. It formed a lovely contrast to the brutal fucking you were being subjected to. Reverent and derisive at the same time.

“Is my little girl going to cum?” His tone was mocking and derogatory, even as his hand lowered to rub insistent, demanding circles over your clit, dragging out the most delicious, high-pitched sounds from your throat.

“Please.” Your voice was a whimper, soft and pleading and meant for his ears only.

“Go ahead then,” He murmured against the warm skin of your neck, “Cum all over my fucking fingers. Now.”

Was there a scientific article in the depths of Google that hypothesized why a person’s body might involuntarily follow another’s instructions? Probably. You realised they should get in contact with you, because you had just proven their hypothesis to be right.

Your body rushed to comply with his orders as you released for the second time around his fingers, tensing like a taut bowstring before slacking against him.

The aftershocks of your orgasm kept you clenched around him, your pulsing heat sending him over the precipice not long after.

He came with a loud groan that he tried to muffle by pressing his mouth to your shoulder. All in vain. You shivered at the feeling of his cum staining your walls white.

You stayed like that for a few moments, until your lungs could take in oxygen again without resorting to heaving gasps. A small whimper left your lips as he pulled out, the drag of his cock inside you a little too much for your overstimulated body.

“Wait here.” He murmured quietly, getting up from the bed as you flopped down on your back.

The water ran for some time before he came back with a damp cloth in his hand. He wiped you down with the same worshipping gaze that appeared when he watched you attempt to explain the plot of a novel that you had read in the most convoluted manner possible. Your heart ached with need when you noticed that he’d made an effort to soak the cloth with warm water.

Grabbing his shirt from the floor, you made your way to the bathroom. Behind closed doors you took in your appearance, the best way to describe which was “thoroughly fucked.”

It would’ve made you laugh under normal circumstances but your mind was way too worried. You had just put him in even more danger than he was in to start with.

He has a son! You’re being selfish. He’s going to die because of you. Everyone does.

Your brain was truly your best friend and your worst enemy.

When you walked out into the room again, Aaron was already lounging in bed, waiting for you. His face lit up when he saw you, his hand patting the space next to him in invitation. You crawled in beside him, putting your arms around him as you sought solace in the feel of his skin.

He shifted his position to lay his head on your chest, throwing his arm around you in a makeshift protective barrier of sorts. You smiled, running your fingers through his hair.

The distant roaring of the sea was the only noise in the room.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked finally, tracing circles on his bare shoulder.

“Nothing,” He shook his head, “Just…happy to be here. Feels new.”

“Good new or bad new?”

“Good new.” He chuckled.

“You make me happy too.” You said softly, watching as his breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep.

You never managed to sleep, watching him instead. And when he rolled off of you in the middle of his slumber, you rose from the bed with a heavy heart and started getting dressed.

-

Human intuition was a powerful, underrated thing. In his long career as a profiler, there had often been times where he hadn’t had solid proof about an unsub but his intuition had guided him to the evidence he required to arrest them.

Which was why when his eyes opened and he found himself alone in bed, he knew something was horribly wrong. He scrambled up, the sheets pooling around his waist. Your side of the bed looked as if no one had slept in it last night. His shirt was neatly folded on the bed with a piece of paper jutting out from underneath it.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with urgency, he snatched up the note.

Aaron,

Don’t be mad…

He suppressed a yell. Of course, of course, you had gone and done something reckless. Again.

…I’m leaving to go after Rizzo. I’m not telling you where because I know you’ll try to come with me. I can’t endanger you anymore. I’ve spoken to the Agency, they will send another agent as soon as they can. I need you to drive to the Consulate in Palermo. They’ve been informed and they will be expecting you. Please go back to D.C., for Jack. He needs you more than I do.

I’ll find you when the time is right. I adore you. See you on home soil.

(Burn this paper.)

He ended up crumpling the paper in his fist out of sheer anger.

How could you just leave? How could you let him put his guard down and reveal his feelings, give you his heart and body to just leave?

Your side of the room was empty, your bag, your clothes had all disappeared overnight. He got up from the bed, walking over to the sink with the lighter. He wanted to keep the paper, the last reminder that you were real and not just a vivid hallucination that his brain had cooked up, but he couldn’t. For his safety and yours.

He watched the paper burn, browning and fluttering into the sink as small pieces of ash. He turned on the tap, washing away the paper and using the water to jerk himself into complete waking consciousness.

Silently, he dressed, packed his bag, armed himself, made sure the entire house was spotless before getting into the car.

The three hour drive to Palermo left him with a lot to think about.

Were his words the reason why you had left? Maybe his apology hadn’t been enough. Yes, he missed Jack and a part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing his son again but he didn’t want that reunion to come at the expense of your life.

It all felt like he had failed you, in one way or another.

When he finally reached the Consulate, he was instructed on how he was to return home and what protocols were to be followed afterwards by a CIA agent.

“You might be asked to refrain from going out on the field for a couple weeks till we can verify that you’re in no immediate danger.” The agent explained.

“Why would I be in danger?”

A confused look passed over the agent’s face and he finally informed him that you had told the Agency that his cover had been blown.

If he hadn’t been so angry, he would’ve laughed. You had used your own mistake and passed it off as his.

Sitting on a plane while not being surrounded by his team was unusual. Without their cheery banter or full-blown debates, it left him with a suffocating silence where he had to face his own thoughts. He swallowed down the realisation that till whenever he saw you next, you would haunt his every waking moment and his every dream. He would keep wondering where you were, how you were, were you even alive?

The “right time” could be a month from now or several years from now. Was he really resigned to waiting for you like you were a soldier who would return from an elusive war some day?

He had felt whole last night. Like everything was exactly how it was supposed to be, like he wasn’t running out of time and desperately trying to chase after the hands of the clock. He hadn’t felt whole in years.

It was quite evident to him now that he would never beat time.

The scent of your hair, the feel of your skin, it was stuck in his memory, replaying like a damaged record again and again and again. It was painful, knowing that he’d grasped happiness for a brief moment in time and then promptly lost it. Would the memory of the way your skin had felt under his touch fade? Probably. Given enough time, pyramids broke down. What was human memory compared to that?

But he desperately hoped not. He needed to see you again, hold you again. And if the only thing that would bide the time and keep him sane was the constant reel of your mannerisms, then so be it.

-

Bureaucracy was comparable to an unending ladder. No matter how high one climbed, the ladder continued extending upwards. It was impossible to reach the top rung.

He had this thought often, most prominently after meetings with the higher-ups. Four months ago it would’ve caused him annoyance and maybe a tension headache but now it was a welcome reprieve.

He was an adult with real responsibilities. Between running after unsubs, delivering profiles and coaching Jack’s soccer team, he didn’t have a lot of idle time. But when he did, he found his thoughts returning right back to you.

He’d tried to extract information through his connections at CIA. But no amount of favours called in would make any agent reveal anything about a covert overseas assignment.

He tried to keep himself as busy as possible. If it wasn’t filling out reports, it was finishing ‘Charlotte’s Web’ with Jack. Anything to keep his mind away from the painful memories your face evoked in his mind.

Yet inevitably, in those few minutes before his mind drifted off to sleep, he would think of you. Of every moment you had spent together that he hadn’t taken time to cherish simply because he’d thought there would be enough time to make more memories like that.

Were you even alive?

The moment the elevator opened, Garcia came bounding at him with a very excited look on her face.

“Sir, someone came to see you,” She hurriedly said, syllables almost tripping over each other, “She’s waiting in your office.”

He frowned at her and then snuck a look at his watch. The work day was almost coming to an end and he could not recall scheduling any last minute meetings.

“I’m not expecting anyone.” He said slowly.

“Oh, well, I don’t think she’s here for a meeting,” Garcia explained, waving her hands around to supplement her words, “Well, she came in and I asked her who she wanted to meet, and she said you and I told her you were in a meeting. And so I asked her if she wanted me to deliver a message or something and she said she’ll wait and to tell you and I quote, “Tell him that Sicily is here. He’ll know what it means.” I have no idea what that’s code for.”

His eyes widened.

“Could you—Could you put this on Strauss’ desk, please?” He thrust the brown paper file in his hand towards her, “Just leave it on her desk.”

He didn’t stick around long enough to notice the look of surprise on Garcia’s face as she watched him walk briskly towards his office with determined steps.

He yanked the door open.

You were sitting on the couch, fiddling with your phone. Your head shot up on hearing the creak of the door. He barely had time to brace himself before you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck in a bear hug.

His hands went around your waist, clutching you tightly. He could smell the fragrance of your shampoo and your perfume and his mind finally eased after four long, torturous months of craving you in his sleep and then waking up in an empty bed.

“Hi, Aaron.” You mumbled, a grin lighting up your face.

You were no longer dressed in casual clothes, your skin hidden away behind the fabric of your shirt and pantsuit. But that grin hadn’t dulled.

“Hi…” He whispered in disbelief, brushing your hair away from your face, “Hi, when did you return?”

“Early this morning,” You beamed, “I came to see you as soon as I finished all the evaluations and everything.”

“And Rizzo?”

“Dead.”

That was all the information he had to extract. Intimacy in the workplace wasn’t something he approved of, but the door was closed and this definitely qualified as a special occasion. He pressed his lips against yours, relishing the way you relaxed against him. He still felt a little bit like someone would walk in at any moment and tell him that this was a practical joke. Holding you in his arms had become a thing of dreams now, it was what he fantasized about before falling asleep, the best kind of sleep medication.

All in all, he was whole again.

“Why did you run away?” He asked, once you were compelled to pull apart for air.

“I didn’t run away,” You rolled your eyes, “I was scared, Aaron. Scared for you, scared for me. I didn’t want Rizzo to use us as leverage against each other.”

“Yeah,” He replied dryly, “Imagine how scared I was when I woke up alone in bed with no sight of you anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” You leaned forward and kissed him softly, “And I know you’re gonna make me repent for leaving for the rest of my life, but may I start my penance with some food? I’m fucking starving.”

He couldn’t help the smile which stretched across his face. It was impossible to not be amused by you. Your joy was infectious.

“What do you want?” He asked.

“Anything but Italian,” You responded promptly, “I don’t think I can look at a pizza again.”

He laughed out loud this time, the sound filling the office. This office was a grim space. He couldn’t remember if he actually had a happy memory here. That was why he kept a photo of Jack on his desk at all times, to remind him that he had something precious to live and fight for.

Now he would also think of your laugh every time he entered it.

“I missed you.” You murmured against the lapel of his suit jacket, falling back into his warm embrace again.

“I missed you more.”

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Spencer Reid Masterlist

* denotes smut, minors do not interact

ONGOING SERIES

The Reward of Suffering : In which Spencer’s wrongful incarceration sets in motion a series of events that teaches both he and Reader a lesson in suffering. 

I Carry Your Heart With Me : When your college roommate asks you to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, you pack your bags and jump on a flight to Montana. What was supposed to be a relaxing week on the husband-to-be’s ranch is turned upside down when an old flame decides to make an appearance. Mix in lingering feelings, a meddling bride, and the mother of all misunderstandings, and your week out west turns out to be a whole lot more than you bargained for.

ONESHOTS

In Case You Hadn’t Noticed : In which Spencer is in love, and the reader is oblivious. (Sub!Spencer x Fem!Reader) *

Creep : Spencer has a crisis. (Dom!Spencer x Fem!Reader) *

Unlucky in Love : Spencer is unlucky in love - until he isn’t. (Spencer x Fem! Reader)

Avoidance : Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much. (Sub!Spencer x FemDom!Reader) *

Reassurance : In the sequel to Avoidance, Spencer feels insecure, and Reader puts his worries to rest. (Sub!Spencer x FemDom!Reader) *

Hungry Eyes : Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship. (Dom!Spencer x Fem!Reader) *

The More Loving One : Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. (Professor!Reid x Fem!Reader) *

Love Sick : A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best. (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship. 

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

           “That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

           So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

           Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

           It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

Keep reading

[boldlyvoid]

can u do a blurb about reader wanting a baby and asking her co-worker Spencer to be the donor because he's smart and nice and she wants a cute baby?

you said blurb and i read 2K word fic apparently lmao

Late nights behind a desk were the worst. Y/N hated reading over case file, after case file, of horrific things as she tried to choose where they went next.

The only plus side was that she wasn’t alone, Spencer was at his desk just beside her. Like he always was. They had an interesting friendship, to say the least.

Ever since Y/N joined the BAU, Spencer and her were glued at the hip. They had all the same interests, liked the same music and movies, and they spat out information the same way, they were like each other’s dorky other half— but it was just a friendship.

They had a tradition to watch at least one movie together after a case, to just chill for a bit together. Always randomly picking one of their apartments to go to, spending the night together until one of them eventually wandered off to bed. Leaving the other on the couch.

They weren’t aware of their feelings for each other for a while. Both of them being so used to being alone, and never having anyone be interested in them before. It was hard to understand if the feelings they had were pure friendship, or if it could ever be more. If the sex would fuck everything up and take away that perfect happy place they found in each other, or would it make the bond stronger?

She noticed the crush before Spencer showed any signs of liking her back. She woke up every morning thinking of him, that's when she came to the conclusion that it was more than just a friendship. She wanted him in her life forever, she wanted to kiss his perfect lips and hug his soft body, wake up beside his messy hair and just love him for the rest of eternity.

She sighed as she picked up another file, not excited to learn about the horrible acts taking place in what people called, “the best country in the world.” She’d disagree any day of the week.

This one was a file about some missing kids apparently being spotted in a van altogether in Georgia, it looked interesting enough to be the next case. She hated reading all the info, seeing every kid's happy face in the file knowing that’s not how they looked now.

“Good god,” she groaned as she flipped through the case.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked over the divider.

“Nothing,” she shrugged, “just a bad case.”

She handed it to him over the desk, hearing him flip through all the sheets as he read a million words a minute. “We should show this to Emily first thing,” Spencer agreed, pushing himself over to her desk in his wheely chair.

“I will,” she smiled softly, taking the file back from him and placing it on her desk.

Spencer stood then, making his way into her space and rubbing his hand over her back slightly. “Are you okay?”

She sighed, “actually. no, I was telling Garcia I want to have a baby soon, and then I see things like this and I’m scared to do it alone but I don’t have any other option?” Ranting to him like he was her therapist.

“What do you mean?”

She turned in her chair to look up at him, his soft brown eyes really caring to hear the answer. “Sit,” she insisted.

He pulled the chair over more, sitting close enough that their knees touched. “I’m 36, I’m not having any luck finding a husband or a wife, I want a baby and if I have to do it myself I will, but what if I’m not enough? What if I have a boy and he grows up to be a killer cause he never had a dad?”

“Y/N,” Spencer’s voice was soft as he looked at her with a confused scrunch on his face. “That couldn’t happen, you’re a wonderful person, I love having you on the team and in my life, I know you’d raise good kids, you should do it.”

“Really?” She beamed at him, the words touching her heart and making her swoon a bit.

“I mean, it would be hard,” he added reason to the conversation. “You’d have to take time off, which would be good for bonding. My mother raised me alone and I turned out semi-fine, I don't hold any resentment for her not finding someone for me to call dad or even step-mom for that matter. I think if you give them all the love in the world like I know you’re capable of, your child will love you like you’re their whole world.”

She laughed as she noticed the tears welling in her eyes, waving her hand's in front of her face so she wouldn’t fully sob. “Do you want to be the donor?” She made a joke to change the topic.

Spencer laughed then too, “sure!”

Everything got serious again then, she looked at him a little differently. “Really? Cause honestly, you’re like a Grade A donor profile in the most expensive clinic!” She couldn’t help herself from laughing again at the absurdity.

“I’ve always wanted to be a dad, 40 isn’t too old to have a child, is it?” He seemed to have decided that rather fast.

“Okay,” she nodded with a smile, “okay. That’s cool, sick,” she felt the words get smaller as she thought it over.

“I get it if you were kidding,” Spencer spat out. “I realize now that you might have been making a joke, I hope it’s not weird that I agreed so fast, it’s just that I think you’re a very beautiful and smart woman and the idea of helping you make a child makes me really excited. I think it would be a very good idea if you were being serious, but I get it if you’re not.”

She let him get it all out, always loving when he got like this on a case or in person, nervous or just because he wanted to talk, she loved to listen. And no one ever let him finish his thoughts, always wanting to beat him to the punch.

“Spence, I think you’re really handsome and smart too,” she smiled. “If you’re also serious, I am too.”

“How would we?” He asked as he pulled at the top button of his dress shirt, swallowing like he couldn't breathe all of a sudden.

“If you’re not opposed, I’m sure the good old-fashioned way would work?” She laughed, laying her hand on his knee softly.

It was like sparks flew at that moment as if all the fluorescent lights in the bullpen could have exploded and she wouldn’t have even noticed. Captivated by Spencer's eyes as he gasped at her touch.

“Not opposed in the slightest,” he said softly as he held his own hand over hers.

She couldn’t help herself from smiling. “Well, I think I’m all done here if you want to come to my place for a movie?”

“Sure,” he replied, offering her a hand as they stood up together.

He returned his chair to his desk, both of them grabbing their coats and bags and rejoining at the door.

“I should go say goodnight to Penny,” Y/N said softly. “Wanna come?”

“Yeah,” he followed her through the door and down the hall to the tech room.

“Knock knock,” Y/N said as she walked through the open door. “Oh great and knowledgeable one, I’ve come with my nightly farewell.”

“Oh my knight, I shall miss you,” Penelope played along, sauntering over to her and wrapping her up in a hug. “I leave you with this until your return.”

“Through scorching deserts, and blistering winds, I will make it back to you, always,” she tried not to laugh as she hugged her back. “I also brought forth the jester.”

Spencer was laughing in the doorway as the two of them looked at him, “hi?”

“The pretty boy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Um,” Y/N smiled, “Spencer and I are just going back for our nightly movie.”

Penelope looked at both of them, jaw slightly gaped, “nightly? I thought it was a case by case thing?”

“It’s a good excuse for us to talk,” Spencer smiled at her.

“Mhmm,” she smirked, “well have fun.”

She pulled Y/N back into another hug, hiding her face from Spencer, “I need all the dirty deets in the morning.”

Y/N smacked her arm softly as she pulled back, “goodnight pretty penny.”

“Farewell brave knight, handle with care, Jester,” Penelope pointed her finger at him, giving him a knowing glance.

“Yes, oh Knowledgeable one, always,” he blushed.

He reached out his hand for Y/N, interlocking their fingers as they left her office and headed towards the elevator. A rare moment of bravery on his part, holding hands like this didn’t spread a lot of germs.

“We’re going to have to discuss a lot of logistics like realistically this isn’t going to be just a fuck and oh look its a baby. This is a real live baby that we need to raise and care for,” she reminded him as the elevator doors shut.

“I’d like to be as involved as you’d let me be,” Spencer replied. “I don’t have to be 'dad' to them, I could be uncle Spence that’s fine too.”

“Oh no, you’d be Dad for sure,” she nudged him slightly. “I mean like, weekends and holidays and birthdays, your mom will want to see them surely, my parents will want to see them. Housing,” she looked at him horrified. “I have an apartment with 2 bedrooms, I don’t think I could let them sleep somewhere without me.”

“I have been looking at houses,” Spencer added before the doors opened to the garage, “you’re driving right?”

“Yeah, you were saying?” She replied, digging her keys out of her purse and leading him towards the car.

“Derek Morgan, I’m not sure if you’ve met him yet, he fixes up old homes in DC and Virginia now. He just finished one and I helped him with it. I think I’m going to buy it from him. It has 4 bedrooms, we could all live under the same roof? It would be easier to co-parent.”

She was amazed at how fast he adapted to this as if he’d been having the same thoughts she was having. At a certain point wanting kids becomes a pipe dream filled with desperation and emptiness, he looks like he’s experienced it too.

She opened her door and sat down before replying to him again. Thinking about how wonderful he was going to be during this process, “thank you, Spencer.”

“For what?” He asked as they both closed their doors.

She sighed, relaxing into her seat as she started the car. She turned to him softly, not wanting to cry as she spoke softly. “Being a mom is more of a dream to me than joining the BAU was, this is the best gift you could give me.”

He reached his hand out again, holding it softly. Running his thumb over her knuckles. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah,” she nodded softly.

He couldn’t make eye contact with her, staring at their hands as he rubbed her skin.

“Um, I’ve been pretty infatuated with you since you joined,” he let it out finally. Like a ton of bricks off his back he relaxed a bit, “after everything with Maeve, Cat and Max… oh god, and JJ... I was so worried that if I got too close to you I’d lose you. I tried to keep the feelings in, that's why I said what I did to Penelope. She knows how I feel about you.”

It was like fireworks were going off in her chest as the butterflies erupted inside of her. She sat up, turning to him more and ripping her hand from his grasp.

It startled him, he looked at her anxiously as if she was going to yell at him. But she placed both hands on his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

His arms snaked around her waist, wishing they could get closer if it wasn’t for the damn centre console of her car. Pressing their lips together, hard, as they breathed each other in. Desperation taking control, she wasn’t able to let go of him.

When she finally did pull away, however, the look on his face was priceless. Like expensive art, every line and freckle had a meaning. He was surprised, enamoured, grateful, desperate for more.

She smiled softly, rubbing her thumbs over his cheek. “Good, cause it would be awkward having your baby and not getting to love you every day too.”

taglist: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[iconicc-deactivated20221014]

Criminal Minds Masterlist

🥵- smut/ explicit content

Total works - 45

Haunted : Your soulmate’s last words are etched on your skin. After Hayley’s death, Aaron realises her last words didn’t match the words on his wrist. 

Of all the souls (haunted pt.2)

Missing. (Svu!reader)

Gender Neutral!Reader

Birthdays

Comfort

Confessions

Dreams

Feeling Green

Habits

Hurt

Is that my shirt?

Impatient 🥵

Jack

Lunch Date

New Years.

Not just friends

Oblivious

Reckless

Undeniable attraction

Naughty girl (I’m sorry it’s only the title that’s gendered!)

The decoy.

Fem!Reader 

Are you happy?

Being a bit extreme

Care

Caught

Daddy. (🥵)

Emergency

Granted

Locked Out

Luck

Mr & Mrs Smith - Spy AU

Needy

New Addition

No strings attached

Profiled

Sitter

The Intern. (1) || (2)

The one where they met.

Series

Entangled ~ enemies to lovers with Hotch

Gender Neutral!Reader

Anniversary (crappy soulmate AU)

Heather.

I wish you were Heather. { ‘Heather’ part 2 }

Fem!Reader 

Compromising positions 

Important links!

400 Celebration Blurbs (Xmas themed)

Fic Rec List (500 celebration)

WIPs : a list on all the fics im working on currently!

Iconicc’s Taglist form : if you wish to be added complete this form & also if you have changed your URL :)

[ladylibby]

Between Us - Masterlist

Summary: You and Hotch have been friends for years, and colleagues for even longer. One night, after years of stealing glances and holding back, you finally reveal your feelings for each other. As questions of your career and his reputation arise, however, you decide it’s best to keep the relationship a secret. But when you’re working with a team of FBI profilers, how long can you keep the truth just between the two of you?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

[meganskane]

hi bestie hey bestie could you please recommend some really good fics?? thanks bestie bye bestie love you bestie

hi bestie hi bestie hi bestie! i love you more bestie! && i absolutely can! i haven’t read much recently so i’ll see what i can whip up for u ;)

first of many — @golden-barnes

wild goose chase — @broken-stardust

mini matchmaker — @mggswhorificlover

there’s no title for this one — @wifeyprentiss

virally desired — @reidsacademia

the incredibly sexy viral doctor reid — @moderatelydelusional

laughing gas — @reidsnose