Summary: After failing a critical exam, you make the mistake of trying to hide the truth from Wanda. For three excruciating hours, she humors your act, playing the part of the perfect, nurturing figure while you spiral in a suffocating web of lies. But Wanda is as strategic as she is observant; she’s been watching you break from the moment you walked through the door. When she finally forces the confrontation, her disappointment is cold, clinical, and absolute. It is a long, grueling lesson in honesty designed to strip away your cowardice and remind you that you cannot hide from the one who knows you better than you know yourself.
Warnings: Mommy/Puppy dynamics, academic failure, lying, psychological tension, slow-burn emotional distress, spanking as punishment, emotional dominance, power dynamics, tearful submission, heavy aftercare, protective!Wanda.
The deception wasn’t just a moment; it was a performance, and for the entire evening, Wanda sat in the front row, watching you flounder with the detached, clinical curiosity of an entomologist watching a spider struggle in a web.
The house was perfectly still, save for the rhythmic thud of the fireplace logs and the soft clinking of silverware against china. Dinner had been a masterclass in psychological torture. Wanda was the perfect picture of domestic bliss, attentive, calm, and nurturing. She poured your wine, she cut your meat, she asked about your day with a sweetness that felt like a razor blade sliding behind your ribs.
"How was the testing centre?" she asked, her voice a melodic, low hum. She was watching you over the rim of her glass, her eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.
"It was... long," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was a frantic, erratic drumbeat in your ears. "Lots of reading. I think I did... well enough."
"Well enough," she repeated, the words tasting like honey on her tongue. She leaned forward, the candlelight catching the red in her eyes. "You’ve worked so hard for this, Y/N. I’ve watched you study. I’ve seen the late nights. You’ve been so diligent."
Every word felt like a death sentence. You knew the results were sitting in your inbox, a failing grade, a glaring red F that mocked your incompetence. You had promised her you would pass. You had promised her you would be someone she could be proud of. And now, you were just a liar, drowning in the silence of her living room.
For three hours, she hummed that soft, haunting melody, the one she hummed when she was bored, or when she was thinking about how much power she had over you. She moved about the house with a grace that felt predatory. Every time you checked your phone, you felt her gaze shift to you. You weren’t being subtle; you were vibrating with anxiety. She saw it. She fed on it. She loved watching the way your eyes darted around the room, the way your fingers trembled against the fabric of the sofa, the way your breath hitched whenever she got too close.
She kept you in the cage of her normalcy. She made you sit on the couch while she read to you, her hand tracing patterns on your thigh, her fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were held, that you were trapped.
"You're so tense, puppy," she murmured, her voice silk-wrapped steel. She stood up, smoothing her dress with agonising slowness. "And your thoughts... they're so loud tonight. It’s almost as if you’re trying to scream."
You froze. The blood drained from your face. "Mommy, I—"
"Shh." She pressed a single, cool finger to your lips. Her eyes were glowing now, a soft, pulsating scarlet that seemed to dim the lights of the entire room. The air grew heavy, static electricity dancing across your skin, making the hairs on your arms stand up. "I’ve given you all evening to tell me. I watched you sweat. I watched you tremble. I watched you lie, over and over, hoping I wouldn't notice the way your heart rate spiked every time you looked at me."
She sighed, a sound of genuine, heartbreaking disappointment. "I didn't expect you to be perfect, little one. I expected you to be capable. I expected you to be honest. But this? This is just... pathetic."
She walked to the fireplace, her silhouette long and imposing against the mantle. She didn't look at you. She simply flicked her wrist, and the heavy, solid oak doors of the house slammed shut and locked, the sound reverberating through the walls like a thunderclap. The windows frosted over, turning the outside world into a blurred, inaccessible gray. You were alone with her.
"Do you know why I'm disappointed?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "It isn't because you failed the exam. Failure is a temporary state. It’s because you treated me like a fool. You thought your pathetic little secrets could hide from me."
She turned, and the sheer weight of her authority hit you like a physical force. She didn't shout. She didn't lose her composure. Her stillness was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. She glided across the room, and when she reached you, she didn't grab you. She simply commanded, "Kneel."
Your body betrayed you, sinking to the floor without your permission.
"You've been dishonest," she said, pacing slowly around you, her fingers trailing along the back of your neck. "You've been manipulative. And you've been lazy. Thirty strikes, Y/N. And you're going to pay for every single one of them."
She forced you up and guided you toward the study, the room where she kept her 'instructional tools.' She pushed you over the edge of her desk, your chest pressed against the polished mahogany. You began to squirm, a desperate sob rising in your throat, but she flicked her wrist, and your body locked into place, held by the invisible, suffocating grip of her magic.
"Stop," she whispered against your ear, her voice dripping with a terrifying, possessive sweetness. "You've been moving far too much tonight. It's time to be still."
She reached for a heavy, wooden ruler, not for play, but for discipline. She weighed it in her hand, testing the balance, her eyes fixed on your back with cold, analytical focus.
Smack.
The first strike landed, sharp and searing. You gasped, your body bucking, but the magic held you rigid.
"One," she counted, her voice a calm, clinical drone. "That's for the failure."
Smack.
"Two. That’s for the initial lie."
Smack.
"Three. That's for the second lie. And the third. And every single second you sat across from me at dinner, pretending you weren't failing me."
She didn't stop. She took her time, pausing between every strike to watch you writhe, to watch the tears stream down your face, to ensure that the message was sinking into your very bones. She explained the theory behind her discipline as she worked, how you were an extension of her, how your incompetence reflected poorly on her, and how her "correction" was the only thing preventing you from becoming a complete failure.
"You're a mess, puppy," she murmured, her hand coming down again, the strike echoing in the silent room. "A weeping, lying mess. And look at you, you're still trying to hide from me. You're still squirming, still hoping I'll stop."
She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear, her hand resting firmly, possessively on the small of your back. She was no longer just a teacher; she was an architect, and she was busy rebuilding your obedience from the ground up.
"I am going to strip every layer of this cowardice away," she promised, her voice a low, melodic promise of more to come. "You are going to be honest, you are going to be capable, and most importantly, you are going to be mine. Are we clear?"
She waited for your answer, her hand poised for another strike, her eyes glowing with an unwavering, terrifying resolve. You were broken, you were stinging, and you were completely, utterly hers.
The transition from the study to the bedroom was a blur, a disorienting shift from the sharp, stinging reality of the desk to the cool, quiet safety of the room where you belonged to her. Your skin was still throbbing, a physical manifestation of your failure and her correction, but the suffocating knot of the lie in your chest had finally unraveled.
Wanda stood by the side of the bed for a moment, waiting. She didn’t hover, but she remained close, her presence a steady anchor in the dim amber light. When you finally sat on the edge of the mattress, the adrenaline that had fueled your panic all evening finally bottomed out. You felt fragile, like you might shatter if you moved too quickly.
"Come here, little one," she said softly. Her voice lacked the sharp edge of the study; it was heavy, velvety, and resonant with a depth of care that felt almost overwhelming.
You stood up on shaky legs and moved toward her. You didn’t even make it to the bed before the first heavy sob broke free. You collapsed into her, burying your face in the crook of her neck, and the tears came in a hot, frantic rush. They weren't just from the physical sting; they were the outpouring of three hours of holding your breath, of the crushing weight of disappointing the person whose opinion mattered most.
Wanda didn’t try to shush you or tell you to be strong. She let you fall apart. She moved backward, guiding you toward the bed, and sat down, pulling you into her lap. You were curled up against her, trembling violently, your hands clutching the front of her shirt as if she were the only solid thing in a collapsing world.
She rocked you back and forth, a slow, rhythmic motion that felt as natural as breathing. One of her hands stayed firmly on your back, not to punish, but to soothe, her palm moving in broad, reassuring circles that covered the places she had disciplined, effectively "healing" the hurt with the weight of her touch.
"I know," she murmured into your hair, her lips pressing against your temple over and over. "I know, my love. Let it out. It’s all gone now. There are no more secrets. There is only us."
You cried until your throat felt raw, the shame of the lie and the sting of the discipline leaking out of you with every breath. Wanda just held you, her heartbeat a steady, thrumming rhythm against your cheek. She was the one who had caused the pain, and yet she was the only place you could bear to be.
She reached for the silk cloth and the salve on the nightstand, her movements agonizingly tender. She moved with a reverent focus, dabbing at your skin with such care that you choked on another sob.
"You’re okay," she whispered, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw to force you to look at her. Her eyes were dark, devoid of the earlier scarlet glow, replaced by a gaze so soft and profoundly loving it made your heart ache. "Look at me, puppy. I am not angry anymore. The debt is paid. The lesson is finished."
She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours. She didn't kiss you immediately; she let you breathe, her thumb gently wiping away the hot, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. "You are allowed to be flawed, Y/N. You are human. But you are my human. And I will never let you drift that far from the truth again. I cannot let you hurt yourself like that."
She pulled you flush against her, shielding you from the rest of the world. She tucked your head under her chin, her arms wrapped around you so tightly it felt like a cage, a safe, warm, and possessive cage.
"I’m sorry," you managed to gasp out, the words thick and wet. "I’m so sorry I lied and made you do that."
Wanda tightened her hold, her fingers digging gently into the back of your neck. "Shh. No more apologies. You’ve had enough for one night. You’re safe here."
She began to hum again, that low, familiar melody that usually heralded sleep. She kept her hand moving on your back, her touch so deliberate, so possessive, that you felt the last of the tension bleed out of your muscles. You were exhausted, your body aching and heavy, but as you drifted, you felt entirely, completely held.
She didn't move until your breathing had evened out into the shallow, hitching sighs of someone who has cried themselves to sleep. Even then, she didn't lay you down. She kept you gathered in her arms, her chin resting on the top of your head, watching you with an expression of such fierce, unconditional devotion that it would have shattered you all over again if you hadn't been already drifting into the dark.
She was your Mommy, your keeper, and your harbor. And as the last of your tears dried on her skin, you knew that no matter what happened, no matter how many times you stumbled, she would always be the one there to catch you, to correct you, and to hold you until you were whole again.
‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.
It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .
Summary:
You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.
Reid vastly overthinks it.
So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.
Word Count: 6,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.
A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!
...
Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.
You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.
But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.
Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.
But you weren’t needed on that front today.
No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.
The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.
He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.
You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.
Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.
After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.
(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)
You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.
Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.
“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.
When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.
“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.
It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)
Speaking of which:
“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”
Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.
“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”
You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.
“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”
Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.
Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.
“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.
“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.
Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.
“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.
He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.
You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.
…
You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.
So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).
He was being far too quiet for your liking.
But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.
You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.
“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.
“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.
Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.
Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.
“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.
You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.
Again, you found it so utterly adorable.
“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.
You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.
For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.
(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)
“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”
Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.
You continued.
“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”
“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.
You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.
Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.
Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.
“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.
This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.
“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”
Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.
You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.
…
Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.
When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.
“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.
Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.
He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.
“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.
“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.
But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.
…
The ex-wife didn’t know much.
She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.
She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.
Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.
He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.
But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.
(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)
…
Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.
So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.
By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.
…
Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.
“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.
“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.
“Your room key?”
You suppressed another grin.
“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”
You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.
“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.
Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.
His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.
He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.
And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.
He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.
He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.
He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.
Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.
“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”
“I don’t think it was stupid.”
You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.
“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”
Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.
A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.
Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.
That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.
It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.
“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”
You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.
He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).
All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.
“Nngh.”
It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.
You giggled quietly.
“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”
Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.
His mind was racing, chanting out:
‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’
But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:
“Please.”
“Good boy.” You sighed.
You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.
It was cute, to say the least.
You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.
“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”
You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.
He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.
If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.
His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.
“Here, come on, baby.”
You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.
Truthfully, he did get something out of this.
It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.
He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.
In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.
“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”
Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.
Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.
It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.
(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)
You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.
“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.
You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.
“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”
The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.
He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.
“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”
Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.
You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.
“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”
These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.
His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.
You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.
Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.
Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.
But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)
You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.
You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.
“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.
“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.
You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.
“So pretty baby.”
He only whined in response.
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.
You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.
“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.
You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.
‘You said that you only wanted to look.’
The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.
“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”
“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”
He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.
“You gonna be good for me, baby?”
“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”
He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.
Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.
But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.
“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”
Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.
He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.
You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.
You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.
He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.
…
The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.
He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.
You came back with a small grin on your face.
“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”
Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”
When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.
“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.
His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.
“Yes, Mommy.”
...
A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!
summary: working alongside Aaron Hotchner at the BAU means most people have no idea you’re married. But when a local detective starts taking a little too much interest in you during an out-of-state case, Aaron’s patience begins to wear thin— until he finally decides to make your relationship impossible for anyone to misunderstand
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: I hope you enjoy. Your support for my writing is very much appreciated 🥰💗💗
The thing about working at the BAU with your husband is that people rarely realize you’re married.
Part of it is Aaron.
Aaron Hotchner isn’t exactly the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He doesn’t hover around you, doesn’t sneak kisses in hallways, doesn’t drape an arm around your shoulders during briefings. To everyone else, he’s Unit Chief first and husband second.
To you, though?
He’s the man who brings you coffee exactly how you like it before every flight. The man who always notices when you’re tired. The man who calls you sweetheart in a voice so soft nobody would ever believe it came from the same person who can stare down serial killers without blinking.
The other part is you.
You keep things professional. You don’t want your marriage becoming office gossip, and honestly, the team respects that.
Morgan knows.
Garcia definitely knows.
Reid figured it out three years ago because he noticed Aaron unconsciously turns toward you whenever someone raises their voice.
The rest of the world?
Not so much.
Which is exactly how you find yourself in the middle of a homicide investigation in Colorado with a problem neither of you expected.
His name is Detective Ryan Walker.
And Detective Ryan Walker has decided he likes you.
A lot.
The first time Aaron notices it, he says nothing.
You’re standing at the local precinct reviewing victim files when Walker appears beside your desk.
“Need anything?” he asks.
You smile politely. “Just the autopsy reports.”
“I can get those.”
Aaron looks up from across the room.
Walker stays.
For twenty minutes.
Talking.
Laughing.
Asking questions.
Aaron tells himself he’s imagining things.
Then Walker starts finding excuses to be around you.
Every briefing.
Every crime scene.
Every witness interview.
If you’re there, somehow Detective Walker is there too.
You notice it eventually.
Mostly because Morgan notices it.
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Morgan says while the two of you wait for coffee.
You nearly choke.
“What?”
Morgan grins.
“The detective.”
“He does not.”
“He absolutely does.”
“No.”
“Baby girl, yes.”
You roll your eyes.
But then Walker appears from nowhere holding your coffee.
Your coffee.
The exact one you’d ordered.
Morgan doesn’t even try to hide his laughter.
“See?”
You groan.
Unfortunately, Aaron sees it too.
And Aaron is handling it… poorly.
Well.
Poorly for Aaron.
Which means nobody else notices.
Except you.
You notice the slight tightening of his jaw whenever Walker stands too close.
You notice the way Aaron’s answers become shorter whenever the detective directs questions toward you.
You notice the glare.
God.
The glare.
Walker seems completely oblivious to the fact that your husband is staring at him like he’s considering several felony-level solutions.
One night, after fourteen straight hours on the case, you finally find Aaron alone in the conference room.
He’s reviewing geographical profiles.
You close the door behind you.
His eyes lift immediately.
The tension in his face softens.
Just a little.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
You walk over and sit beside him.
For a moment neither of you speaks.
Then you reach for his hand under the table.
His fingers immediately lace with yours.
“You’re jealous.”
Aaron stares at the case file.
“No.”
You laugh.
“Aaron.”
“No.”
“Aaron.”
His expression remains perfectly serious.
“He’s a local detective.”
“Who flirts with me.”
“He hasn’t actually said anything inappropriate.”
“He’s flirting.”
Aaron finally looks at you.
“He is.”
“There it is.”
His jaw clenches.
You smile despite yourself.
“Aaron.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
His expression softens immediately.
Like magic.
Like it always does.
You squeeze his hand.
“I married you.”
“I know.”
“You’re the only person I want.”
A long silence follows.
Then:
“I know.”
You lean over and kiss his cheek.
The faintest hint of pink appears on the tips of his ears.
It’s adorable.
You never tell him that.
The case drags on for another four days.
Four very long days.
Four days of Walker appearing beside you every chance he gets.
Four days of Aaron pretending he isn’t bothered.
Four days of Morgan looking increasingly entertained.
Then everything goes sideways.
The unsub takes a hostage.
A chase follows.
Hours pass.
Nobody sleeps.
Everyone’s exhausted.
And by the time the case finally ends, every nerve in Aaron’s body is stretched dangerously thin.
The arrest happens just before midnight.
The team gathers outside the precinct while paperwork gets finalized.
Everyone’s tired.
Everyone’s relieved.
You lean against a patrol car while waiting for Aaron.
Walker approaches.
Again.
At this point you’re almost impressed by his dedication.
“Looks like we’re done here.”
“Looks like it.”
He smiles.
“I was thinking maybe before you leave town—”
You already know where this is going.
“Oh.”
“Maybe dinner?”
Your heart sinks.
Not because you’re interested.
Quite the opposite.
You actually feel bad for him.
Because standing twenty feet away is Aaron Hotchner.
And Aaron has definitely heard that.
Every.
Single.
Word.
You open your mouth.
“Aaron and I—”
Before you can finish, a familiar voice cuts through the night.
“Detective.”
Walker turns.
Aaron walks toward you.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Looking every bit like the Unit Chief everyone fears.
Except his eyes are fixed entirely on you.
The detective straightens.
“Aaron.”
Aaron doesn’t answer him.
Instead he stops directly in front of you.
Close enough that your heart immediately starts racing.
His gaze drops to yours.
For a second, the world seems to disappear.
Then Aaron reaches up and gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
The gesture is unexpectedly intimate.
Your breath catches.
The detective looks confused.
Morgan, somewhere in the background, starts grinning.
Aaron never takes his eyes off you.
“You ready to go home, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
Oh.
Oh, no.
The detective freezes.
You feel your lips twitch.
Aaron’s hand settles against your waist.
Possessive.
Certain.
Completely unbothered by the audience.
And suddenly Walker understands.
His eyes widen.
“Oh.”
You almost laugh.
Aaron finally glances at him.
The look he gives the detective is perfectly polite.
Which somehow makes it worse.
“My wife and I have an early flight.”
The silence that follows is spectacular.
Walker blinks.
“Wife?”
“Yes.”
Aaron’s arm tightens slightly around your waist.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind everyone exactly where he stands.
And where you stand too.
The detective immediately looks horrified.
“Oh my God.”
Morgan actually snorts.
“I didn’t know.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
You bury your face against Aaron’s shoulder to hide your smile.
Walker mutters several apologies before practically fleeing the scene.
The second he’s gone, the team loses it.
Morgan is laughing.
Garcia is cackling over speakerphone.
Even Emily looks amused.
Aaron ignores all of them.
“Let’s go.”
You look up at him.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You raise an eyebrow.
Aaron’s mouth twitches.
Just slightly.
Then he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.
Right in front of everyone.
A collective chorus of shocked noises erupts from the team.
Aaron doesn’t care.
For once, he genuinely doesn’t care.
His hand finds yours.
And when he looks at you, all the jealousy and frustration from the last week has vanished.
Replaced by something much softer.
Something that belongs only to the two of you.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
You smile.
“Home?”
His expression finally breaks into a rare, genuine smile.
Reader is someone Emily met while at interpol and is now introducing her to the team! Bit like meet the parents! :)) thank you
A família que Emily escolheu
Emily Prentiss had negotiated with terrorists.
She'd stared down serial killers, survived kidnappings, coordinated international operations, and made decisions that carried the weight of people's lives.
None of it compared to introducing her girlfriend to the BAU.
She'd been staring at the same mug of coffee for so long it had gone cold.
"Você sabe que não vai responder se continuar encarando."
Emily looked up, unamused. David Rossi stood in the doorway of her office, coffee in hand, wearing the kind of smug smile that meant he'd already figured out exactly what was going on.
"I wasn't glaring."
"You were."
"I was thinking."
"For the last ten minutes."
Emily let out a quiet sigh.
"Did you come here just to make fun of me?"
"Partly." Rossi stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and settled into the chair across from her desk. "The other part is that I wanted to see if today was finally the day."
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Pretend you don't know why I'm nervous."
Rossi chuckled.
"Emily Prentiss? Nervous? I should mark this on my calendar."
"I'm not nervous."
"No?"
"I'm... apprehensive."
"The only difference is the word you're using."
Despite herself, Emily laughed.
Rossi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You've been talking about this woman for almost two years."
"I know."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it.
"We know you met at Interpol."
Emily nodded.
"We know she's Brazilian."
Another nod.
"We know she speaks Portuguese, English, and French."
Emily frowned.
"I never told you that."
"Garcia did some research."
"Of course she did."
"And we know that every time she texts you, you smile at your phone in the middle of meetings."
Emily rolled her eyes.
"I hate all of you."
Rossi grinned.
"No, you don't."
She huffed. Unfortunately, he was right. The BAU wasn't just her team. They were her family. Which was exactly why today felt so important. She'd never introduced anyone to them before. Not because she'd been trying to keep her relationships a secret. She'd simply spent most of her adult life separating work from everything else. It was safer that way.
Cleaner.
Less complicated. Then she'd met you. Three years earlier. Interpol Headquarters. Lyon, France.
Emily had been assigned to a joint task force between the FBI and Interpol. The assignment was supposed to last a few weeks—just long enough to coordinate intelligence, compare case files, and dismantle an international trafficking network.
Meeting you had never been part of the plan.
She was hurrying down one of the hallways with two cups of coffee balanced in one hand and a stack of case files tucked under her arm. You were coming from the opposite direction, carrying almost exactly the same thing. Neither of you saw the other until it was too late. The collision sent coffee everywhere. Folders scattered across the polished floor.
"Oh—shit."
"I'm so sorry!"
You both crouched at the same time to gather the papers.
Then promptly knocked your heads together.
"Ow."
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then you both burst into laughter. Emily would never forget that laugh. Or the fact that instead of worrying about the coffee soaking into your clothes, your first question had been,
"Are you okay?"
What started as an awkward apology somehow became shared coffee breaks. Coffee breaks turned into lunches. Lunches became conversations that stretched long after the workday ended. By the time the task force wrapped up, neither of you wanted to say goodbye. So you didn't. Instead, there were late-night texts across different time zones. Video calls that lasted until one of you fell asleep. Weekend flights whenever your schedules lined up. Eventually, the distance stopped feeling like something to endure. It became something worth crossing. Dating you had been the easiest decision Emily had ever made.
"What are you thinking about?"
Rossi's voice pulled her back to the present.
"The first time I met her."
"I could tell."
Emily looked away, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
"I'm worried you'll scare her."
Rossi laughed softly.
"Garcia's going to cry."
"Exactly."
"Reid's going to accidentally interrogate her."
"Yep."
"Morgan will pretend he's your overprotective brother."
"Definitely."
"Luke will encourage him."
"Without question."
"Tara will spend the whole afternoon profiling both of you."
Emily smiled.
"And JJ will know I'm freaking out before I admit it."
Rossi stood, setting his empty coffee cup on her desk.
"Emily."
She looked up.
"Do you trust her?"
"More than anyone."
"Does she make you happy?"
Emily didn't even have to think about it.
"She does."
He smiled warmly.
"Then that's all anyone here cares about."
Before Emily could answer, her phone buzzed.
The smile appeared before she'd even unlocked the screen.
You: Morning, Agent.
Emily: Are you here yet?
You: Just parking.
Emily took a slow breath.
You: Last chance to run?
She laughed quietly to herself.
Emily: Not anymore.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
You: Good.
Because I brought cake.
Emily's eyes widened.
"She brought cake."
Rossi laughed as he headed for the door.
"Garcia's going to adopt her before lunch."
The elevator chimed a few minutes later.
Emily was already standing in the hallway before the doors had fully opened.
And there you were.
A cream-colored coat draped over your shoulders, a white bakery box balanced carefully in your hands, your gaze wandering around the BAU floor with quiet curiosity. The second you spotted Emily, your entire face lit up. There it is.
That smile.
The one that had somehow become her favorite thing in the world. Emily crossed the distance between you before she even realized she'd started walking.
"Hey."
"Hey."
She cupped your cheek without thinking, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your lips.
You smiled against it.
"Were you waiting long?"
"Not really."
You tilted your head, studying her for a moment.
"...You're nervous."
Emily opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Your grin only widened.
"Emily Prentiss is speechless?"
"This is your fault."
"My fault?"
"You're too important."
The teasing expression on your face melted into something softer. You shifted the cake box to one arm and reached for her hand.
"Hey."
Your fingers slipped between hers with practiced ease.
"It's just your family."
Emily looked down at your joined hands.
"...Exactly."
You squeezed gently.
"They already love you. If they love you, I'm sure we'll be fine."
Emily smiled—small, genuine, almost relieved.
"I hope you're right."
Someone cleared their throat dramatically behind the two of you.
"So..." Rossi said. "Should I come back in five minutes?"
You both laughed.
Emily reluctantly let go of your hand.
"Right. Sorry."
She turned toward Rossi.
"Love, this is David Rossi."
You offered your free hand.
"It's really nice to finally meet you."
"The pleasure's mine."
Rossi shook your hand warmly.
"I've been hearing about you for almost two years."
Emily groaned.
"Dave."
"What?"
"You smile every time someone mentions her."
"I do not."
"You do."
You glanced between them, trying—and failing—not to laugh. Rossi winked.
"I like her already."
Emily sighed dramatically.
"I really need a different team."
"Denied."
Emily barely had time to take another breath before opening the conference room door. Every conversation inside stopped instantly. Eight heads turned toward the entrance.
Silence.
Two seconds.
Then—
"SHE'S HERE!" Penelope Garcia practically launched herself out of her chair.
"Oh my God." Emily pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I knew this was going to happen."
Garcia ignored her completely. She stopped right in front of you, hands pressed dramatically against her chest, staring at you like she'd just met a celebrity. You smiled politely.
"Hi."
Garcia blinked.
"...You're gorgeous."
Emily covered her face with one hand.
"Garcia..."
"What? I'm being honest!"
You laughed.
"Thank you."
"No, seriously." Garcia pointed accusingly at Emily. "She has been gatekeeping you for two years."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
Before Emily could defend herself, another figure appeared beside Garcia.
"So..." Derek Morgan said, folding his arms with a grin. "You're the mystery woman."
You shifted the cake box again before shaking his hand.
"It's nice to finally meet everyone."
"Derek Morgan." He looked at Emily. "I was starting to think she'd made you up."
Emily gave him a flat look.
"Keep talking and you'll be doing paperwork until Christmas."
Morgan laughed.
"Worth it."
Luke let out an amused snort from behind him. JJ was the next to step forward. Unlike the others, she simply wrapped you in a quick, warm hug.
"It's so nice to finally meet you."
"You too."
JJ smiled knowingly before glancing at Emily.
"...She's been looking forward to this."
Emily looked horrified.
"JJ."
"What? You have."
Tara smiled as she approached.
"We've heard wonderful things."
"I hope they're true."
"They are."
"So far, so good."
You laughed.
"I'll take that."
Finally, Spencer Reid made his way over. He looked... nervous. Not awkward exactly. More like he was mentally sorting through several possible opening sentences and couldn't decide which one to use.
"Emily said you met while working with Interpol."
"That's right."
"Statistically speaking, relationships that begin in high-pressure professional environments—"
"Reid." Morgan placed a hand on Reid's shoulder. "Breathe."
Reid blinked.
"Right." He offered an apologetic smile. "It's really nice to meet you."
"You too."
Emily leaned over slightly.
"I told you."
"I know."
Then Garcia gasped. Loudly. Everyone turned toward her. Her eyes had locked onto the white box still tucked under your arm.
"...Is that cake?"
You looked down.
"Yeah."
Garcia looked like she might cry.
"You brought cake?"
"I wasn't sure what everyone liked, so I stopped by a bakery on the way."
Garcia turned toward Emily with both hands over her heart.
"I love her."
Emily couldn't help smiling.
"I told you."
"You undersold her."
"I didn't think that was possible."
Garcia carefully accepted the box as though you'd entrusted her with priceless evidence.
"I would die for you."
Morgan leaned over.
"She says that to everyone who brings sugar."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Luke nodded.
"Can confirm."
Garcia ignored all of them.
"You are officially my favorite person."
Emily laughed quietly beside you.
"You've been here less than five minutes."
"And she's already been adopted."
Rossi looked around the room at the collection of smiles, teasing remarks, and barely contained excitement. Then he looked at Emily. She wasn't anxious anymore. She wasn't overthinking every little interaction. She was simply watching you laugh with the people she loved most. The smile on her face was impossible to miss. Rossi smiled to himself. Yeah, she was going to fit in just fine.
By the time everyone settled around the conference table, the case files had been pushed aside in favor of coffee cups, paper plates, and the cake you'd brought. Garcia had already claimed the job of slicing it. Very seriously.
"Equal pieces," she announced.
Morgan peeked over her shoulder.
"You've somehow managed to give yourself the biggest one."
"It's called quality control."
"It's called cheating."
"It's called leadership."
Luke laughed into his coffee.
"I respect it."
The room dissolved into overlapping conversations. Morgan teased Reid. Reid corrected Morgan.
Morgan deliberately got another fact wrong just to watch Reid launch into another explanation. Luke kept making things worse by encouraging both of them. Garcia bounced from story to story without taking a breath. Tara watched everything unfold with the quiet amusement of someone mentally taking notes on all of them.
JJ occasionally tried—and failed—to keep everyone on topic. And Rossi simply sat back, enjoying the chaos. You looked around the room, taking it all in. Emily hadn't exaggerated. Not even a little. This wasn't just a team. It was a family. Messy. Loud. A little ridiculous. But a family all the same.
You glanced over at Emily. She was laughing. Not the polite smile she wore at press conferences. Not the restrained expression she used during meetings. A real laugh. Head tilted back slightly. Eyes crinkling at the corners. Completely at ease. She caught you staring.
"What?"
You smiled into your coffee.
"I get it now."
Emily tilted her head.
"Get what?"
"Why you never leave work on time."
A soft laugh escaped her. She looked around at everyone gathered in the room before meeting your eyes again.
"They're my family."
You reached under the table and found her hand.
"I can see that."
She intertwined your fingers without hesitation. Neither of you let go. A few seats away, Garcia held up another slice of cake.
"Question."
Emily didn't even look up.
"No."
"I haven't asked it yet."
"You want to take the leftovers home."
"...Maybe."
Morgan burst out laughing.
"You've known her for, what? Fifteen minutes?"
Garcia looked offended.
"I've known enough."
She turned toward Emily.
"I officially approve of your girlfriend."
Morgan raised his hand.
"Seconded."
Luke lifted his coffee cup.
"I vote yes."
Tara smiled.
"I think she passed."
Reid frowned.
"...There was a test?"
The room erupted into laughter.
"There wasn't." JJ shook her head fondly. She looked at you. "We just wanted to meet the woman who's made Emily this happy."
The room grew quieter after that. Not awkward. Just... comfortable. Emily lowered her eyes for a moment, suddenly looking a little overwhelmed. When she looked back at you, there was unmistakable emotion in them. She squeezed your hand.
"Thank you for coming."
You brushed your thumb across the back of her hand.
"Thank you for letting me meet your family."
Across the table, Rossi smiled into his coffee. That was all he'd needed to hear.
By the time the office had emptied out, the sun was beginning to set over Quantico, the bullpen, usually buzzing with conversations and ringing phones, had finally fallen quiet. Emily and you walked side by side down the hallway. Neither of you seemed to mind the silence, she stopped in front of one of the large windows overlooking the parking lot. Golden light spilled across the glass.
"So."
You leaned lightly against her shoulder.
"So."
"You survived."
You laughed.
"I did."
A beat passed.
"And somehow I left with an entire family."
Emily smiled.
"I was hoping you would."
You turned toward her. There was something different about her expression now. Softer. Lighter. Like she'd finally let go of a weight she'd been carrying all day. She reached up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"I've spent most of my life moving."
You stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"Different countries. Different cities. Different jobs." She looked out the window for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "For a long time, I thought home was a place." A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "But somewhere along the way..." She cupped your cheek. "I realized home can be a person." Your breath caught. "And I found mine the day you ran into me in that hallway at Interpol." Your eyes stung with happy tears.
"Emily..." She rested her forehead against yours.
"So..." A tiny smile crossed her face. "I guess I should thank whoever spilled that coffee."
You laughed through the tears.
"I was going to blame you."
"It was definitely your fault."
"Oh, absolutely."
"You were walking too fast."
"You were looking at your paperwork."
"You started it."
"You literally ran into me."
Emily smiled.
"I'd do it again."
You kissed her before she could say anything else. Slow. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that felt less like fireworks and more like coming home. When you finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours again.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She slipped her fingers through yours.
"Ready to go home?"
You smiled.
"Yeah."
As the two of you walked toward the elevator hand in hand, Emily glanced back once at the now-empty BAU floor. For years, this place had been the closest thing she'd had to home.
Now...
She didn't have to choose. Because somehow, against all odds, the family she'd built and the woman she loved had become one and the same. And she couldn't imagine anything better.
Mommy Wanda Head Canons
ᗢ Mommy Wanda x Autistic!Fem!Reader ᗢ
ᗢRequested by Anonᗢ
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda always speaks for you in public settings, not because she's controlling, but because you get too overwhelmed, and without even saying so, she steps in, knowing exactly what needs to be said as she holds you close, voice demanding the other persons attention, for them to focus solely on her.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda gives you the best aftercare after sex that you have had, the only aftercare you've had. She holds you close, your head against her chest, listening to her heart beat which in turn calms your own breathing. Wanda'f fingers gently strokes your skin from the side of your face, down your arms and down your spine. She gives you so much praise, "You did so good my love, I'm so proud of you, now just breathe for me, okay? That's it, slow breaths sweet girl." She would then ensure you drank at least one glass of water, have a few bites of a granola bar, before running you a warm bubble bath, with lavender bubbles, face masks, with Wanda either sitting in the bath behind you, or sitting on the side of the tub, knowing you needed her near you.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda remembers everything. Your favourite tea, the blanket you always steal, your favourite stuffie and comfort item, which side of the bed you sleep on, and when your social battery is running low before you even realise it. She knows you better than you really know yourself.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda bakes. She bakes everything you love, from raspberry turnovers, to lemon tarts, to fairy cakes. She loves to bake as it is, but making for you is one of her love languages. She always sends you to work with something freshly baked, in different shapes, usually hearts. And every time you eat what she's made you it feels like a warm hug.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda has this little habit of tilting your chin up with two fingers when you're doubting yourself to putting yourself down, or even being more sassy than she would like you to be. Then always starting her sentence with "Look at me." but never expecting actual eye contact and "listen to me sweetheart..."
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda is never casual about the way she dominates you in the bedroom, there's always a very specific reason and a need for every action she takes with you.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda never lets you drive. You can drive, but she'll never let you. You want to go out? She grabs her keys and drives you anywhere and everywhere. She knows driving is something that stresses you out, but even if it didn't she would still want to drive. She always has her hand on your thigh, playing the music, or nerdy podcast that you love the most. She wants to keep an eye on and ensure you are safe and comfortable.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda's other love language in touch. She was constantly have her hands all over you, and unless you tell her no, or you need a breather, not that you ever do, then she will always have a hand on you when she can.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda know exactly what to do when you have meltdowns. She holds you. Tight. Making sure you feel the pressure of her body around yours, until your nervous system relaxed into a normality again. She lights a candle, give you your favourite stuffie and wraps you in a blanket, like a little burrito.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda always has you calling her Mommy. Always. It brings you comfort, and she loves to hear the words leave your lips.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda knows when something is wrong before you do. She calls it her "Domme senses" and you hate and love how she always knows, but her knowing gives you a sense of security.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda, doesn't just enjoy, but revels in catching you staring at her, waiting for you to become flustered before asking, "Can I help you sweetheart?"
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda absolutely knows the effect her confidence has on people around her, and even better she uses her confidence to her advantage by flustering you and leaving you speechless. Every. Single. Time.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda doesn't ask twice. If she says, "Come here," there's an unspoken confidence, you never go against what she says, even when your moody.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda loves to read to you, usually after dinner, she'll curl up on the couch with your head in her lap, her fingers running through your hair, as her voice calms and soothes every single part of your soul.
۶ৎ Mommy Wanda never shouts. She never raises her voice. The calmer she is though, the scarier she is, and you know for a fact it will mean you are in the most trouble. Her calm is like a storm, waiting patiently before rising through the clouds and when she does, you will firmly be put back in your place.
