hey! i love your stuff :)! was wondering if you could maybe do a short fic with hotch where he's interrogating the reader (who is a suspect, but is actually innocent), and the reader politely informs hotch that they're about to faint (they have a fainting condition, like POTS or something). hotch doesn't panic bc he's, well, hotch, but he calls for medical help. meanwhile, reader is just casually lying down on the cold floor of the cell and being really chill waiting to faint, even making conversation. anyway, hotch finds out that the police officers who had arrested the reader had denied them their medicine, and he rips them a new one.
OBVIOUSLY DONT WRITE IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO, I THINK YOU'RE LOVELY AND I DONT WANT TO PRESSURE YOu
have a nice day!
Unexpected Interrogation | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt/comfort?, medical condition (POTS), mistreatment by law enforcement, fainting, medication.
A/N: I'm trying a new layout for when I answer requests, I don't know if I'll commit to it, but I like it for now.
Also I don't know anything about POTS or other fainting conditions, so I hope I did it justice - feedback is appriciated.
Hotch sat across from you, his expression stern and unyielding as he leaned forward in his chair, the dim lighting of the room casting sharp shadows on his face. To any observer, you would seem calm - your hands folded neatly in your lap and eyes focused - but inside, you were already feeling the telltale signs. The tightness in your chest, the lightheadedness creeping in. You’d been here for hours, and now, without your medicine, it was simply a matter of time before you would faint.
"You've been uncooperative since the moment we brought you in," Hotch said, his voice level but carrying the weight of suspicion as he couldn't quite figure out if you were guilty or not. "Tell me why you were at the scene."
You took a slow breath, trying to center yourself. "Agent Hotchner," you said politely, your voice a little too soft for the intensity of the moment. "I understand why I'm here, and I will tell you everything you want to know, but I think I should let you know… I'm about to faint."
He blinked, his gaze sharpening but not a trace of panic crossing his face. If anything, his brows furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern settling in his expression. "You're about to faint?"
"Yeah," you nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, trying to ignore the swimming sensation behind your eyes. "I have a fainting condition - it's called POTS. Normally, I’d take medicine, but..." You gave a tired shrug. "The officers who arrested me didn’t let me have it."
The tension in the room shifted. Hotch leaned back slightly, the gears in his mind already turning. He wasn’t a man to panic, even in strange situations. He pressed a button on the desk to signal for help, keeping his eyes on you. "I’ll get a medic in here."
You offered him a small smile. "Thanks, but it’s cool. Happens all the time. I’ll just… lie down." Without waiting for a response, you eased yourself off the chair - thankful that you weren't cuffed to the table - and laid flat on the cold tiled floor, your head resting on your arms as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The coolness of the floor helped somewhat, but your vision was already narrowing at the edges.
Hotch stood, watching you for a moment before kneeling next to you, his tone softened slightly. "How long have you been without your medication?"
You glanced at him from your place on the floor, blinking slowly. "Since they arrested me… hours ago? Honestly, it could be worse. But you know, fainting isn’t great for clearing one’s name." You chuckled lightly, trying to make the best of the situation, though it quickly turned into a weary sigh. "I’m innocent, by the way."
He didn't respond to that directly, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something acknowledging the injustice of your situation. "How often does this happen?"
"Often enough that I’m pretty used to it," you said casually, your breath slowing as the dizziness increased. "But hey... it gives me an excuse to lie down on the job, right?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth - just for a moment - but then his professional mask slipped back into place. "Don’t talk. Just focus on staying calm."
You hummed in agreement, though your vision was blurring fast. "I’ll be out soon, but when I wake up, I’d love to continue this conversation. I mean, I know I’m innocent, but it would be great to convince you of that too."
He gave a short nod. "We’ll get to that. First, let’s get you taken care of."
Moments later, the medics arrived, rushing into the room with a stretcher and medical kit. But Hotch didn’t leave your side, ensuring they knew about your condition, making sure they were doing everything right. As they checked your vitals and prepared to move you, you started to fade, your words becoming slow and drowsy. "Thanks, agent… you’re not as intimidating as I thought you’d be."
The medic smiled at that, while Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line, the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes. But once you were being taken care of, Hotch’s focus shifted back to the situation that had led to this. The officers who had arrested you. The ones who had denied you your medication.
Minutes later, Hotch found the officers outside the room, his demeanor stone cold. “Which one of you denied the suspect their medication?”
One of the officers, a tall man with a smug expression, stepped forward. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They didn’t say it was urgent.”
Hotch’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low tone. “Didn’t think it was relevant? You’re lucky they’re stable, or you’d be facing a lawsuit at the very least.” He took a step closer, towering over the man. “You do not withhold medical treatment from anyone in custody. I don’t care if they’re a suspect, a witness, or guilty. Do you understand?”
The officer faltered, clearly not expecting the sharp reprimand. “Y-yes, sir.”
“I’ll be filing a report about this. You’ve jeopardized a life today. If I ever hear of anything of the sort again, you’ll be out of a job.” Hotch didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back toward the interrogation room. There were few things that set him off more than mistreatment, especially under his watch.
He returned just as the medics were finishing up. You were still unconscious, but stable. Hotch stood by the door for a moment, watching as they prepared to transport you, his expression unreadable.
Innocent or not, he was going to make sure you were treated right.
aaron hotchner x gf!reader
warnings: “bad” taste in halloween candy, reader clearly likes the best halloween candy, boyfriend!aaron hotchner, fluff centric, not giving out halloween candy on halloween, this is in fact for writing bingo (ily lila)
masterlist | word count: 525 words
prompt: reader has a bad taste in halloween candy x use of the word: gore
“Sweetheart,” Aaron laughed. “you have to leave the candy out for the kids.” You put the orange candy bowl on the coffee table before sitting on the plush beige couch.
“There haven’t been any trick-or-treaters in hours, Aaron!” You defended, opening a pack of Dots. “If you’re gonna make me watch some horror movie, I’m gonna need my candy.”
“It’s not scary! It’s a blockbuster, I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.” Aaron said exasperatedly.
You shook your head and ate the green Dots. "It's scary." That caused Aaron's head to lull backward as he belly-laughed.
"Final Destination is not scary."
You looked at him, the candy sticking to your gums. You rolled your eyes, bringing the throw blanket around your legs as you sat, mermaid style, on the couch.
"I bet Penelope doesn't like it." You said.
"Penelope doesn't like any of it, aside from Scary Movie. It's times like this I think to get her drug tested." He added the last bit as more of an afterthought than the major point, but you still smiled.
"Drug tested? Babe, it's Penny, she doesn't do that."
"Don't tell me I need to get you drug tested, too." He said. You laughed and threw candy corn at him from the green bowl on the table. "No, seriously, who even likes that type of candy?"
You stopped mid-grab-for-candy and stared at him. "I have a great taste in candy." He chuckled, which caused you to throw more candy corn at him. "I'm offended."
"Dots and Nerds and candy corn are not the ideal choice in Halloween candy, maybe that's why we get no trick-or-treaters," Aaron said.
You just blinked at him and his assault on your choice of candy.
"I can't be with someone who hates my candy."
"I don't hate it, I'm just judging it."
You laughed. "Even worse!"
"There's nothing wrong with your candy, honey. Statistically, people who choose chewy candy are young and playful, hard candy means they are patient and deliberate in their intentions, and candy corn is up for grabs." Aaron said as he leaned in close to you, smiling.
"Who are you? Reid?" You asked while laughing, leaning closer to him.
Aaron's head fell in laughter. "Way to kill the mood."
"Hey, the mood was already killed when you decided Final Destination was the movie we should watch on Halloween, of all days."
He sighed. "Why don't you want to watch it?"
"It's full of gore, I can't believe you want to watch it, considering your line of work. Also, the blonde in the movie looks oddly like JJ, and seeing what you guys go through monthly, I don't want to see a doppelganger going through it, too." You sighed.
"Come here." Aaron held his arms out for you and you slid over to him and curled into his side. "We don't have to watch Final Destination, we can watch something else."
"Like Halloweentown?" You proposed, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Yes," He chuckled, "like Halloweentown." He kissed your forehead. You grabbed the remote and clicked off the movie, going to search for the new and not-gory flick instead.
idk if i have alr requested this but aaron hotchner x unsub!reader ??
Under his skin | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Unsub!Reader
CW: psychological manipulation, power dynamics, implied violence, implied murder, interrogation, mind games
WC: 1.7k
Summary: Hotch finally captures you, but as the interrogation unfolds, it becomes clear the real game has only just begun, blurring the lines between right and wrong.
The tension in the air was palpable as Agent Hotchner entered the dimly lit interrogation room. He stood tall, his presence commanding, his eyes fixed on you, he had been hunting you for months. You sat at the metal table, wrists shackled, your expression calm. Still, your eyes held a defiance that matched the intensity of the control in his.
"You've been hard to find," Hotch said, his voice low, each word measured. He circled the table, never breaking eye contact, the weight of his authority pressing down on the room. "But it's over now."
A slow, knowing smile crept across your lips, not in submission but in challenge. "You think you’ve won, don’t you, Agent Hotchner?" you murmured, your tone laced with mockery. "But you don’t understand, do you? You were never in control. Not once."
Hotch stopped behind you, his jaw clenching as he resisted the urge to react. He’d dealt with killers before - manipulative and dangerous minds who thrived on power games - but you were different. There was something about you that got under his skin, something that blurred the line between hatred and… something else.
He leaned down slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I understand more than you think," he whispered. "I know what drives you."
Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze from the corner of your eye, your smirk never faltering. "And what is that, Agent Hotchner?"
"Fear," he said, his voice steady, his eyes searching yours. "You're terrified. That’s why you keep pushing, keep running, keep killing."
You straightened in your seat, your composure cracking for just a moment before you masked it again with a cold laugh. "You don’t know anything about me."
Hotch moved around to the front of the table, placing his hands on its surface as he leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "I know you better than you think," he said softly, his eyes narrowing. "You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you?"
Your smirk faded, replaced by something darker, something rawer. The truth of his words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt the weight of the game you’d been playing. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Not yet.
"You really think this is over?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hotch’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening. "It’s over."
But even as he said the words, there was an unspoken understanding between you, a pull that neither of you could ignore. Enemies. Opposites. Yet, somehow, connected by something far deeper than either of you was willing to admit.
Hotch stood still, watching you for any sign of weakness, any crack in the armor you wore so expertly. But there was something in your gaze, something he couldn’t place. He had chased you for months, relentlessly unraveling the puzzle you’d left behind, but now, sitting across from you, he felt it - the undeniable pull that shouldn’t exist between foes.
You leaned back in the chair, your posture relaxed but your eyes burning with an intensity that made his stomach twist. "You say it’s over," you repeated softly, "but is it? Really?"
Hotch didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, he sat down across from you, his eyes narrowing as he studied your every move. There was a strange calmness in the air, a stillness that shouldn’t exist between hunter and prey, but here it was. And Hotch hated it. He hated how you affected him, how, even now, with your wrists bound in cuffs, you still had power over him.
"You wanted this," he said quietly, his voice a low growl as if he was trying to convince himself that he was right. "You wanted me to find you."
You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Maybe I did," you admitted, your voice was like silk. "Maybe I’ve been playing you all along."
He should be angry. Furious. But instead, there was something else simmering beneath the surface - something that had been growing since the first time your paths crossed. Something that blurred the line between hate and fascination.
Hotch leaned in, his eyes locked on yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Why?" he demanded. "What do you want from me?"
You held his gaze, the challenge in your eyes unwavering. "Maybe I wanted to see if you could catch me. Maybe I wanted to know if you were as good as everyone said you were."
He shook his head, not buying into your game. "That’s not it," he said firmly. "You’re too smart for that."
You let out a soft laugh, leaning forward slightly, closing the distance between you. "Maybe I just wanted to see you up close, Aaron."
Hearing his first name fall from your lips made his blood run cold and hot all at once. He had heard it a thousand times from friends, colleagues, and family, but from you, it felt… intimate, wrong even.
"You don’t get to call me that," he said, his voice strained.
"Why not?" you asked, your voice almost playful. "You’ve been chasing me for months. You know me better than anyone."
"You’re a killer," Hotch said, his tone sharp.
"And yet, here we are," you whispered, your eyes darkened, daring him to admit the connection neither of you wanted to face. "Maybe you’re not as different from me as you think."
Hotch’s jaw clenched. He wanted to refute your words, to tell you that you were nothing alike, but something stopped him. Deep down, beneath the layers of righteousness and duty, he felt it too. The same darkness that fueled you had touched him as well, shaped him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back as if to create distance, both physically and emotionally. "This ends here," he said, his voice hard, though it trembled slightly.
You smiled, slow and taunting, as you watched him struggle with the truth he didn’t want to face. "We both know that’s a lie, Aaron."
He turned on his heel, refusing to look at you as he headed for the door, but your words lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Hotch stopped just shy of the door, his hand hovering over the handle as your words echoed in his mind. The venomous sweetness in the way you said his name, the way you pushed, prodded at parts of him he kept buried deep - he hated that you could get under his skin so easily.
"I know you feel it too," you called softly from behind him, your voice echoing in the stark interrogation room. "That pull… it's what kept you chasing me."
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the cold handle. His body was rigid, but every nerve in him was taut, strained to the breaking point. "You don’t know anything about me," he growled, though the words lacked conviction.
You smirked, leaning back in your chair with a confidence that set his teeth on edge. "Don’t I? You’ve been playing the hero for so long, trying to separate yourself from the darkness. But it’s always there, Aaron, lurking beneath the surface."
He turned slowly, his expression hard but his eyes betraying the inner turmoil. The room felt smaller now, suffocating under the weight of what was left unsaid. The way you watched him, the way you spoke as if you knew him inside and out, it crawled under his skin in a way that felt wrong. But even more than that, it felt familiar.
You leaned forward, your shackles rattling softly as you rested your arms on the table. "We’re not different, you and I," you whispered, eyes gleaming with a dangerous allure. "You spend your life catching people like me. But tell me, Aaron - how much of yourself do you see in us?"
Hotch clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out, to shut you up, but it wasn’t just anger that drove him - it was fear. Fear that maybe, just maybe, there was a certain truth in your words.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze locked onto yours with a cold intensity. "You and I are nothing alike," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I don’t get off on causing pain. I don’t manipulate and kill innocent people."
"No," you agreed, your eyes narrowing as you tilted your head slightly. "But how many lives have you ruined, Aaron? How many times have you had to make the hard choice? The one that keeps you awake at night?"
For a brief moment, a flash of something passed through his eyes - regret, maybe. But he buried it quickly. "I do what I have to," he said, his voice a little too quiet, a little too tired. "To protect people."
You studied him, a small smile curling at your lips as you sat back once more. "Keep telling yourself that."
The silence that followed was deafening. It stretched between you like a loaded wire, ready to snap at any moment. Hotch couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t turn his back on you again. You were still dangerous, still a killer, but beneath it all, there was something else. Something more complicated.
And maybe that’s what scared him most of all.
"You don’t win," he said, more to himself than to you. "You’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell."
Your laugh was soft but chilling, echoing through the empty room. "Win? I already have. You may lock me away, but I’m in here," you tapped your temple with a finger, your gaze never leaving his. "I’ll always be in here."
Hotch’s face tightened, and without another word, he turned and pushed through the door. The cold, sterile air of the hallway hit him like a punch to the gut, but it wasn’t enough to shake off the weight of your words.
As the door clicked shut behind him, your maniacal laughter faint behind the steel door enclosing you, Hotch realized something unsettling: the chase was over, but the game had just begun. And whether he liked it or not, you were right.
spencer reid x unsub!fem!reader
warnings: should i be writing for writing bingo? yes. am i? no. sorry lila! lowk reader is like cat adams except spencer actually likes her bc why not, flirty reader, season 12 spencer, reader did not send spencer to prison just an fyi, explicit wording
edit: so turns out i am writing this for bingo lol
masterlist | word count: 1.14k words | taglist
prompt: "make me"
You were a killer. A notorious serial killer that ran up the East Coast and eventually attracted the attention of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
When you first met Spencer, a meeting by chance, you finally felt something. Something clicked when meeting him, his charm made your knees go weak—turned you into a girl with a crush. Someone you hadn't been in years. Until now.
It was a game of cat and mouse, between you and him. A game of want—of need. A game that drove the two of you up the wall and around the corner until you were eventually caught, which led to your incarceration—which led to now.
Copycat kills. Exact depictions of murders that you had committed, only in different locations. It started on the West Coast before moving throughout the Northeast and along the Canadian border before the most recent kill in Maine.
You had been escorted by numerous prison guards and FBI agents as they led the path to your cinderblock cell with a one-sided mirror. You knew what this had meant. This high of security only meant one thing.
You had smelled him before he spoke, even if your eyes were trained on your hands that were gently embraced in the silver bracelets you had been forced to wear. He smelled of hazelnut coffee and paper. You could almost taste his aftershave, its scent still ingrained in your memory from your nose once being pressed into his neck—that situation was more pleasurable than the current one.
"How was prison?" His voice sounded almost the same, he was older now. His voice had deepened only the slightest, but you could still hear him. Spencer.
Your eyes met his doe-like ones. You studied his face, every freckle was where it always had been. Where they had been before he met you, and where they stayed, even after. "Fun." You replied.
His eyebrow quirked and your thighs clenched at the movement. "Fun?" He questioned. "How did you stay sane?"
"Chess and laundry."
"With a brain like yours, you need constant stimulation. Those combined is what, three, four hours tops? What about the other twenty?"
With a brain like yours. He still knows your brain? After so long? Your heart jumped at the thought.
"I read." You said, studying him—his posture, the way his hands stayed in his pockets, the way his hair curled and how long it had gotten.
"Bullshit." He said almost immediately.
You scoffed at his bluntness. "You don't think I read?"
"I don't believe that's all you do." He said.
A dark haze settled over your eyes at his words, sure, it's not all you do.
"Yeah, me and the guards get into a frisky game of strip poker." You said, before clenching your jaw and looking away from him. "No, I... escape from the mental prison that you and your colleagues have put me in." You emphasized 'colleagues' by speaking it louder and looking into the mirror where you knew his friends remained.
He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. His movement made your eyes zero in on his arms, your mouth running a little dry and your thighs clenching a little harder.
"Why am I here, Spencer?" You asked, leaning forward into the metal table. His eyes tracked your movement, he watched as your lips pouted and how his name flowed deliciously off of your tongue.
"It's Doctor." He corrected.
Your head tilted to the side. "Dr. Spencer? Seems a little kinky for our relationship—warden and prisoner, and all."
He closed his eyes and sighed. "Dr. Reid." He corrected.
You smiled at his final correction. He didn't deny the relationship that you had made in your head. "Okay, Dr. Reid." You drawled. Shivers raced down his spine and he fought the urge to shudder. He knew if he did, your ego would boost tremendously.
"With all the security around here, you'd think I was Dahmer or Manson." You said.
"It's the FBI Headquarters."
"Yeah, it is." You said. You looked for his signs, signs that he was hiding something—deceiving you in any way. "Someone's copying me." A triumphant grin crossed your face when his posture stiffened and his jaw clenched. "You know, it's actually sweet—how much time you've spent on me."
"What do you know about them?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." His reply was fast. Almost like he was anticipating you to not know. Soft knocks came from the one-sided mirror and you smirked to yourself and looked down at your cuffed hands.
Spencer stayed for a moment, his eyes locked on you, tracing the way your hair framed your face and the way your hands were interlocked—probably for comfortability due to the cuffs.
You watched as he left the room, the hard close of the door echoed within the small space. You couldn't hear or see anything. You looked at the mirror and cocked your head to one side. You could feel their eyes on you. Probably Spencer—most likely Spencer, the blonde from your arrest with the hard look on her face, hopefully the tall brunette who spoke like she narrates Dateline.
It seemed like they were making you sweat, though for reasons unbeknownst to you. It was a few minutes later that Spencer entered again, flinging open the door with brutal force.
Confusion graced your features as he rushed to you, his hands slamming down on the metal table. "You're calm."
Your shoulders stiffened at the loud sound. "I have nothing to worry about."
"You knew about the kills."
"I figured it out." You said. He still loomed over you. You could make out the constellation of freckles that ran over his cheeks and his forehead. "I may not be the most horrifying or calculating, but I do have a brain, Spencer."
"No, this is different. You know something we don't."
"I know a lot more than you think, Spencer."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" You could tell he was confident you knew nothing, no true secrets.
"No." You grinned. "I have the power here, Doctor."
"Tell. Me."
"Make. Me."
He rapidly stood up and grabbed her arm, yanking her up from the chair that was bolted into the ground.
He pressed her against the cinderblock wall, his arm resting against her throat as his eyes darkened.
"Spence!" The blonde agent said as she opened the door that had shut earlier. Her blue eyes were wild as she took in the two.
You smirked at him, his arm rested tense against you. "Yeah, Spence."
He stood there for a moment, his eyes and mind focused solely on you. "Go the hell." He spat out.
"You need me."
"We'll figure it out." He said as he turned around and adjusted his brown tweed suit.
You watched as he left. Your jaw clenching together and the ache between your thighs was not satiated.
spencer reid x bau!fem!reader
warnings: angst ig? heartbreak, mention of a breakup, fluff, y/n is mentioned!!!
masterlist | word count: 1052 words
inspired by last kiss by taylor swift
i love how you walk with your hands in your pockets
You and Spencer were walking down the streets of D.C.. It was a cold night and you were returning back to your shared apartment from a Russian Film Festival that he always craved about.
"I loved the accuracy from the film! All the characters were played very well, except for Svidrigailov. I don't think Dostoevsky wanted him to be portrayed as sympathetic as he was played. He wasn't as nearly as gallant in the book--" Spencer looked at you and saw you shiver. "Y/N are you cold?"
Looking over at your humble boyfriend, you saw the worry in his eyes and quickly shook your head. "It's like sixty degrees out, Spence. I'm not cold." But despite your reassurances, your body betrayed you as goosebumps were very apparent on your arms and you involuntarily shivered.
"Here." Spencer said, shaking off his coat and handing it to you. You shook your head but Spencer only held it out more until you begrudgingly took it, slipping it over your shoulders, letting the warmth from Spencer engulf your being.
"Thanks." You said softly, your cheeks pinkening slightly. Spencer gave a tight lipped smile, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Despite the fact that you two were already dating, butterflies still erupted in your stomach every time Spencer was around you.
how you'd kiss me when i was in the middle of saying something
The first time Spencer kissed you was memorable for both of you, especially Spencer considering he has an eidetic memory.
"Do you ever think that if we weren't in the FBI, we wouldn't have to go through things like this?" You said, sitting on Spencer's hospital bed as he laid upright with a large bandage on his neck. He had gotten shot in the neck during a shootout with an Unsub and almost died if it weren't for Alex, who was next to him and got him to cover and aided him.
"Y/N..." He said but you cut him off, rambling.
"You got hit in the neck, Spence! A stupid bullet proof vest doesn't cover the neck! It barely does anything to the torso, I mean, Derek has welts for days--days!"
"Y/N--"
"No, you need to listen! You're smart enough to get an amazing job somewhere like CalTech or MIT, hell, even Harvard! You can't spread your knowledge if you're dead, Spence. I--" But that time it had been Spencer who had cut you off. He silenced you by bringing his hands up to cup your face and lean in.
You were taken completely by surprise as Spencer's lips molded to yours like puzzle pieces. Closing your eyes, you leant into his grip as he pulled away.
Spencer wouldn't meet your eyes--couldn't. He had a furious blush dusting his cheeks as he noticed the different fibers in the cotton blanket wrapped around his legs.
"Spence..." You said, lips parting in shock at the fact that your sweet, loveable, goofy, geeky best friend just kissed you!
But he took your shock for something else. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.." He said shyly.
You had no words and only brought your lips to his. This time, he was taken aback but came to his senses and kissed you back.
there's not a day i don't miss those rude interruptions
and i'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes
Now you sat on your bathroom floor, leaning against the wall in one of Spencer's old CalTech shirts. Your eyes were red and cheeks were puffy and tear-stained. You sat, thinking about the memories that you and Spencer shared, some in that very bathroom... your bedroom... kitchen... on sidewalks and watching Doctor Who movies (that you didn't quite understand) on the couch.
A ding from your cellphone lifted you from your daydream. It was Penelope.
your name, forever the name on my lips
You wanted to say his name. You wanted to be able to sit next to him on the jet and listen to him ramble about Dante or the Bronte sisters but you couldn't, not like how you used to.
You wanted to be able to lean against his desk and talk about profiles and try to figure out who was behind what, but you couldn't. Not anymore. You couldn't even look at the new arrangement of photos on his desk. He had a new life to look at now that you weren't there. Sometimes, you would occasionally pass his desk and see his life in pictures, remembering when you would watch him sleep and see how peaceful he looked. Now another girl will be able to do that.
He has another girl to recreate your memories. You wonder if he's forgotten you already.
and i'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are
and i hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day
Spencer got up early today. He was supposed to meet Max at the park so they could talk. Too bad it was such a beautiful day for such a sad topic of conversation.
and something reminds you: you wish you had stayed
He glanced around his room. When you and Spencer first moved in together, it was in your apartment and he had rented his out. It felt strange to him, living with someone else in an unfamiliar place but he settled into it. Now, he had to settle back into being alone. You weren't there in his bed, snuggling into his side, groaning about how early it was. You weren't there to listen to him rant about the inaccuracies to several Sci-Fi shows. You weren't there.
spencer reid x anti-halloween!fem!reader
warnings: reader being anti-halloweenish, SUPER niche costumes, this is for a writing event (dont kill me), overthinking spencer
masterlist | word count: 919 words
prompt: reader hates halloween and is dragged to a party x character dresses up as something niche
Halloween―the one holiday you dreaded, other than Valentine's Day. The origin behind it was weird enough and now kids ages from three to thirty something still celebrate it? You specifically left all your lights off in your townhouse and didn't buy any decorations.
You still like "spooky season" though. You still liked scaring children and watching scary movies, especially with your boyfriend.
Unfortunately for you, Spencer loved Halloween―more importantly: dressing up. Spencer knew of your distaste for the holiday and never tried to drag you to any workplace event held within the FBI (or BAU) but this specific event Halloween party was hosted by Penelope, the technical analyst for the BAU.
Spencer was insisting that you attend and you could never resist his doe-like brown eyes.
"Spence, I don't like Halloween." You said, your legs in a mermaid position as you sat on the couch, back to the arm rest.
"I know but it's one party and the probability that you get hurt during a party is statistically low considering it's a small party and―" But you cut him off by putting your finger to his lips.
"I'll go."
"But―"
"Spence, this means a lot to you, I have eyes." You sat on your knees now. "And I love you."
His face flushed pink and you smiled before kissing him on his lips softly.
Spencer loved Halloween but he loved you more and knowing your certain... dislike of All Hallow's Eve, he thought nothing of dressing up as a couple from your favorite movie: Halloweentown.
When the movie came out, you first saw it with your friends and fell in love with the whimsical nature of it and how it featured modern-day aspects between the "normal" world and Halloweentown.
He had seen the movie countless times since you first started dating and has come to your townhouse and have walked in on you watching it more than once. He knew there was no better couple to go as than Marnie and Luke.
He schemed with JJ, who is going as Frankenstein's bride with Will as Frankenstein, in the midst of working on paperwork.
"Halloweentown?" JJ questioned, flicking through photos of crime scenes.
"Yes, it's this Halloween movie that she likes." Spencer said, his eyes lighting up as he talked about you.
"I thought she didn't like Halloween?"
"She doesn't but―"
"Then why is she watching Halloween movies?"
"Because she likes the spirit―"
"So she likes Halloween?"
"No―"
"But she's going to Penelope's Halloween Party?" JJ asked. By now, her legs were crossed as she leaned against her desk, the files long forgotten.
"Yes. She wants to and we're dressing up as Marnie and Luke from Halloweentown."
JJ nodded. "Uh huh." She clapped her hands on her legs. "I think I need some coffee. Want some?"
"Yeah." Spencer nodded, turning back to the paperwork he was originally filling out, biting on the inside of his cheek in deep thought.
What if you didn't like the costumes? What if you secretly hated him and lied to him? What if―no, he can't think like that.
He surprised you the weekend before Halloween.
"What if we went as them?" He asked as you curled into his side while watching the movie you oh-so loved.
You looked up at him. "What?"
"Marnie and Luke."
"To Penelope's party?"
"Well, y-yeah, I mean, if you want to...?" He said, his rapid blinking and slight stutter made you smile.
"Are you sure you wouldn't want to go as someone from Doctor Who? I know you've been eyeing stuff like that."
Spencer's cheeks grew pink. "W-well, I know you might not like that and I figured that since I'm dragging you to Penelope's party that you'd want to talk about―"
You cut him off with a kiss. "I'd like that, Spence."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You still hated going to the party no matter the costume. Even if you were dressed as Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy or a doctor from Doctor Who, you still hated Halloween and the parties that went with it. You wanted nothing more than to just curl up on your couch with a blanket draped over you, eating candy corn till you grew sick of it.
"I know I said I'll go but do I really have to?" You said as you and Spencer left the train platform.
He laughed. "Yes, you have to go."
You chuckled slightly, putting your phone in your red cross-body bag, one that went with your outfit. Spencer got his hair all curly and crazy, attempting Luke's crazy hair from when he was a warlock.
As you guys walked through D.C., you admired the decorations that didn't cater directly to Halloween. You saw the skeleton bones and the witch blow ups and a part of you reminisced from your childhood.
Finally, you arrived to Penelope's apartment door. The cold air was biting and you pulled your black jacket closer around your red dress.
"We're here!" Spencer announced while opening the door.
"Begrudgingly." You said under your breath, earning a slight elbow from your boyfriend.
"You're here!" You heard a gasp and a shrill exclamation before being engulfed in a hug.
"Hi Penny." You said.
She pulled back and looked at yours and Spencer's costumes up and down. "It's supposed to be a Halloween party."
"We're dressed up." Spencer said, his voice whining a little.
"Luke and Marnie from Halloweentown."
Penny nodded with a confused look in her eyes and you knew then that you definitely hated Halloween and parties.... and both.
lowkey i wanna expand my masterlist and write new things and i had one inspired by the song “tolerate it” i just don’t know who to write it about. but please tell me and i’ll come up w more options. it’ll most likely be angst!
