longlivejemily

[longlivejemily]

(4, I , 𓆟) taunting Aaron all day until he can’t take it anymore, pulling you into his office and making sure your quiet 🤗

thank you for the request! here it is :)

build a fic choices: ꒰ 4 ꒱ doggy, ꒰ I ꒱ covering their mouth to quieten them, ꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a work office warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, spanking, reader wears a skirt wc: 1.4k

You knew how to get Aaron going. You knew the exact movement of your hips, the precise inflection in your voice, the perfect angle to lean over his desk to make his brain go haywire.

He knew that you knew that, but that didn’t make it any less easy to get to him. And it didn’t make him any less likely to fall prey to your flirtations. 

It was your secret, but not really all that secret, tool to get whatever you wanted from your boyfriend. As for how often you used it, well… that’s irrelevant.

It seemed Aaron would be falling victim to it today, as his gaze found you in the bullpen through the window of his office once again. He really should shut his blinds if he wanted to get any work done today.

You were sitting on Spencer’s desk, listening to the young man rant about whatever it is that he was hyperfixating on currently. Now, Hotch wasn’t a jealous man, per se, but when he was forced to sit and watch you laugh at Reid’s joke (you being the only one on the team to really understand it) smile at him, and toss your hair over your shoulder, he felt a tinge of… something, deep down.

He sighed, getting up to get his fifth coffee of the day, which really meant pouring out the one that had gone cold and refilling his mug with stale office coffee that was never as good as the ones you made him at home. The only reason he kept going to the kitchen was so he could maybe catch a snippet of your conversation or even receive a smile from you across the room. How desperate could he be?

But, not only did he get a grin from you, you actually left Spencer’s desk to meet him in the kitchen. Take that, Reid.

“Whatcha up to?” You asked, leaning against the counter, all sweet smelling and perfectly styled. He gives you a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed.

“Why?” The grin on your face alone was enough to make him skeptical of your intentions.

“I just figured that, maybe you could use a break.” You walk your fingers up his arm, smoothing down his collar when they reach it. He grabs your wrist, staring into your eyes scoldingly.

“Behave.”

“Just saying.” You raise your hands, feigning innocence with a very contradicting grin. When he goes to put the coffee pot back, you hold out your empty mug. “Could you fill mine too?” Your voice is so sugary Aaron’s convinced you’ve given him a sweet tooth.

He starts pouring the coffee when you reach out, turning his face to you with your fingertips on his chin.

“You’ve got a little ink there.” You murmured, thumb wiping at a spot at the corner of his mouth, definitely not just looking for a reason to touch him. After a moment, you glanced down, a grin spreading across your lips. “I think you overfilled it a bit, hon.”

Aaron glances down, realizing that your mug is overflowing onto the counter, quickly shoving the near-empty coffee pot back and snatching up the paper towels.

You chuckled as he wiped up the spill, grabbing your coffee and heading back to your desk, putting a little extra sway in your hips.

–

Aaron couldn’t take it anymore. All day you’d  teased him, coming up to his office an excessive amount of times, texting him pictures that he assumed you’d kept hidden until now, waiting for the right moment.

He’s had enough of the temptation and now… he was going to make you sorry. He stepped out of his office as the team was packing up to go home, calling out your name.

“See me in my office.” He turned, not waiting for you to follow, though he knew you would. The blinds were snapped shut as you entered, hands clasped behind your back.

“You wanted to see me sir?” You used the title you knew would get him going.

“Shut the door.” The demand caught you a bit of guard, but you obeyed

“Did you need something, Aaron?” You purred, playing up the innocent act. He didn’t say anything, just beckoned you closer with a crook of his finger.

You rounded his desk, standing chest to chest with him, reaching out to play with his tie, loosening it teasingly. But instead of scolding you, he yanked the tie over his head tossing it aside.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hips, spinning you around and pushing you down against the desk. You gasped as he kicked your legs wider, leaning down over you, his big palm pressed against the wood next to your head.

“You’ve had this coming. Thinking you can torture me like that.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? You don’t remember the harassment in the kitchen? Or cornering me in the storage closet? Or how about flashing me every chance you get?”

“Oh… that.” You said cheekily.

“Yeah, that.” He murmured, leaning down to brush all your hair over one shoulder, nipping at your earlobe. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“An apology.” He kissed your cheek, down your jaw.

“Wha- I, uh… I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re so easy to rile up. And I’m sorry that, because you’re a man, you have such a visible sign of arousal.” You teased again, wiggling your hips back into said arousal.

“That didn’t sound genuine.” His hand leaves your body, only to land with a sharp smack on your ass. You yelped and his other hand slid around your mouth, just in case there were still other agents lingering in the office. “Try again.” He lifted his hand just enough for you to speak.

“My deepest, sincerest, apologies, sir.”

“Better.” Aaron hums, his palm soothing over your ass before bunching up the hem of your skirt, tugging it up your thighs. You let out a gasp as he shoved the fabric up to the small of your back, fingers toying with the hem of your panties.

You turned your head to grin at him over your shoulder, watching the way his eyes zoned in on your pretty lacy underwear. The pair you’d worn just for him, because you knew you’d end up in this position one way or another.

“But I don’t think just an apology is enough.” He delivers another smack to your ass, relishing in the moan you let out, muffled into his palm, before tugging your panties down.

You hear the clink of his belt being shucked off behind you and his trousers pushed down, then his hands are on you again.

The sound you let out when he first pushes into you is loud, unabashed and his hand wraps around the lower half of your face again. If Rossi somehow heard this, Aaron would never hear the end of it.

“Quiet, sweetheart. We’re still at work.” You say something he can’t quite make out. 

His thrusts start slow, filling you up deliciously until he bottoms out inside you, hips flush with yours. Your eyes roll back as another desperate moan leaves your lips.

Aaron’s hand on your back pushes you further into the desk, grunting his cock splitting you open. You babble something into his palm that he doesn’t catch, and he removes his hand.

“What was that, honey?” He leans over you, chest against your back.

“I’m close.” You whined. He starts kissing your neck, biting down gently.

“I’m almost there.” Aaron buries his face in your neck, his body draped over yours, as his thrusts become sloppy, his length twitching inside you. 

Your orgasm rocks through you like a freight train, your legs shaking trying to hold you up until you just slump onto the desk. Aaron’s not far behind, a higher pitched groan leaving his mouth as he releases inside you.

You let your forehead rest against the wood as he stands, righting his slacks. Aaron, being the gentleman he is, pulls down your skirt, smoothing a hand down over your ass.

“You ready to go?” He asked, almost casually. You stare at him over your shoulder.

“I think you’re going to have to carry me out of here.” He chuckles, peeking out of the blinds to make sure the office is empty.

“Alright. Come on.” He pats your bum, waiting for you to stand before sweeping you into his arms. “You’re lucky I love you so much.” He grumbled playfully, carrying you out of his office. You grinned, kissing his jaw.

“Mm, I sure am.”

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @lemmewritethisshizdownrq @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni, @pixie-verse, @westanleovaldito, @khxna, @person-005, @cinnamoncunt

[longlivejemily]

All-Inclusive Obedience

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You and Hotch are volunteered to go undercover as newlyweds on a couples retreat suspected of hiding something more sinister. Emotions, tension, and your giant crush on the man are all running high.

Content Warnings: alcohol, GN!reader (no Y/N), strong language, first person POV, canon-typical injuries and violence, cults, knives/guns, blood, newlyweds, voyeuristic surveillance, SMUT, drugging, kidnapping, human trafficking, fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N: My entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Undercover Challenge No art this time, I dropped a longer fic than I intended to 😂. The Spotify playlist for it is below the break. Heed all warnings, please and thank you.

Also available on AO3

Intro

Going undercover wasn’t necessarily a new experience. Going undercover as a newlywed, however, was. It was made worse by the fact that Hotch and I were volunteered to go on the assignment together.

Me.

With my boss.

As newlyweds.

My boss.

Who I'd had more than one wet dream about since I'd been on his team.

That boss.

The BAU was gifted a case by Violent Crimes that they simply couldn't crack and Hotch reluctantly took it under the expectant glare from Strauss that he wouldn't fuck it up. The case revolved around an exclusive couples service catering to the ultra-wealthy—a place where high-profile clients would be sent on an all-inclusive trip with their partner in a reinvigorating retreat. It was the perfect match for affluent couples looking to reconnect with their partners.

The FBI was called in when some of these couples had begun to disappear with their assets drained and their whereabouts unknown. After weeks of investigation after the case was given to us, we suspected a trafficking ring where these couples were ending up either sold to the highest bidder or outright murdered. Some of the couples who survived were discovered on surveillance in countries far removed from where they disappeared, yet others came back home with no issue. It was never consistent and the BAU worked tirelessly to figure out what made the unsubs choose one couple over the other.

We checked flight logs and identification of passengers, seeing patterns of a few faces on multiple trips. That one important aspect continually brought us back: if couples were going missing, why were previous attendees returning? Were some of the couples in on the trafficking ring? Or were they ignorant of the happenings?

There was really only one way to find out.

After much research on Penelope's part, we discovered the only safest way was as an affluent married couple. The cover story came together easily: we were looking for a secluded honeymoon getaway hoping to enhance our relationship through one of the service’s elite couples’ retreats—one that many of the couples disappeared from.

As we signed up—well as Penelope signed up for us—we saw how the entire process was too good to be true.

I wasn't one to complain about a semi-dangerous free vacation, though, it might have been less stressful without my attractive boss.

Our only line of communication with the rest of the BAU would be a satellite phone that Hotch was bringing, locked and hidden discreetly in a Faraday cage. The retreat was strictly no-phones, so finding a place to hide it had been a challenge. The team would be on a nearby island monitoring the situation, gathering as much information as they could over there, and ready to extract us at a moment’s notice.

Hotch and I went over briefly what we would be expected to do on the trip: sleeping in the same bed, kissing, various public displays of affection, and if it came down to it—faking a sexual encounter. It was obviously the most nerve-wracking one, one, because of the subtle realism required to make it believable and two, because of the automatic implication that we would both have to be nude. Most things had to be on the table—within reason—for this to be both believable and a success.

-

Day 1

From the moment Hotch and I got in the car to the charter plane which was provided by the service, it was game on.

The driver had asked for our names, which Hotch provided the aliases for without hesitation. Hotch played the ever attentive new husband, taking the luggage from my hand and tossing our luggage in the trunk. We slid in the cushy car, Hotch automatically throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me close. It was automatically understood that seat belts were a suggestion in a car like this.

The driver was attentive, a little too much, continuously looking at us in the rear-view mirror. It meant that Hotch had to be handsier than we both anticipated right off the bat.

“Relax,” I felt Hotch's lips brush the shell of my ear, pressing his lips against my cheek.

It would be easier to relax if I wasn't so attracted to him. Frustrated with myself, I forced my body to relax. I slumped into his body, smiling up at him. His eyes flicked down to my lips, a sly smirk that I couldn't tell real from fake spreading over his features.

Biting the bullet, dropped a hand to his exposed thigh, clad in tan shorts and a flowy white button-down, and trailed it high up his leg, tilting my head up until my lips brushed his. It was brief and I pulled away almost immediately like I was teasing him.

“I cannot wait to get you alone,” he muttered just loud enough for the driver to hear. “Waves crashing, fucking you as loud as I want.”

I bit my lip, the butterflies his words caused being all too real. I hummed, smiling at his words and pressing my lips firmly against his.

So that was what it was like to actually kiss him, I vaguely wondered as his teeth scraped over my lip.

The plane trip had a reasonable flight time, shorter than many of our domestic flights with the team, taking us somewhere off the coast of Florida near the Bahamas. The plane ride itself was a blur as drinks were poured, accompanied by a few other couples and more “undercover” kissing than social interactions.

“So, h-how long have you been mm-married?” one of the wives slurred, leaning forward with her third flute of champagne. She had introduced herself as Becca, here with her husband, Leo.

They were one of the repeat couples.

I sipped on my own drink, having discreetly tested both mine and Hotch's for any drugs with an invisible polish on my pinky finger. Satisfied that nothing had come up, I shrugged and toasted his glass before taking a long swig.

“We just got married last month,” I answered, leaning forward toward her and gushing with her.

“Oh, newlyweds,” Becca cooed, clasping her hands together.

One of the partners from a different couple, Avery, who wasn’t as inebriated spoke up, “That’s wonderful! So, what made you decide to come on a retreat so soon after tying the knot?”

I gave Hotch a quick sideways glance, curious how he’d handle this one. He didn’t hesitate.

“We travel a lot for work,” he said smoothly, resting a casual hand on my knee. “It’s been…hard to find time to just be together.”

I smiled as if this were an inside joke between us, letting out a soft laugh. “And my sister swears by couples retreats. She and her husband went on one last year—oh I forget what company—but they came back glowing.” I widened my eyes like I was just so desperate to recapture that newlywed bliss.

Avery's partner, Quinn, was more reserved, simply holding their drink and not interacting much. I thought that maybe they might be like us, new to the experience, especially considering I didn't recognize them from our repeat attendee list.

Across from us, Leo gave Hotch a look that was half camaraderie, half warning, “You’ll be pushed outside your comfort zone, that’s for sure. The exercises can get…intense.”

I leaned in conspiratorially, grinning suggestively, “Intense how?”

He only chuckled, shaking his head, “You’ll see. It's all worth it.”

I shot Hotch a secretive look, as if we were about to be in over our heads—but in reality, I was watching for his reaction. He remained unbothered, simply lifting his glass in a toast, “To new experiences, then.”

I tapped my glass against his, our fingers brushing. I licked my bottom lip, watching the liquid pass his lips effortlessly and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

He gave me a smirk over the rim, playing into the sultry looks I was giving him. It wasn't even pretending on my part, resisting the urge to shift too much in my seat and tell on myself about how aroused I was.

-

Upon landing on the island, there were several other planes already landed on the small airstrip. We were driven a short distance to the resort, consisting of lavish architecture weaving around the tropical foliage on the way in. The grounds were a typical beach haven, with bungalows lining the pristine beach. Workers covered every inch of the grounds, stopping and waving as the SUV passed, with wide, welcoming smiles.

Chills ran through my body as I made eye contact with one of them.

We were greeted immediately by a man who introduced himself as Trent, the Day Manager. The resort staff poured out to grab the bags of the couples, even to our light protest at being okay to carry our own luggage. More drinks were thrust into our hands as we were directed by Trent to a check-in desk—each couple assigned to a different staff member's desk.

“Welcome to Twin Palms Resort, we hope your travel accommodations exceeded your expectations,” the woman smiled stiffly, watching us for any type of complaint.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” I leaned into Hotch, smiling up at him.

“I’m pleased to hear that. Before we assign you your room, we do need a few signatures,” she slid a document and a pen across the table.

“Non-disclosure agreement,” stood out in bold letters at the top.

Interesting.

I leaned forward, picking up the pen and giving her a smile. Hotch put his hand on my wrist, halting me with light pressure and prying the pen from my fingers gently.

“One second, sweetheart,” he murmured, picking up the papers and skimming over them with a relaxed expression, not wanting to come off too tense or calculating.

I feigned tiredness, resting my head on his arm and glancing at the text every so often. It was painfully vague, talking the resort up about how it’s for an exclusive selection of people and that a level of discretion was warranted. And—did that say loyalty incentives and disciplinary actions? My eyes drifted to the staff member who was writing something on her side of the desk before looking back up to scrutinize Hotch. A lot of the verbiage wasn’t even in “legalese”, considering I wouldn’t need Hotch to translate some of it later. It was vague but self-explanatory, if not a little aggressive.

The very end made me grimace internally.

“By signing, you commit yourself wholly to the experience.”

Hotch gave the woman a smile and set the paper down, scribbling out his alias’ signature effortlessly.

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t signing my yacht away,” he winked.

The woman barely cracked a smile, “Of course, sir.”

I signed with my alias after and snuggled back into Hotch’s too comfortable warmth.

The staff member got our room keys sorted, actual physical keys, not plastic cards.

“Your luggage will be taken to your room, shortly,” she stated and stood. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your accommodations.”

Hotch nodded, grabbing his drink in one hand and taking my hand in the other. I walked loosely, keeping up my appearance of having one too many drinks on the plane while scoping out the place. My ears tuned into a conversation Avery and Quinn had with their staff member in regards to the NDA.

“Disciplinary action? What the hell does that mean?” Quinn, who was so quiet on the plane, spoke up, agitation in their voice.

Cameras littered the resort, starting to feel more like a cult compound than a freeing topical resort. Some were hidden in foliage and some were out in plain sight, but it was clear that they were covering their bases.

We approached the end of the path we were led on, where the concrete ended and sand began. Hotch toed out of his very expensive looking loafers, while I stumbled trying to get my shoes off. His arm wrapped around me to keep me steady, sighing happily as it finally popped off. He bent down, faster than me, and picked all four shoes up off the floor, tucking them under his arm.

“Come on,” he smiled gently, pressing a sweet kiss to my mouth and guiding me to the sand.

The staff member stood off to the side waiting and writing like before, waiting for us to catch up. The view from the beach was breathtaking and I groaned internally because we were here to work, not play.

“You'll find everything you need here,” she said while opening the door to the bungalow, the inside looking modern and immaculate contrasting the wood and straw outside. “Everything,” she stressed with a smirk.

We got the hint.

Sex stuff. Yep. Got it.

“Please don’t hesitate to let any staff member know if you need anything else. Your schedule is on the desk. Do try to be punctual to the highlighted events. Everything else is at your own leisure,” she gave us one more tight smile, leaving the keys on the desk and leaving us alone, shutting the door behind her.

“Alone” was a generous word.

We couldn’t be certain if there were bugs or cameras, not yet anyway. Our scanning devices were hidden in Hotch’s bag with his satellite phone.

Hotch tossed our shoes to the floor, sending bits of sand that stuck to the tread bouncing across the floor. I took Hotch’s glass out of his hand, setting both on the table and turning back toward him. Both of my hands trailed from his shoulders down to his chest, giving him a gentle shove until the back of his knees hit the bed.

He bounced on the bed with a “oof” escaping his chest. He propped himself up on his elbows, then his hands. His brows were questioning, but I only smiled and kneeled between his open, inviting legs.

“You said you wanted me alone.”

“I did,” he confirmed, eyes following me as I crawled up his body until he was looking up at me.

Using my hand to push him all the way back down to the bed, I covered my mouth with his, letting out all the pent up arousal from the beginning of this trip.

To him, I might just be a superb actor.

But, there was very little acting being done as I moaned into his mouth and blindly found the buttons of his shirt. As I ground my hips down against his while his hands trailed down from my back to my ass.

This operation was going to be rough.

Before I could completely unbutton his shirt, two knocks sounded on our door. I pulled away, dazed but not from the alcohol. From him.

He looked equally mussed, eyes still trained on my mouth until two more knocks sounded. I got off him hurriedly as if we were about to get caught by our parents. His shirt hung open, skin on display as he answered the door.

A different staff member stood on the other side, bags in hand.

I stood up to help Hotch, “Sorry about that, I can’t keep my hands off him,” I directed to the staff member, a younger man who simply smiled and blushed knowingly.

“N-no worries,” he stumbled, nearly tripping over himself.

He must be new.

After he left, we threw our luggage on the bed, unzipping them and taking out some of the contents. Hotch glanced at me, subtly getting my attention and flicking the small luggage lock he had on the bag that had been cut. I nodded, and took more things out. He fumbled in the bag for a moment before coming out with his toiletries.

“Mind putting those in the bathroom?” He handed the bag to me gingerly.

I felt the dent of the scanning device inside and grabbed my own toiletries to check out the bathroom for bugs. It was unspoken that Hotch would check over there.

The device lit up in only one spot of the bathroom, just under the mirror by the sink. Should be easy enough to drown out with the shower and the sink on.

When I came back, Hotch’s bag was just about empty, with one drawer left open for me. He made eye contact as I came back in.

I winked at him. One.

He blinked at me twice. Four.

“Look in the nightstand,” he grinned.

I hesitantly opened it, seeing it filled with condoms, lubes, dental dams, and factory sealed toys. Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding.

One.

“This drawer has the same,” he laughed. “I guess I didn’t need to bring so many.”

Two.

I put more of my clothes away, “Guess we can’t be too prepared.”

“Oh! You think we can catch the rest of Shark Week out here?” he pointed at the TV.

Three.

“You really want to watch sharks attacking people when we’re at the beach, babe?” I laughed, throwing a pillow at him.

“It’s educational.”

“Mhm,” I shook my head.

He stalked toward me, a smirk on his face. He backed me up against the desk, pushing the glasses and keys aside and lifting me onto it. He stepped between my legs kissing me breathless.

Four.

“Babe,” I moaned, torn between bringing him closer and pushing him away. “I’m not done putting my stuff away.”

Hotch groaned, feigning annoyance, “Hurry. They have a whole welcome thing in two hours and I have been dying to fuck you all morning.”

My jaw just about dropped to the floor at the words that came out of Hotch’s mouth. My brain was short circuiting. What twilight zone had I gotten myself into? Undercover Hotch was so different. Flirty, smiley, attentive, and kind of a slut.

I loved it.

“Yea?”

“Mm, I was ready to take you on that damn plane, the way you were looking at me.”

Internally, I was screaming.

Screw this.

I pulled Hotch back in, moaning as I felt his hips press into mine. I dug my heels into his ass, hearing him grunt and groan in response.

“Fuck me now, then,” I grinned, nipping at lips.

The fact that he was playing into the scene so hard told me he had something he needed to say or else he wouldn’t be so urgently pushing. I pushed myself off the desk, ripping my clothes off roughly as Hotch shrugged the rest of his shirt off and remaining clothing. I didn’t dare look down, shoving our luggage off the bed and pulling him down with me.

I ignored the hot press of his cock against my stomach. Both of us had a silent understanding that it would look strange if we pulled the sheets back when we were supposed to be so desperate and considering we weren’t supposed to know about the potential for bugs and cameras. I hoped it would be convincing enough.

I heard him dig through one of the drawers to locate lube to make it more believable. I didn’t expect him to flip the cap open and pour some out; wiping most of it on himself. Hotch groaned, adjusting himself until I felt his cock slide against my ass, the lube providing much needed relief from chafing where we met. He took a deep, shaky breath with his hips pressing forward mimicking pushing into me.

Hotch hid his whispers with groans and I did my best to help him, “Alarm clock has a camera. I think. Mirror, too.”

He kept his sentences short and in between breaths, “We can’t half ass this,” he muttered into my ear and I squeezed his shoulders in understanding.

“Cameras everywhere. Outside,” I responded against his mouth.

Hotch nodded, pressing his face into my neck, “NDA was fishy. Felt like a cult.”

I moaned in agreement, "Right there,” I hoped he understood the double meaning.

His hips slammed faster, his pubic area providing delicious friction with every writhe and thrust.

Don’t cum. Don’t cum.

Hotch made a passing glance at the alarm clock and I followed his eyes, “Still good on time, don’t worry,” he panted, making a show of lifting my hips and thrusting harder.

I moaned his alias’ name. It felt strange to call him anything but Hotch, especially when I’d dreamed of this moment—well it would be going much differently, but still. I did my best to breathe through the impending orgasm, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable until I felt his fingers dig desperately into my arms and torso as his orgasm snuck up on him. His hips stuttered and stilled, his chest still heaving as he breathed rapidly into my neck.

My ass was slicker than before, his cum coating my skin.

I was surprised; almost sad I hadn’t let myself cum, too.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into my neck. He sounded distraught, concerned, and embarrassed all wrapped into one package. “I’m sorry.”

My feelings immediately shifted and I felt bad, not considering how he’d feel. The post-coital realization hit him hard despite actual intercourse not taking place. I reassured him with a squeeze of his torso, letting my hand brush the hair at the base of his neck. He pushed himself up after a beat, looking at me with a satisfied smile for the camera but the most apologetic gaze I’d ever seen.

“Feel better?” I asked, bringing him down for a languid kiss.

Hotch nodded and sat all the way up, groaning as he did.

“We have time for another,” I bit my lip, reaching out for him.

He laughed, taking my hand, “I don’t want to sleep in a sweaty, crusty bed tonight.”

I pouted.

“Shower?”

He cocked his head toward the bathroom in an invitation, so I pushed myself up and followed him in.

“I thought you said you were too old for shower sex,” I joked on the spot.

“That scotch worked its magic. I’m pain free for another hour at least,” he laughed.

As soon as we entered the bathroom, I tapped his wrist, subtly pointing to where I had found the bug. Tapping the faucet, I pointed to him, then myself, then the shower. I held my hand out, telling him to wait and opened the shower. With one hand on the faucet and one hand counting down to him, we turned them on simultaneously.

“Holy fuck, this shower is huge,”I looked back at him.

He made a noise of interest, coming over to me, invading my space. As tempting as it had been, I still didn't look down and kept my eyes carefully trained on his face.

“Wow,” he commented. “Plenty of room for…activities.”

I let my laugh float around the bathroom.

Unsure of where to put his hand, he held my upper arm, murmuring lowly, “I'm really sorry, I didn't me—”

“Relax,” I stressed. “It's natural, considering what we were literally doing. Stop feeling bad,” I brought my hand to his shoulder comfortingly. “You probably needed it,” I joked, pushing his shoulder.

He barely cracked a smile, still looking like someone stole his favorite cufflinks.

I stared at his embarrassed, pinched look, “Oh my God,” I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth. “I knew you were a giver. You're embarrassed because you came and I didn't.”

His face was beet red and though he could explain it away as the steam filling the room, I knew better.

“Well, come on, you can make it up to me. There's two shower heads in here, too.”

Hotch looked conflicted, on one hand—it was only fair, but on the other hand—this would be as ourselves rather than an act.

It would be on purpose. And that left room for danger in regards to returning back to normal life after all this.

Truthfully, I didn’t think he was going to step into the shower. I stepped back to take the pressure off of him, letting the warm water run over my head as I washed off our travels and the cum. I didn’t hear the shower door close softly over the spray of the water, my only indication that he had joined me being the skimming of his fingers on my abdomen as they traveled to my sides, and then my back.

My eyes flew open, obstructed by water, but I didn’t need to see as we came together. Our mouths moved surprisingly slowly, a stark contrast to the urgency not long ago. His tongue dipped into my mouth as his hand wormed between us, finding my sensitive skin still aching for release. How his hand managed to be slick with the water beating down on us—I didn’t question it (though my nose told me it was something scented). His mouth left mine, trailing down my neck while his hand and fingers worked several miracles.

I gave him one more out.

“You don’t have to,” I moaned loudly after as his hand moved just a bit faster with more pressure, letting my head drop back against the shower wall. His free had plastered against my back to keep me upright.

Hotch’s teeth scraped my neck.

It was enough of an answer.

He brought his face out of my neck, water dripping from his hair, down his nose, and beading off his eyelashes. His lips parted in concentration, watching as I came apart under his touch. His tongue swept out, gathering drops of water along the way making his hooded gaze more sensual if it was even possible. I could feel when the slick substance started washing away, Hotch letting me go shortly after.

I whined pitifully, clutching shoulders and digging my fingers in out of frustration, “Please.”

Without a word, my hips were pushed firmly against the wall and Hotch was on his knees.

He was so going to feel that later.

“Wait—you do—,” I moved to protest both the position for his own comfort and the fact that I didn’t intend for him to have to use his mouth.

He didn’t react to my fingers in his soaked hair, only glancing at me and blinking water out of his eyes. It took half a second before I was covered by his hot mouth, sucking, licking—

My mind went white and fuzzy.

My back pressed into the wall as my hips arched involuntarily toward Hotch, “So good—y-yes—mmm.” The pleasure coiled in my abdomen, tighter and tighter, “Fuck, I’m gon—”

It didn’t take long for my body to tense, feeling Hotch’s arms hold me tighter as I trembled so as not to slip. Bliss coursed throughout my body, making my fingertips clench against his head and my toes tingle. Hotch took everything in stride, not stopping until I was practically begging him and pulling him off me by the hair.

My chest heaved as I fought to catch my breath. Hotch didn’t care, covering my mouth with his and stealing my breath all over again. I tasted myself on his tongue, sending a new wave of excitement through my body.

Finally, he let me breathe, forehead pressing into mine as he still helped to keep me upright.

“Did that make you feel better?” I laughed softly, brushing my lips against his for a second.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

I dreaded having to leave his arms and stand on my own. I dreaded more, the idea of having to wash myself instead of letting my eyes slip closed in his arms.

But, we had a job to do and a schedule to follow.

Groaning, I planted myself more firmly on my feet, “Thank you.”

He hummed, releasing me from his arms.

I almost wished he had said “any time”.

We toweled off and dressed shortly after, needing to make up for wasted time.

“Wasted” was subjective.

The mirror was still partially fogged as I checked my appearance, Hotch at my side combing his hair and fixing his collar with practiced ease. He looked relaxed and comfortable like we were getting ready for an actual date and had done this a million times.

“I gotta say, honey,” I mused, dragging the word out and adjusting the back of his collar for him. “For a guy who hates shower sex, you sure were dedicated to it.”

He flicked his eyes to me in the mirror, a small smirk gracing his lips, “Nothing a little scotch can’t fix. You know I don’t half-ass my work.”

“Clearly.”

He turned to me, extending his arms out for approval on his outfit.

“Hot,” was the only word that tumbled out.

Hotch shook his head, pressing his lips to my forehead, “You look perfect.”

It was for show. It was for show. But damn, he really looked like he meant it. He was too good at this.

I rolled my eyes, patting the buttons on his chest, “God, you’re annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

The moment settled around us, familiar and teasing.

I could get used to this.

-

The welcome dinner was a stunning display of wealth and indulgence, with chairs and tables perched neatly in the pristine sand. The tables were round, dressed in white linens, and encircled a stone and cement patio that overlooked the ocean behind us. Lanterns swayed gently from the trees and the ocean breeze, casting flickering golden light over the guests as the sun set. Laughter from the tables blended in with the rhythmic crashing of waves. Some hidden speakers played tranquil music softly in the background, the music almost having a lulling effect.

That or the orgasm really did more than I expected.

Hotch sat beside me, his arm draped lazily over the back of my chair, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against my shoulder. It was an easy, affectionate touch, one that made it appear as though he simply couldn’t keep his hands off me. It was a simple performance and a silent form of reassurance, a way to remind me he was there and that we were in this together.

At the front of the gathering, Trent, the charismatic day manager from earlier, stood beside a polished mahogany podium. He tapped a spoon against his champagne flute, the chime ringing out over the guests, drawing all eyes on him.

“Good evening, everyone!” he beamed, his voice practiced and smooth. “On behalf of Twin Palms Resort, I want to extend my warmest welcome to our newest guests, as well as our returning couples.”

A smattering of applause followed, though something about it felt performative, not unlike myself and Hotch—rather than genuine excitement.

“This retreat isn’t just an exciting getaway for you all. It’s a transformation,” Trent continued, sweeping his gaze over the attendees. “Here, you will learn to surrender completely—to your partner and to the experience. Only when we let go of our fears and inhibitions can we discover the depths of true connection.”

I felt Hotch’s fingers press just slightly against my shoulder, the tiniest acknowledgment that he, too, had caught the unsettling wording.

From across the table, Becca, one of the repeat attendees, let out an airy sigh and lifted her champagne flute, “To surrendering.” She murmured dreamily before taking a sip. Leo echoed her sentiment, his gaze flicking briefly to Hotch, as if gauging his reaction.

Hotch only smiled, raising his own glass in an effortless toast, “To new experiences.”

The moment passed, but not without leaving behind an undercurrent of something unspoken.

Waitstaff moved seamlessly between tables, refilling glasses before they were even half-empty, their presence almost ghostly in how little they disturbed the atmosphere. The meal was plated with precision and was undeniably delicious, clear that they spared no expense when it came to reeling couples in and retaining them. I took small, deliberate bites, acutely aware of how dangerous it was when we couldn't test the food. We had tested our drinks earlier, but there were more ways to manipulate people.

At our table, the conversation meandered between pleasantries and oddly pointed questions.

“So,” Becca said, resting her chin on one hand and swirling the last of her wine with the other. Her glassy eyes trained on us, “Have you two decided which exercises you’re most excited for?”

Hotch let out a soft chuckle, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. He had been swirling amber liquid in his short tumbler and blinked in thought, “We’re trying to go into this with open minds,” he said smoothly, moving his hand from my shoulder to rest on my knee. He hesitated just a beat too long, then let out a quiet, almost bashful chuckle. “Truthfully, we uh—” He cleared his throat and glanced at me. “We didn’t really take a second to…look.”

His meaning was clear.

Becca gasped in delight, while Leo let out a knowing laugh, clapping Hotch on the back. “That’s the spirit! Didn’t even make it past the threshold, huh?”

I bit my lip, feigning embarrassment, and nudged Hotch’s knee under the table. “We were just—” I exhaled a soft laugh and shook my head, letting the implication hang.

Across the table, Quinn shifted uncomfortably, while Avery gave a tight, uncertain smile. “Well,” Avery said, “there’s certainly a lot to look forward to.”

Leo grinned, “That’s one way to put it.”

I let my fingers skim absently over the back of Hotch’s hand on his knee, as if it were second nature. Hotch glanced over at me as he took a sip from his glass.

Across the table, Avery looked distinctly uncomfortable, their grip tight around the stem of their glass. Quinn, even more reserved, barely touched their plate, only offering nods or small smiles at the conversation around them.

Before I could pry out of sheer tipsiness, the murmur of voices died down as a figure moved into the periphery of my vision.

An older man had appeared at the edge of the gathering, where the glow of the lanterns met the darkness beyond now that the sun had fully set. He wore a darker version of Trent’s uniform, leading me to believe he was the Night Manager to compliment Trent. His posture was ram-rod straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He did not speak, nor did Trent acknowledge him from where he stood in the back. His assessing gaze swept over the tables, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was cataloging us, memorizing each new couple.

Hotch shifted just slightly beside me, enough that his thigh pressed against mine. He gently tapped my leg to get my attention, not realizing that I’d been too focused on the Night Manager as his gaze was about to come our way.

I forced a small smile, turning toward Hotch and kissing him.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful minus the watchful gaze of the Night Manager as Trent handed off the festivities to him.

We slowly made our way back to our room, doing our best to not look like we were in a rush despite needing to get back and update the team. Becca and Leo were walking near us and still in earshot, their bungalow not far from ours, so we had to be careful.

“Think we’ll be able to sneak out and skinny dip?” I held his hand, turning and walking backwards through the sand to face him.

“If you were more quiet maybe,” he smirked.

The couple made eye contact with each other, Becca nudging Leo.

“Hey,” Leo got our attention. “They’re kind of strict around here about not wandering at night. It’s a safety thing I think with the water and premises being pretty dark, they don’t want anyone drowning or getting lost.”

“Oh, thanks,” Hotch nodded, offering them a wave. Hotch tilted his head at me, making a mental note to mention that to the team.

We got back to the room, tossing myself unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Tired?” Hotch chuckled.

“Mhm,” I moaned softly, burying my face into one of the pillows.

He let out a soft breath of air through his nose, pressing a kiss to my head, “Get comfortable and pull the covers back, sweetheart. I'm just going to run to the bathroom real quick.”

I grumbled at the thought of getting up to undress and get under the covers, but did anyway. Hotch took a bit, likely sending a message to the team in as much detail as he could with just the satellite phone and no ability to call with all the bugs.

The toilet flushed, Hotch coming out in only his underwear with the rest of his clothes rolled up to hide the satellite phone.

He let out a groan, “My stomach did not like something at dinner.”

Hotch safely stored the phone again and joined me under the covers, where my eyes were nearly shut.

“Mm, you okay?” I mumbled.

“All good now,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.

-

Day 2

I woke to the sound of the gentle lapping of waves to shore, my sinuses filling with the scent of salt and whatever harsh detergent they used on the bedding.

Inhaling deeply, I startled as I felt a tickle on my leg. I jerked my leg back and turned, only to remember—Hotch.

Oops.

His eyes were still shut and I couldn’t tell if he was awake or not but knew I needed to not act weird to the cameras, so I curled myself into his side and rested my head on his bare chest. Early morning light streamed in through the thin, flowy curtains, casting a glow across our bodies half covered by sheets.

I pressed my lips to his chest.

No reaction.

Maybe he was actually asleep.

I pressed my ear more firmly to his chest, hearing a slightly elevated rate and smiled to myself. I let my fingertips trail lightly down his abdomen, tickling the skin with the rough edges of my fingers. His heart rate picked up more.

I looked up at him, eyes still shut but the corner of his lips had pulled up ever so slightly.

“I know you’re awake,” I let my hand slip lower.

His abdomen tensed under my hand, his eyes blinking open and finding my gaze immediately.

“You were just going to lay there and let me have my way with you?” I smiled, pushing myself up to press my lips to his jaw.

“It’s called acting,” he murmured.

“Mm, so you can make your heart race like that on command?”

“Mmm,” he stretched his legs and arms, “no comment.”

As he brought his limbs back to his body, Hotch spared a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“Oh, shit,” he sat up quickly, even with the weight of my head and torso on him.

“Wh—”

“The first exercise starts in ten minutes,” he whispered, frantically pulling on clothes.

“Shit.”

I jumped up after him, getting dressed and moderately fresh in record time. Running through sand was not my ideal cardio for the morning, especially on a not-vacation with my very hot boss.

-

We made it to the gathering on the beach with either thirty seconds to spare or five minutes late. It was impossible to tell.

A staff member we hadn't met yet introduced themselves as the leader of the exercise and started immediately.

“Good morning, everyone, My name is Celeste,” she greeted with a serene smile, her voice carrying easily over the soft rush of waves behind her. “I hope you all had a restful first night.”

Some of the couples murmured their agreement—more so the couples closer to her—while the ones in the back near Hotch and I looked just as disheveled as we did.

“I’ll be guiding you through this morning’s exercise,” she continued, clasping her hands together and scanning the group. “Today, we’ll be exploring trust—learning to rely on your partner even when you feel vulnerable. This is all about surrendering and allowing your partner to be your guide. You will be placing your complete faith in them, allowing them to lead you without sight.”

A table was set up next to her, neatly arranged with blindfolds. A murmur passed through the crowd of couples upon seeing the display. Becca shot me an excited look, while Leo leaned in to whisper something to her.

I touched Hotch’s wrist, prompting him to look at me and give me a squeeze in response.

“The exercise is simple,” she continued. “One of you will be blindfolded while the other partner leads. You’ll guide your partner through a short obstacle course using only your voice. Then, you’ll switch so both partners have a turn. This isn’t about your partner controlling you—it’s about letting go and trusting them.”

The phrasing sent an uneasy prickle down my spine.

Couples looked at each other with nervous excitement and stepped forward to grab a blindfold. We exchanged one more glance before Hotch reached for a blindfold after I hesitated for a second too long under the watchful gaze of Celeste.

Celeste smiled as if she didn’t just ask us to surrender ourselves entirely, “Take a moment to decide who will lead first.”

All of the couples looked at one another, Hotch glancing at me with a subtly raised brow in question. I could barely take him seriously with his face adorned in stubble from not shaving in our haste to leave earlier. I didn’t mind it, though I’m sure it drove him insane to have. The flecks of white on his face amidst his natural color was endearing and made him look softer than when he shaved.

“Can I lead first?” I asked nervously, touching the material in his hand.

“Are you sure?” He murmured, his thumb moving over my fingers soothingly.

“Yea,” I nodded. “I already know you’ll lead me perfectly.”

Something flickered in his eyes at my words. Pride? I couldn’t exactly tell, but he gave me a small nod as his expression melted into something fond.

“Alright,” he murmured, surrendering his grip on the blindfold. “I’m yours to guide.”

The words made a strange warmth spread through my chest, one I ignored as we turned into Celeste as she guided the group to the sand. Small obstacles were placed in a course, wooden beams breaking up the smooth sand, wooden platforms giving higher obstacles, and even some ditches in the sand we would have to avoid.

It wasn't anything too crazy. Nothing like any of the courses we had to run at the academy. It was more focused on communication than anything.

“We’ll be sending couples out every minute so it’s not so crowded. Go ahead and line up for me,” Celeste got the couples in somewhat of a line.

Hotch and I watched the couples start, seeing a lot of people tripping, peeking through the blindfolds, and touching their partners when they’d get frustrated. Staff had to verbally reprimand them and remind them of the rules several times.

Soon, Hotch and I were at the front as the couple in front of us went. I tied the blind fold over his eyes, adjusting it so it was snug but comfortable.

“Can you see?”

“No.”

I reached for his hands, steadying him as he shucked his sandals off.

“Trust me?” I laughed softly next to him.

“I do,” he squeezed my hand before dropping it.

I swallowed, pushing down the unexpected weight of those words. Celeste instructed us to start with a hand tap on both of our shoulders.

Hotch took careful steps on to the sand, trusting my estimations of distance to the next obstacle immediately. I walked next to him like we were simply taking a stroll, not wanting to confuse him by walking backwards in front of him or behind him.

“Pause,” I stopped him. “You’ll take a step over and it's just sand on the other side. Good…the next one is a little higher.”

We continued on, keeping my voice steady and calm even when he veered off too far to the right, almost going out of bounds, “You got it, just hear how close I am to you.”

Using his ears a little better despite the laughing and frustrated groans around us, he walked with more and more confidence with each passing step. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Stop,” I murmured. “You’re done.”

I reached up, untying his blindfold and watching his eyes blink to adjust to the light again. His eyes immediately focused on mine with a soft smile.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in for a quick kiss.

He took the blindfold from me and tied it around my head, plunging me into darkness so we could continue the course.

“Ready?” Hotch’s voice was low, but close, meant just for me.

“Always,” I took a deep breath, nervous all of a sudden as I only focused on his voice.

His voice was just behind and to the left of me, taking a slightly different approach than me.

“Step forward, slowly.”

I followed his instructions, relying entirely on the warm, grounding tone of his voice. Each of my steps was tentative and careful, the sand shifting unpredictably under my feet to add another layer of uncertainty.

“Little more to the left, listen to my voice,” he murmured. “Good, baby. Another step and you’ll step over.”

“I feel like you’re guiding me through a minefield,” I laughed.

“Same principle,” he responded dryly.

Hotch didn’t tell me when I finished, instead winding an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I felt his lips meet mine, my eyes involuntarily closing underneath the blindfold. When I opened my eyes, the blindfold was removed and Hotch was grinning at me.

“I think we were the best ones,” he dove back in, smiling into the kiss.

“You might be biased,” I murmured.

“Mmm,” he made a noise of protest, indicating his head to where couples were finishing covered in sand and either mad or laughing at each other.

Staff members lined the obstacle course, clipboards in-hand and writing furiously. I accidentally made eye contact with one, who leaned over and spoke to the staff member next to him.

“What do you think they're writing?” I murmured.

“I don't know, but we need to find out,” his eyebrow twitched in contemplation but his hand trailed up and down my lower back to keep up the charade.

Celeste clapped her hands together, signaling the end of the exercise and gathering the couples together, “Wonderful work, everyone. Remember, this wasn’t about speed or perfection—it’s about learning to trust and communicate. Some of you did beautifully, while others…” she gave a knowing smile as some couples groaned and dusted sand off themselves, “may have discovered a few areas to work on. For now, take a break. Breakfast is being served in the main hall, and afterward, we’ll dive into our next exercise.”

Hotch’s fingers brushed against the small of my back as we trailed behind the other couples toward the dining hall. “We’ll have to be careful about how much we stand out.”

“Yeah,” I exhaled, glancing back toward the staff. “But I still want to know what they wrote."

-

Breakfast was a mix of tired grumbling and overcompensating excitement. Some couples barely spoke, still frustrated over the obstacle course, while others dissected every move they made, analyzing what they could do better. Hotch and I ate in a comfortable quiet, making small talk with the other couples.

“—haven’t seen them all morning.”

My ears tuned into a conversation at a different table, Becca’s chatter becoming nothing more than droning as I did.

A couple was missing already? Looking around at faces I already recognized, I hummed thinking who might be missing.

“Maybe they slept in. We almost overslept,” someone responded.

“Travel will do that,” another response.

“I felt kinda hungover, I don’t remember drinking that much,” another chimed in.

I trailed my hand up Hotch’s thigh, squeezing and leaning toward him with a teasing smile. With my lips brushing his ear, I murmured, “Couple missing. You hear that? Maybe drugging?”

Hotch chuckled, letting his hand come up to the back of my neck, “You’re insatiable.”

It was a simple response but let me know he heard me.

Tuning back into the conversation, I saw his eyes scanning other tables for any one he noticed was missing.

By the time we were called back outside, the sun had climbed higher, heating the sand to an uncomfortable temperature. The next exercise was the eye contact challenge. Simple in theory—five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact with your partner. But as I sat across from Hotch, knees nearly touching on the white sheet draped over the sand, I felt my stomach twist and regretted eating immediately.

No words, no distractions.

Just looking at each other. Easy.

The timer started.

I held his gaze, reminding myself that this was just acting, just another role to play. Hotch’s expression was unreadable. His eyes were dark and searching—glinting amber as the sunlight filtered through his eyelashes just right. It felt like they saw straight through me. The longer I looked, the more I felt stripped bare, as if every layer of protection I built up about my feelings for him was being peeled away. The mask I wore, the careful detachment despite our brief lapse in judgment yesterday—it all threatened to crumble under the weight of his stare.

I swallowed hard. My pulse thrummed in my throat.

Five minutes had never felt so long.

I fought every urge I had to look away but couldn’t help the heat I felt on my face as I licked my lips. And it wasn’t from the sun.

When the time was up, I deflated slightly, taking a deep breath as I recovered from the intensity.

“Okay?”

“Mhm, I forget how intense you are,” I rubbed my eyes.

“You forgot yesterday already? Must be losing my touch,” he teased.

Cocking my jaw to the side, I laughed and shoved his chest, “Oh, hush.”

-

We were put through a few more exercises throughout the day but with not enough time to relax back at our room, unfortunately. It was only after dinner—once the sun had already set—that we were released back to our rooms. Thankfully, according to our schedule, the second day was the most structured day out of the retreat, giving Hotch and I more free time to explore later.

Our missing couple also turned up after lunch, looking lost, not believing that it was two in the afternoon. They insisted that they hadn't been drunk but a couple from their flight—another frequent-flier couple—insisted that the husband had been consuming drinks pretty rapidly. He denied it, of course, but it was up to the listener’s opinion on who to believe. Hotch and I knew something more sinister was happening behind the scenes.

“The hot tub sounds heavenly right now,” I groaned, rubbing my hands over my arms in a desperate attempt to get rid of the feeling of sand sticking to my skin.

Hotch opened the front door and ushered me in, “Then use—”

He paused his movements and stopped speaking as he took in the room.

“—it.”

I looked at the room too to see what he was looking at. The bed was made, which wasn’t all that strange. Then, I noticed my bag wasn’t where I had left it this morning and neither was Hotch’s. Both bags were tucked neatly under the desk with the zippers done up neatly.

“I need to wash the sand off,” I rubbed his back and moved toward the bags.

“Good idea,” he grunted and followed me.

I rifled through my bag, seeing nothing missing, and moved to Hotch’s bag. Luckily, his bag had a hard bottom that hid the hard edges of the electronics inside well. Locating the phone and other electronics with a few quick zippers and Velcro pulled back, I emerged from under the desk with a random tube from my bag for show.

I waved it in front of him before moving my hands to the hem of my shirt, “Join me?”

His eyes followed my movements as my shirt slipped off my body, followed by my bottoms. I smiled sweetly as I opened the back sliding door, letting the night ocean breeze flow through the room. It took a moment, but I soon found the exterior lights and flicked them on long enough to turn the hot tub light on.

I felt him before I heard him, warm skin pressing against my back, “Just one bug in the far corner,” he murmured in my ear.

Hotch’s mouth dropped to my shoulder, peppering kisses for any other surveillance we might be missing. His hands smoothed down my sides, pausing when he expected to hit underwear and didn’t. His fingers tightened on my waist and I waited with baited breath for his next move.

His hands released me, so I took the opportunity to step into the tub. The hot water made me sigh contently as I sat fully, facing Hotch as he stood outside of the tub watching me.

The muscles in his chest jumped as he rested his hands on the edge of the round, wooden tub. His shorts slung low on his hips, showing just the top of his underwear.

“Are you gonna make me sit in here by myself?”

He didn’t respond, still staring like he was warring with himself. Slowly but surely, his fingers came to his shorts, flicking open the closure and hooking his thumbs into the sides. His shorts fell to the floor, underwear staying on as he fiddled with the side of the tub. He soon hummed in success as the hot tub bubbled to life and stepped in with me.

He lowered himself as much as he could until his shoulders were submerged, letting out a groan at the feeling. He, then, sat in the seat, exposing his shoulders and chest to the air again. His feet kicked out across the tub, landing on the seat across from us as his arm draped over my shoulders.

“Thoughts?” He murmured softly, trying not to be louder than the bubbling of the jets in the tub.

We kept our mouths close to each other's face when we spoke.

“I don't remember seeing them when we arrived but maybe they asked too many questions or weren't compliant enough yesterday? That other couple was gas-lighting them.”

“Mhm,” he sighed, fingers absentmindedly moving over my skin in the water. “We need to see the files they're compiling. They're storing the information somewhere.”

“Might be assessing compliance or weak relationships?”

“Yeah, I think so, too. Did you see the key cards they have clipped to their uniforms? That might get us somewhere.”

“Mhm, I thought it was strange that we got physical keys and they had key cards.”

Laughs and gentle splashing were thrown about in between our speaking to throw off whoever was listening and make it sound more natural than quiet, as well as drown out our words if they were too recognizable.

I stilled as a loud creak and a hushed whisper sounded, not too far from our patio. I listened for footsteps but the sand made it hard to hear movement. Hotch’s eyes squinted in the low light but if I couldn’t hear anything further, then he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to either.

“I think I'm gonna fall asleep in here, sweetheart,” he murmured, arm tightening over my shoulders to put me at ease.

“Yea, you're right,” I sighed unhappily.

“Shower and sleep?”

I hummed in agreement and followed him inside. I made sure the backdoor was locked tightly and followed him to the bathroom. Entering the bathroom, I started the shower and watched as Hotch averted his eyes and unfolded the sat-phone from his shorts to update the team.

I rolled my eyes at his actions, making the number two with my fingers and pointing at the shower. He glanced my way and nodded, holding a lone finger up.

Was he seriously being reserved now? Especially after what transpired yesterday. Or was he regretting it? The thought made my gut churn uncomfortably.

I knew it was a bad idea. But, I was also overthinking the whole thing.

Yesterday was a favor. It didn’t mean anything.

All of the fake affection was bleeding into my ability to think clearly.

By the time I had rubbed my skin raw, Hotch was opening the shower door with his eyes trained on the free shower head. As soon as his side turned on, I turned mine off and stepped out of the shower to avoid making him uncomfortable any further.

At least the towels were soft.

With the interior room lights on, it was difficult to see outside in the dark. I squinted, still uneasy from the sounds we heard earlier but did my best to shake it off.

I pulled on something loose to wear to bed and was laid back with my eyes shut by the time Hotch was done.

I heard him flick the lights off, then softly step over to the bed and slide between the sheets. I could practically feel him watching me in the dark.

“What’s wrong?”

Of course he could tell.

“Mm,” I hummed. “Just tired.”

“Okay,” he whispered over the gentle waves outside. I heard him shift his body closer, feeling the warmth of his hand as it traveled around me. “We can sleep in tomorrow, nothing mandatory until eleven.”

I was half asleep already and made a tired noise in the back of my throat, turning on my side to be more comfortable. I dampened down my feelings as his chest met my back and his bare legs and feet tangled with mine.

-

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep for but the sound of muffled voices nearby made my eyes snap open. I must have tensed my body because Hotch' tightened his arms around me immediately. His voice murmured lowly in my ear, “Don’t speak, listen.”

I was barely able to make out his whisper, but did as he said.

The voices sounded out of breath—like they were exercising, carrying something heavy—as they walked.

“w—t d—we tel—them?” one voice came through. (What do we tell them?)

“t—at th—y—eft early.” (That they left early.)

The distance and huffing didn’t help but I managed to understand the words. Their voices passed closer to the wall our bed was against, the voices much clearer now that they were practically up against our bungalow.

“This batch is going to take longer than expected to break in.”

My heart was racing and I wanted nothing more than to rip Hotch’s arm off of me and help whoever the staff were taking. I couldn’t jeopardize the entire mission. I would have to hope that they were still alive. The voices faded out eventually but Hotch held me still, waiting just in case.

The whine of a golf cart sounded in the distance, a mental note made of the direction it traveled.

“Do. Not. Get. Up,” Hotch murmured. “Can’t help if we’re caught.”

“We don’t even know where they’re taking them,” I murmured back.

“We’ll find out,” Hotch responded.

I clenched my jaw in frustration, ready to shoot back another protest when sounds of shifting sand came closer. They were different voices speaking to each other this time.

“Think they heard anything?”

“Nah, they’re newlyweds. They fucked as soon as they got here yesterday, I doubt they’ve stopped.”

“Yea, but—”

“Dude, pay attention, you’re missing parts.”

Missing parts?

“Sorry, sorry. Wait, so you—like—watched?”

“That’s the entire point of camera duty.”

“Was it hot?”

“Bro.”

“What?”

“Just fucking rake.”

Were they covering the tracks of the other two staff?

My heart rate eventually slowed, but I was still on edge. My eyes stayed open in the dark, my brain creating floating shapes born from my distress.

“Try and sleep,” he sighed.

I wouldn’t be very successful.

-

Day 3

Hotch had fallen back asleep after the events of last night, but I laid there in the dark listening—waiting and helpless. As soon as the sun rose, I wormed out of Hotch’s arms, made myself a coffee, and sat out on the patio. I tried to look for any evidence of the kidnapping we heard, only to see combed sand with footprints stepping sideways rather than forwards. It was still follow-able but I couldn’t very well go without Hotch and risk him getting pissed off.

Or worse—getting myself taken, too.

I tried to follow the tracks back to a specific bungalow with my eyes, squinting as it got harder to distinguish in the distance. It had to be one of the two to our left but I couldn’t tell which.

The resort looked normal like this. Serene and quiet, like a real vacation. Like none of what transpired last night could have happened.

Footsteps around the corner made me tense, my head snapping toward the sound. A staff member trudged around the corner, shoes heavy with sand. Her hands were full of white envelopes that she shuffled through, looking at each bungalow where our unit numbers were indicated on the outside.

She finally noticed me, pausing her movements and making eye contact. She looked startled before blinking and making her way over to me.

“Good morning,” she smiled, shuffling through the envelopes and locating one with our unit number on it.

“Morning,” I smiled back.

“We usually put these on your door but since you’re up…” she handed me the envelope. “This will take the place of your mandatory slot today. Congratulations. We hope you’ve been enjoying your time here with your partner. You two have been a delight to watch—blossom.”

The hitch in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh—uh—thank you,” I took the envelope from her.

She tilted her head slightly, her smile was polite but otherwise unreadable, “Hopefully, you’ve both found the experience enlightening.”

I nodded slowly, fidgeting with the envelope, “We—we certainly have.”

Her eyes flicked to the glass door, where Hotch's sleeping form was visible through the thin, fluttering curtains, “You and your husband make such a lovely pair, so natural together.”

It made me all too aware of how exposed we were at night.

Her smile widened, something darker in her eyes than before, “We love to see couples fully embracing every exercise here.” She tapped the stack of envelopes against her palm, her tone friendly and teasing, “Those who don’t take full advantage of the retreat…let’s just say they don’t always get the same privileges.”

The meaning settled like a weight in my stomach.

She took a step back from the patio, still watching me intently, “Be sure to enjoy each other tonight after this reward. It’s one of our most special ones,” she added, voice lilting as if it were a friendly suggestion, but it wasn’t.

It felt like an order. Like a warning.

“Of course.”

Her gaze lingered a second longer before she turned away and left her tracks in the sand. She went back about her business, moving to the other bungalows. I watched her discreetly, feigning reading the letter as I watched her drop off at every unit except for the one diagonally from us to our left, closer to the shore than we were. That must belong to whoever got taken last night.

I tried to wrack my brain to remember who got placed there when we arrived. It wasn't the couple who had gone missing yesterday, I knew that for sure. It was—

Oh, shit.

I glanced back at Hotch, still tangled in the sheets, surprised that her voice hadn’t woken him. I glanced down at the letter I extracted from the envelope—a couples massage. Though, we wouldn't be getting massages together—no—we’d be giving them to each other.

I fought the urge to groan in protest. I chewed the inside of my cheek and stood, leaving my coffee on the table.

Gingerly, I got on the bed with one knee, throwing my other leg over his hip so I was straddling Hotch.

It was cruel considering what we heard last night but I figured it would help stay in character.

Hotch jumped at the contact, eyes flying open. He was practically ready for a fight, but as his groggy eyes focused on me his whole body relaxed.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” I smiled, running my hands up and down his chest.

He took a deep breath, willing his adrenaline down and blinking his eyes rapidly to focus better.

He rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, “Morning, what’s got you so excited?”

I turned the paper toward him, which he squinted at and tried to distance his face from the paper but his head was blocked by the bed and the paper was blocked by my body.

“Need your glasses?”

Hotch threw me an exasperated look, closing his eyes in frustration and blinking a few times again.

“Read it to me?”

I tossed the paper on the bed, leaning down so my lips nearly touched his, “We have been gifted a couple’s massage.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm,” I pressed my lips to his, then trailed my mouth to his jaw. “It was Avery and Quinn. They didn’t get an envelope on their door and the tracks go that way,” I whispered. I came up speaking at a normal volume, “But we’re giving each other the massages.”

“Yea?” He grinned slyly.

“Sounds kinda fun,” I kissed him, letting my tongue dip past his lips. “I can give you a massage right now, in fact. So, nice and hard for me already,” I cooed, wiggling my hips as if I could feel his fake hard on.

It was insurance to make sure we were worth keeping around, I told myself.

I waited for his approving nod before sliding under the sheets, keeping my movements slow and natural. My hand trailed over his stomach, my nails barely scraping his skin as I shifted between his legs. I smiled to myself as I felt his muscles tense beneath my palm, his breathing steady but elevated.

I wasn’t actually going to do anything to him, but the cameras and microphones didn’t need to know that. I let my head dip low enough so the sheets shifted and moved my shoulders just enough to insinuate that something was happening. My fingers ghosted over his thighs, my palm meeting coarse hair, while my other hand pressed against his hip.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the pillow like he was relaxing. The noises escaping his throat warmed me from the inside out, sounding like he was actually enjoying himself.

I had no way to know if the staff watching the cameras were buying it, but I had to assume they were. I let out my own moan as his fingers slid under the sheets and found the back of my head, feeling more like reassurance than performance. I let it go on for an extended amount of time, letting Hotch tell me when it was an appropriate time to stop. His moans grew in volume, keying me into the act. His hips shifted under me as he let out a long groan, hand pushing my head down until my nose made contact with his stomach.

I was so close to where I could see the outline of his actual erection through his underwear, our actions likely having made it appear. I could smell his natural scent this close to him, almost jealous that he’d been able to taste and smell mine and I hadn’t been able to do the same the first day.

After a beat, I slowly dragged myself back up. I made a show of pressing a lazy kiss to his chest and wiping the corner of my mouth before settling next to him.

“It still surprises me how good of a cock-sucker you are,” he hummed.

My face felt like it was on fire at his words despite me not actually doing what he said, just the words alone made me heat up. I hid my face in his neck, away from his teasing grin.

“The person who gave this to you. Lady? Dark hair? Short?” he murmured, pretending to turn and chase my embarrassed face. “Don’t get all embarrassed now,” he said louder.

“Mhm,” I laughed as his breath tickled my neck, pretending to push him away.

“She walked by, stared at me while you were under and smiled,” he hummed against my skin.

His words sent a chill up my spine.

Hotch laid back against the bed and pulled me against him again.

“That wasn’t a smile,” I inhaled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That was approval.”

-

The massage wasn’t until the afternoon, so we had time to kill. Under the guise of breakfast, we got ready and left the room. I took Hotch’s hand, and dragged him to the water first. It was warm enough outside in the late morning that the water felt refreshing rather than shocking.

Naturally wandering down the wet sand, I stared in the direction of Avery and Quinn’s patio. I didn’t see any movement, but squinted through the glare of the sun.

“Trust me?” I murmured to Hotch, who looked like he dreaded what I was about to do.

A muscle in his jaw jumped but he finally nodded. I clenched his hand and took off in a jog toward their patio.

“Avery! You guys up?” I turned up the excitement in my voice, blocking the sun from my eyes with my free hand as I got to their patio. “Quinn?”

I squinted harder, seeing the room pristine as if it hadn’t been lived in. There was no luggage to be seen and the bed was made the same way ours had been when we arrived.

“Hi, there,” a staff member appeared from the other side of the unit, a tight smile adorning her features.

I jumped at the sudden voice. It wasn’t the woman from earlier, but her attitude was very similar.

“We discourage interrupting couples in their rooms for privacy reasons,” she continued.

Privacy? How rich.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I laughed, my hand over my chest. “We had made plans to get breakfast together and I didn’t see them pass by us, is all.”

The woman clasped her hands together, not budging, “Unfortunately, Avery and Quinn had to leave earlier than expected.”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

No.

“Oh—what ha—”

“We can’t disclose that personal information. I’m sure you can understand?”

“R-right, of course. I’m so sorry, again,” I spared another glance at their room.

“Enjoy your massage,” she smiled, effectively ending the conversation and sending us on our way.

-

We ate lunch in relative silence, my knee shaking as I wanted so badly to ask Hotch what he would and wouldn’t be comfortable with during this massage, especially since I fully expected it to be under the watchful eye of a staff member. By the look on Hotch’s face, he knew I had something important to talk about and read me like a book.

As soon as we finished eating, he held out his hand and led me out to the beach away from everyone and hopefully any surveillance. We still had about an hour until we were to meet a staff member at a secluded cabana down the beach. It was both enticing and terrifying knowing we would be on our own.

Hotch stopped near the gentle waves, just close enough for our feet to get wet every so often and hugged me from behind comfortingly.

“Are you nervous?” he murmured.

“Yea,” I swayed with him. “It feels like a trap, but I also can’t get past what she said about this being a reward. We’re obviously doing something right if we didn’t get disappeared.”

“I don’t think they’d do something like that during the day, it’s too brash. Remember, they do need people to come and spend money on the trip regularly.”

“Yea, you’re right.”

“Then, what else is bothering you?” he wondered, his nose brushing the shell of my ear.

“I—I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable if they—you know, make us touch each other for an hour all sexual and shit.”

Hotch laughed, an honest to God laugh, not whatever bullshit laugh he put on for show here.

“I trust you with my life,” he assured me. I opened my mouth to interrupt him, but he gripped my waist tighter, “Let me finish. We’re both professionals and I know we didn’t really talk about the other day but you didn’t make me uncomfortable, I promise.”

He sighed, letting his lips fall to my shoulder, “I enjoyed myself…and I hope you did, too.”

I hid my face from him, groaning at his teasing laugh, “I did, I did.”

“Good,” he paused. “I’m glad it was us on this mission.”

I looked back at him, waiting for an explanation but only saw him looking out at the waves. He blinked and looked at me, kissing me softly and tightening his hold on me. I didn’t know what to do with my arms besides hold on to his forearms.

“I don’t think I could have done this with anyone else,” he murmured.

I did my best not to read into it, knowing he very well could do this with any other member of the team with lives at stake.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, you would have made it work regardless. That’s just who you are.”

“Maybe,” he nodded. “But, it’s easier with you.”

That. That, I couldn’t ignore. By the intensity in his eyes, he wanted me to read between the lines, too.

“Okay,” I nodded.

“Meaning, whatever they have us do? I trust you completely. I promise. And I hope you feel the same.”

“I do,” because truthfully, I’m sure I could have felt safe with any member of the team, but the way I clicked with Hotch? I knew I was in perfectly capable hands.

“Good. Ready?”

I nodded my head, but stopped him from walking by turning in his arms and placing a hand on his exposed chest beneath his loose button down. Out of pure-selfishness and to seal the promises we just made, I used a hand to guide him in for a kiss. One of his hands pressed into my lower back to hold us together, but let us part all too soon for my taste.

Hotch gave me a knowing smile, bringing his thumb and forefinger up to my chin, “We’re going to be okay.”

We set out down the beach, where the invitation indicated, seeing a cabana with huge, white, flowing curtains billowing on each side. They were transparent enough that you could see two people shapes inside but not transparent enough to make out details.

We slowed our steps as we approached the wooden platform. It was surprisingly void of sand, which made me kick my shoes off and leave them in the sand rather than track it on the platform. Hotch held my hand as I stepped up, finally letting my hand go to ditch his own shoes and follow me.

Two staff members, one woman and one young man stood clutching a clipboard each to their hips with their arms straight down. Their smiles felt less sinister than many of the other staff members, but they were dressed in the same white button downs, slacks, and plain work shoes as every other staff member.

“Welcome, we’re so glad to have you,” the woman greeted. “I will be guiding you through this experience and training my associate, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Hotch smiled, reaching out to shake the young man’s hand, recognizing him as the young man who brought our bags on the first day.

The young man seemed a little nervous, earning a glare from the woman but he presented his hand to Hotch after some hesitation.

“We provided drinks for you as well,” she indicated, gesturing to two drinks that they’d clearly taken notes on us ordering often. “If you would like any more, please let me know and my associate would be happy to make you more.”

“Thank you, so much,” I smiled, reaching for mine.

Hotch mimicked my movements, bringing his glass to mine for a small toast. The noise he let out as he sipped the scotch was borderline criminal—a cross between a hum and a moan.

“The scotch you use here is…” he hummed appreciatively again. “…it’s so good.”

He brought the glass to my lips, the little bit that I tasted making me wince both at the strong flavor and the flavor change from my own drink.

I blinked rapidly, feeling like I was breathing fire, “You can keep that.”

Hotch just laughed at me and took a bigger sip.

Realizing we were getting off track, I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the woman, “Sorry.”

“No, please, this exercise is all about you two to bring you closer. I want to encourage you to be as expressive as you want with your partner,” she smiled, her voice as soothing and serene as the breeze around us.

I nodded, feeling Hotch’s hand come to rest on my waist, “So, how is this working?”

“Well, typically, couple’s massages occur when a couple gets a massage together by two separate masseuses, as I’m sure you’re aware. Due to the nature of this retreat, we want to teach and encourage partners to implement massages to be closer to one another, for use as a form of foreplay, or even as aftercare. To start, you will massage your partner's back side from head to toe before moving to the front from head to toe. You’ll focus on non-sexual areas first. We have different oils you can choose to use for your partner. Take the time to undress one another completely, and when you’re ready and choose who will give first. If you need guidance, I am trained and can offer help without any physical intervention,” she stated with practiced ease. “Do you have any other questions?”

“What’s our time limit?” Hotch asked, ever the planner.

“No time limit, you can take as long or as short as you need. If this experience brings on sudden urges, you may act on them once both partners have gone. We are not here to rush or judge. You’re to treat us as if we’re not here unless you need something.”

Urges.

Sex.

Did she just insinuate we could get busy in front of them? Not that it was much different than the cameras, but…still.

We both nodded at her, then looked at each other.

“If there’s no more questions, you may begin when you’re ready.”

At that, Hotch nodded and tossed the rest of his drink back for some extra courage. I followed his lead and placed my empty glass next to his on the platter.

I smiled as Hotch invaded my space, his fingers finding the edges of my clothes easily.

“Can I give you yours first?” he asked, bringing his forehead to mine so his eyes solely focused on me as if we weren’t being watched or out in the open.

“Yes,” I let my fingers skim over his chest and fall to the buttons of his shirt, starting to pop them open.

With one last brush of his nose against mine, he began slowly dragging my clothes off my body. I stopped him from shrugging out of his shirt, letting my hands move up the planes of his chest to his shoulders to push the fabric off. I guided it down his arms and off one, then the other, until it fell into a pool on the floor with my clothes. My fingertips trailed down his abdomen, meeting coarse hair on his stomach just before I reached the waistband of his shorts. I managed to undo the shorts without looking and hooked my thumbs in both the shorts and his underwear to push them down his legs.

“Lay down,” he murmured.

I didn’t need to be told twice and laid down on the massage table covered in a soft, white sheet. My toes clenched anxiously as I was hyper aware of my exposed skin to the elements as the breeze filtered through the cabana. Hotch’s hands grazed my back briefly as he rounded the table, then made more firm contact. The tension melted from my shoulders at his reassurance.

“Any scent in particular?”

“Surprise me,” I mumbled.

I heard the clinking of glass for a moment, then felt Hotch’s presence by my head. I bit my lip in anticipation, not having to wait long before I felt his thumbs pressing into the muscles in the back of my neck. The moan that immediately escaped my throat was involuntary but warranted as he dug for every knot he could feel in my back.

I had a lot.

My boss was a bit of a hard-ass, I laughed to myself.

I inhaled deeply as his hands found my lower back, whimpering at a particularly sensitive area near the middle. As he moved onto my arms, I realized he’d picked an unscented oil. I could only smell the alcohol on my breath, the beach, and Hotch. The faintest vestiges of the soap from his shower this morning were overtaken by his own scent and a hint of sweat from the heat.

“No scent? You did surprise me,” I hummed, shying away from his hand as he went over a ticklish area.

His hands didn’t stop their movements, his mouth suddenly by my ear with his nose brushing my neck repeatedly, “I only wanted to smell you.”

I had to fight sleep as his hands bypassed my ass, digging into my hamstrings instead. As much as it hurt, it was relaxing as I felt my muscles unwind for the first time in ages. My feet twitched away from him as his calloused fingers skimmed the bottom of my foot rather than held my foot.

“I’m gonna kick you,” I mumbled, hearing him laugh and finally grab my foot.

The man had magic thumbs. It was unreal.

With my feet happy and pliant, his fingers teasing along the inside of my legs. He wasn’t stopping either, rising higher and higher until his thumb notched perfectly into the crease where my ass met my thighs. I let out the smallest of whimpers, one I would deny until the day I died.

But, Hotch heard it. The environment was quiet enough that there was no way he missed it.

“Can I get another round?” He murmured to the staff members.

The young man was all too quick to make himself busy, placing his pen and clipboard down on the chair he stood up from.

I didn’t realize I could have knots in my ass, but feeling how loose and pliant the muscles were after Hotch’s hands were done with them made me realize my body was in worse condition than I thought.

My breath hitched as this thumb slipped between my ass cheeks, his other fingers reaching forward to tease whatever sensitive skin he could reach. My hips pushed back against his hands, making him laugh softly and retreat his hand.

“Turn over, sweetheart,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to as I felt my body reacting to his teasing rather than relaxing. Whining as I tucked an arm in to roll over, Hotch’s hands helped guide me so I wouldn't fall off.

“Sit up a little,” he murmured, reaching for my freshly made drink and bringing it to my lips.

The ice cold liquid helped to cool my face and wet my dry mouth.

Hotch pulled it away from my face when I was done, easing me back down onto the table. He picked up his own drink, sipped it, and came back.

Before he re-oiled his hands, he brought his fingers to my temples and pressed his fingers firmly into my scalp, moving them in even patterns. Hotch’s hands moved down to my neck before disappearing entirely. Before I could open my eyes, I felt soft lips press against mine twice. They were gone too soon but replaced by freshly oiled hands on my shoulders.

His hands worked down to my chest, only getting level with my armpits before moving to my arms again. He redid each arm, gently placing it back down with a kiss to my wrist. His large hands gripped my rib cage, just under my arms, smoothing over the skin simply to touch. Just like before, he skipped straight to my legs, digging into my quads and calves until they were a loose puddle of muscle.

I kept my eyes closed, knowing what was coming next as Hotch’s fingers skimmed the inside of my thighs again. Bypassing where he knew I wanted to be touched the most, his thumbs happily dug into my hip flexors just above my thighs. It actually felt good but I let out a frustrated moan.

“So needy, sweetheart,” he murmured.

He wasn't much better, I noticed, feeling his erection brush my hand. I behaved and let him be. I let out a low moan as his slick hand finally made contact with my heated flesh, moving in agonizingly slow rhythms just to tease. He didn't tease me long, removing his hand after a couple minutes of torture.

“Shh, shh,” he smoothed his hand over my abdomen and flicked my nipples with his thumb. “Can't have you cumming and getting sleepy before it's my turn, honey. We have plenty of time.”

I nodded, agreeing, though not happy about it.

Giving me a satisfied smile, he pressed a kiss to my pouting lips and let me get up on my own terms.

It took me a second to get my footing, my legs wobbly after being so relaxed. Hotch finished his second drink and sat, brushing his hairy knees against my thighs in the process. He let out a full body groan as he laid face down, shoulders slumping against the table.

“The key here is to not rush,” I heard the woman speak up from the corner.

I nearly forgot they were here.

“Too often we neglect our partners when we’re too tired or already satisfied. Be aware and give him as good or better than you think you received.”

I was actually getting sound advice from a cult. Nice.

Deciding to copy Hotch on the unscented oil, I started much the same as him. The system was efficient, just like him. Why change it?

I let my hands run soothingly over his skin first, admiring the constellations of freckles across his shoulders and back. I fought the urge to gasp as my hands pressed into the muscles at the back of his neck and shoulder. He didn’t just “have knots”, the man was a walking knot. I couldn’t even press very hard without receiving a whimper in response.

No wonder he’d been drinking so quickly. He was trying to relax for this part. How did he exist like this?

“It’s okay, just go. I’m okay,” he assured me. “I’ll feel better after.”

I glanced at the staff member for guidance, not believing I was actually seeking guidance from these assholes.

She nodded, “Just go slow.”

Taking a deep breath, I worked on his back in sections and tried not to pay attention to his pained cries unless he outright told me to stop. Which he wouldn’t, I knew that much. I was relentless on the knots, not stopping until each one unwound and his whimpers eased. The pain in my hands from the effort stopped registering after a while.

I gave his back a break and worked on his arms, paying more attention to his forearms, wrists, and hands than anything because of our job. After paying attention to both arms, I placed my hand at the middle of his back.

“Feeling okay?” I looked his way despite his face being hidden.

He sniffled, releasing a shaky breath, “Yea, keep going.”

I sighed, threading my fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp soothingly. He jumped as I pushed my thumb into one of the erector spinae on either side of his spine. I adjusted my pressure, thinking I had hurt him.

“That part’s just ticklish, it’s okay.”

I continued, enjoying the quiet laughs as my fingers pressed into his sides, surprisingly ticklish there. My thumb pressed into the top of his glute, earning me a grunt.

“Sciatica?”

“Mhm.”

“Is there any part of you that doesn’t hurt?”

“I can think of one,” he lifted his head to look back at me with a smirk.

“I walked into that one,” I murmured and continued.

Thankfully, it looked like he carried most of his stress in his upper back, so the rest was a breeze. He seemed to enjoy the digging of my thumbs into his ass cheeks a little too much, but as long as he wasn’t crying anymore, I’d take it. I put extra oil on my hands as I got to his legs, not wanting to accidentally tug on his leg hair and cause any further pain. The groans he released as I worked on his legs and feet were far more pleasurable and turned me on more than I anticipated.

I still didn’t rush. She was surprisingly right.

The smile on his face as he turned over was worth it.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” I commented, patting his abdomen, not really massaging just yet, just touching.

“That’s what the hot tub is for.”

I shook my head, walking around to his head and pressing a kiss to his forehead. I wrapped my hands under his head as I did, letting my thumbs press into the sides of his neck. Happy hums left his chest as I paid attention to his head, surprised that he didn’t have a million knots there, too. It would be unrealistic of course, but I was still surprised.

Eventually, the hums stopped, his face slacked, and his breathing evened out.

He’d fallen asleep.

I couldn’t do anything but smile, keeping my movements slow and steady to avoid jostling him awake. I pressed my fingers into his chest loosening the taut muscles, especially where they met his shoulders. Not wanting to tickle him awake, I skipped his abdomen and moved to his leg—focusing on those and not his half-hard erection. His foot twitched as I grabbed it but barely reacted as I pushed my fingers into the arches of his feet. The only noise he made was a simple breath releasing from his nose.

I brought my hand back to his abdomen, letting my hand skim down to his protruding hip bones.

I still didn’t look. I—

“Are you just going to stare or…?” Hotch murmured, an arm—one I didn’t even notice had moved—tucked behind his head. His eyes were half open, glancing down to where my fingers teased his hip.

“Are you going to ask nicely?”

He was silent, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. His eyes twinkled, and not with tears.

“Touch me, sweetheart,” he requested, and I was weak to resist the way his lashes made his eyes impossibly darker.

“You’re the one who has to limp back to the room,” I commented, adding a little more oil to my hands. If I had to wait, so did he.

I did my best to not look hesitant as I reached out and teased his cock by trailing my finger up the shaft and pressing the head between my thumb and finger. Wrapping my hand fully around his cock, he was thick and hot in my hand. His hips pushed into my hand at the contact, but I didn’t budge, still moving my hand up his shaft at my own pace. He fully hardened in my hand, and I let go when he did.

“Babe,” he pleaded as his cock slapped against his stomach, leaking precum onto his oiled skin.

“Can’t have you cumming and getting sleepier,” I threw his words back at him.

He groaned, sitting up and stretching his newly loosened back.

“You’re free to use this space,” the staff member spoke up again.

Licking my lips, I looked at Hotch. I could see the hesitation in his eyes but he wouldn’t vocalize it.

The gentle smile on the woman’s face began to vanish.

So, I improvised.

“There’s a toy I found in the room that I’ve been dying to try on him, honestly.”

Her smile suddenly returned.

“We can give you a ride back to your room, if you’d like. I’m sure you’re…impatient…by now.”

“That would be great, actually,” Hotch smiled at the offer.

-

The cart ride back to the room was heated. The woman drove quickly and efficiently while the man sat fidgeting in the front seat. It was stupid of us to be so engrossed in each other rather than paying attention to our surroundings, but Hotch’s tongue was down my throat and my hand was down his pants as soon as we sat.

I don’t even think we were acting.

A clearing of a throat broke us out of our actions.

The cart had stopped.

It took me a moment to realize we had arrived at our room. Removing my hand from his pants hurriedly as the staff members looked back at us, I scrambled out of the golf cart with Hotch close on my heels.

“Thank you!” I called back to where they still sat in the cart.

The woman flashed me a knowing smile.

The door gave way to my key easily. The door had barely shut behind Hotch when I was met with his broad form backing me up against the edge of the bed in a few long steps. My knees just about wobbled at the look in his eyes.

No words were exchanged as we ripped the clothes off of one another that had barely been replaced a few minutes ago. I found myself astride his hips, large hands gripping and plastering my body against his with his cock trapped snugly between us. His cock was aching—practically purple from neglect—and leaking all over his stomach.

“I need you, sweetheart, please,” he whispered against my cheek. “I need you.”

The look on his face was pure desperation. He wasn’t acting. Frankly, neither was I.

“Sure?” I mouthed.

He nodded furiously, “Please.”

I leaned over him, pulling open the nightstand drawer and digging my hand in. Hotch’s mouth attached itself to my chest, licking over the dips and peaks, laving over sensitive nipples. It was a miracle I was even able to grab a toy as I promised the woman. I pulled a small finger vibrator from the drawer along with some lube and a condom. I shrugged, figuring that would do as I looked it over in view of the camera.

I rolled the condom on him with a teasing slowness he didn’t appreciate for a second. Still, ever the gentleman, he slicked two fingers up and wormed them between us, pressing against my entrance.

“I don’t nee—” I moaned in the back of my throat as his fingers pressed deep, stretching and pressing against my walls.

“I know what you need,” he interrupted me, curling his fingers and pressing harder, ripping another moan from my throat.

“I need you inside me,” I gasped, holding his wrist down with one hand so I could raise myself off his fingers.

Lube was spread haphazardly over the condom in our haste. His hand gripped the base of his cock as I lined myself up, hands and fingers digging with bruising grips into the same shoulders and chest I had just healed.

The stretch of him was intense, more than I expected but very little had gone in the way of preparation besides the massage. His hum was satisfied, finally feeling some kind of relief as I worked my way down his shaft. Each groan leaving his throat was wobbly, as if he had to keep himself together to avoid cumming too quickly. Hotch’s hands itched on my waist, eager to urge me along.

I patted around the bed for the little vibrator I’d found, ripping it out of its packaging and thanking the stars that it was charged. I hooked it on my finger and waited for the perfect moment to introduce it.

When I felt ready, I found an easy rhythm. If this was the only time I’d be in this position, I wanted to savor it. Hotch’s feet came up to plant themselves on the bed, giving me more stability with his knees supporting me from behind.

“That’s it,” he praised as I sped up.

One hand left my waist to help me along, using his fingers to tease, rub, stroke—anything. I craned my thumb to switch the vibrator on and brought the finger-shaped device to his nipples, enjoying the gasps that left his throat with each teasing vibration.

“Kiss me,” he requested.

I couldn’t refuse such a pretty gaze, meeting his mouth with a needy whine. I did my best to keep the rhythm, assisted with his hand guiding me every time I faltered. His eyes just about rolled back in his head as I clenched around him. As patient of a man as Hotch was, he was pent up from the massage and the long three days we’d had so far.

His impatience made itself known as he used his hips, feet, and arms to roll me onto my back. Hotch’s hips took off from there, jack-hammering that spot inside me so perfectly I could hardly catch my breath through the moans. His arms hooked just under my legs, lifting my hips off the bed enough to accomplish his feat.

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart,” he panted, hips and abdomen flexing and straining in full view. “Come with me, come with me,” he panted, on the verge of pleading.

I righted the vibrator that hung uselessly from my finger and pressed it against myself, hands shaking as I fought to hold it together and come with him.

“Yes, yes,” I gasped as my toes curled, my body tense and squeezing Hotch in more ways than one as my hands reached out for his arms where they still hooked my legs.

Hotch was dropping my legs and plastering himself against me, grasping at anything he could reach as he came with a few sharp thrusts. He hid his precious gasps and groans in my neck, but I tugged him away by the hair, kissing him and swallowing the vibrations as I purposefully squeezed around him.

I could feel the urgency and adrenaline leave his body, his tongue slow and languid as it pushed past my lips. His body was heavy against mine but slow to move away.

I didn’t mind the weight, happy to hold him as long as he wanted as he came down from the events of the day.

Eventually, his lower back ached from the position, and in an attempt to not regress all of my hard work on his back, he pushed himself up and away, slow and measured like a cat rising from a nap.

I made a noise of discontent in the back of my throat, desperate to keep contact with him after all that.

“One second, baby,” he pressed a kiss to one of my outstretched hands and left to clean himself up, rummaging through a drawer, presumably to update the team considering—we were definitely here to bring this organization down rather than let them convince us to fuck.

When he returned, he produced a damp resort towel for me.

“I knew I married you for a reason,” I smiled, reaching for the towel only for him to bat my hand away slither into the bed next to me.

He brought the towel to my messy, hypersensitive skin; taking care to clean me up while looking at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was used to seeing from Hotch. He pressed his lips to my brow, then my cheek, tossing the towel somewhere unimportant.

“Okay?” he murmured.

I nodded, languid and sleepy after the events of the evening. With care I could have wept at receiving, he pulled the covers back and out from under me, then covered both of us.

“Go to sleep,” he smiled softly,

He reached for the light switch, the soft click being the only noise in the room besides our breathing. His body pressed up against my back, warm and comforting with his arms holding me close. I felt myself slowly spiral into sleep, lulled by the waves outside and Hotch’s gentle breathing.

-

Day 4

When I blinked my eyes open next, I didn’t expect the room to still be dark. I blinked my eyes again.

Why was I awake?

Attempting to move my arm, I felt Hotch’s hand immediately grab my wrist and pin it tight to my body.

“Don’t move.”

“W—”

I didn’t have time to ask my question as a knock sounded at the door, clearly not the first one. I heard a staff member saying our aliases through the door, apologizing for the interruption, then muffled, hushed tones.

“Are you sure they’ll wake up? They didn’t the other nig—”

“Shut up, you’re so fucking loud,” a voice growled back.

“If they wanted us gone, they wouldn’t have knocked, no?” I murmured.

Hotch was quiet, thinking through my question, then made a noise of agreement.

Hotch groaned, making a show of stretching his long limbs, before getting out of bed. I moaned grumpily at the loss, sitting up while he answered the door, not even bothering to cover himself. I flicked on the lamp on the nightstand to help him, letting my eyes drift over his backside for just a second before focusing back on our safety.

Hotch answered the door, greeted by two male staff members, one older and burly, while the other younger was lanky but toned. Hotch’s hair was a mess, eyes bleary and still trying to focus in the low light. The staff members immediately averted their eyes back to Hotch’s face when they realized he hadn’t bothered putting any clothes on.

“Yes?” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face, feigning an attempt to wake up.

“Good morning, sir, we apologize for the interruption,” the older one spoke and bowed his head slightly. “The night manager has requested an audience with you and your spouse to congratulate you on your achievements the last few days.”

“Right now? What time is it?” he sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“3:35 AM, sir. And, yes, now. The night manager does his best work—well—at night,” the man chuckled to himself.

“Uhm, yea okay. Give us a few minutes? We don’t smell all that great,” Hotch gave them a sheepish smile.

He shut the door, coming to me and bringing his mouth to my ear, “Quick shower to wake yourself up. We’re meeting management.”

My heart pounded as I got out of bed and followed Hotch.

It didn’t take us long to wash the leftovers of our earlier activities off and get dressed. For what? We didn’t know, but decided to dress no differently than during the day. The night air was still warm in this part of the world, so the shiver I expected to hit as we stepped outside never came. Instead, the air was moderately humid causing our skin to feel tacky as soon as we stepped onto the sand. It only added to our discomfort.

The golf cart ride was short, but I wrapped my arms around Hotch’s arm nonetheless, not exactly happy about being awake at this hour. His hand came down to the inside of my thigh, rubbing his hand soothingly to calm both of us.

The cart whined to a halt as we reached the main resort area. The staff members stepped out quickly, guiding us precisely where to go before we could wander off by accident.

“Follow us, please,” the older one instructed, waving his hand in the direction of the younger staff member in front of us.

We entered the main resort building where we’d checked in, but were taken to the opposite side of the spacious lobby where private offices were located down a hallway. The only reason I wasn’t more hesitant as we followed them was the lack of drugging or knocking us out to get us here and the fact that Hotch was with me.

One of the staff members knocked on the door twice before a gravelly voice sounded on the other side, “Enter.”

The office was dimly lit and the angle caused it to cast long shadows as we stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of something harsh—like a cheap cologne and mildew.

Behind a large, immaculately polished desk sat the Night Manager. He was a frail-looking man, almost ghostly pale, with deep-set eyes that rapidly assessed us in the low light. His fingers were long and bony, drumming slowly against the desk as he observed us with an unreadable expression.

“Ah,” he rasped, voice like sandpaper grinding against metal. “Our star couple. Please, sit.”

We exchanged a glance before obeying, sinking into the uncomfortable wooden chairs in front of his desk. I clasped Hotch’s hand in mine, not too desperately so as to give off fear but to give the impression of comfort and love.

The Night Manager leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together, “I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve called you here at this hour.”

Hotch fell into his role, giving the man a slow smile interrupted with a pretty convincing yawn that he covered with his free hand, “A little. We were told you wanted to congratulate us?”

A slow, thin-lipped smile stretched across the man’s face. It was chilling. Though I was convinced any smile the man gave—genuine or not—would be much the same.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Congratulations. You’ve done remarkably well these past few days. Your commitment to the experience, your trust and confidence in each other, your…affection for one another. It’s exactly what we like to see.”

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shift in my seat. There was something off about the way he said it, but it was quickly becoming clear that the Night Manager was far more important to the operation than we thought, given his absence from our initial intel.

“Thank you,” Hotch said smoothly.

The Night Manager hummed, “You see, this resort is an opportunity to test your relationship—one that not everyone is suited for. But you two?” He gestured at us with spindly fingers. “You are exactly the kind of couple we hope to cultivate.”

Hotch’s fingers twitched ever so slightly in my hand, but his voice remained calm, “How so?”

The Night Manager smiled again, “We pride ourselves on our…special clientele. People come here looking for paradise, for an escape, for a place where the constraints of the outside world don’t apply. But the truth, of course, is that not everyone deserves paradise. Only couples who preserve what it means to be two halves of a whole. Two souls separated at creation.”

He let that statement linger, as if expecting us to piece something together. Maybe expecting us to give up that we knew more than we let on. A test of our true intentions and that our aliases weren’t fabricated.

I kept my face pleasant, an easy smile drawing across my lips, even as my mind raced.

“There are initiates here,” the Night Manager continued. “Couples who need…guidance. They’re uncertain, resistant, sometimes even fearful. But a reassuring voice, a friendly face, a convincing couple—they can make all the difference.”

Hotch exhaled through his nose, “You want to…hire us?”

The Night Manager’s grin widened, his teeth small and yellowed, “In a manner of speaking. Think of it as…helping people find their purpose. Some couples come here hesitant about our methods. But with the right encouragement? With the right examples?” He gestured between us. “They see how fulfilling this experience can truly be. They commit. They invest. And in return, they are rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, “And those who don’t?”

The Night Manager exhaled, as if disappointed by the question, “Not every couple is suited for this level of privilege. Some find it difficult to embrace the experience fully, to synergize with what we offer here. Those who resist? Well,” he gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Some people simply aren’t meant to move forward with us.”

My stomach twisted at the sneer that came over his face.

“Others,” he continued, his fingers drumming idly on the desk, “have all the potential but… lack harmony. A couple must function as a unit, don’t you agree? If one partner hesitates while the other acts, it creates imbalance. And imbalance, unfortunately, has consequences.”

The implication settled between us like a thick fog.

“And what exactly are those consequences?” Hotch asked, his voice smooth but pointed.

The Night Manager regarded him with something akin to amusement, “Oh, I think you already understand.” He was smart to not say it out loud. “You've already met some of our other star couples who have been instrumental in our work.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Leo and Becca?” I asked.

He smiled—more like a grimace, “Yes, lovely aren't they?”

“Yea, they're great,” I smiled, looking over at Hotch, who smiled in return.

“I hope you don't mind that we’ve done some extensive research on you two. We do with all of our new clients,” he opened a folder containing much of the information Garcia had fabricated for us. “A lawyer and an accountant are also very, very valuable to us as you can imagine.”

Hotch smiled smugly portraying that he was well aware of his worth, “I don't mind at all. Talking about my victories is my favorite pastime.”

“I'm sure,” he grinned. “You're both exceedingly impressive.” Then, as if nothing had happened, the Night Manager straightened, brushing off his lapels. “Now then. Let me show you the true heart of our resort. I think you’ll find it…enlightening to our work.”

He stood, moving with an eerie, effortless grace. Behind his desk, a door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Hotch stood, reaching his hand out to me to help me stand. His hand engulfed mine with a gentle squeeze as we stood side by side, following the Night Manager through the threshold with the two staff members we came with bringing up the rear.

The deeper we went, the harder it would be to leave.

Was it a mistake to follow him? Probably.

But we couldn’t leave now without drawing unwanted attention to ourselves.

The Night Manager led the way, his boney fingers laced behind his back, the soft shuffle of his loafers the only sound in the pristine hallway. The two staff members flanked us, close enough to remind us of their presence.

“There’s another reason we chose you two,” the night manager rasped, barely above a whisper, yet his voice echoed through the cold, sterile corridor. “Most couples come here thinking they’re strong, but you…” He turned his head slightly, glancing at us from the corner of his sunken eyes. “You’ve demonstrated a unique harmony. An understanding of partnership. And that makes you valuable.”

Hotch didn’t react, his facial expression carved from stone. I forced myself to do the same, even as unease curled in my stomach.

We reached a set of double doors, sleek and white, with an old-fashioned keycard scanner. One of the staff members produced it from his pocket and swiped it. A soft beep, a mechanical click, and the doors slid open.

Inside, the atmosphere was light. The air was cool, unnervingly fresh, like a high-end spa. The hallway stretched before us, lined with private rooms. Each had a frosted glass door, obscuring the view inside, but movement flickered behind some. A quiet sob. The shuffle of feet. The hum of a soft-voiced recording playing through speakers.

“These,” the Night Manager gestured with a long hand, “are the Conditioning Suites. Couples who need a little…encouragement. The ones who arrive too afraid to embrace their potential or simply don't synergize well enough. But with time, with guidance, they see the benefits of our philosophy.”

We walked past one of the doors just as a figure moved inside. A woman sat on the edge of a plush, white bed, hands folded in her lap, eyes vacant. A man knelt in front of her, whispering something, his grip firm on her wrist. The door was soundproof, but her lips trembled as she nodded along. I vaguely remembered them from the welcome dinner the first night, but they had been sitting at a different table.

My chest tightened.

“Their progress is monitored, of course,” the Night Manager continued, his fingers lightly brushing one of the frosted panels. “Some take to it quickly. Others…” He made an amused squeak in the back of his throat, his voice trailing off as we reached the end of the hall.

At the end of the hall, we met another set of doors. This time thick metal, with a biometric scanner. One of the staff members pressed his thumb to the scanner while the Night Manager waited.

The doors groaned as they opened, revealing a room that contrasted starkly to the suites behind us.

It was colder here. The sterile freshness of the previous hall was replaced by something stagnant, metallic. The lighting was dimmer, buzzing overhead, casting long shadows against the gray-tiled walls. There were no frosted doors here. Just cold metal, like cages to house animals. Horizontal slots were cut into the cages like prison doors for inmates to receive food.

“This,” the Night Manager said, voice almost reverent, “is where we separate those who are incompatible with the program and from whom you will be generously compensated for your troubles.”

A sharp clang echoed down the corridor. A weak, shuddering cough followed.

The faintest smell of bleach and something coppery. Blood, likely. My fingers twitched at my sides.

“Couples who resist—,” the Night Manager sighed, shaking his head. “Who cannot or will not embrace the beauty of partnership…” He trailed his fingers along the closest cage. It was empty but no less chilling. He, then, turned to look at us with a small, knowing smile. “They don’t last long.”

I fought the urge to glance at Hotch.

“Shall we?” the Night Manager asked, not specifying whether we were done or if there was more.

Hotch cracked a smile, “Preferably somewhere warmer?”

“Certainly.”

The Night Manager gestured back the way we came. As we turned my eye caught a familiar face.

Avery.

Their hands were shackled, skin littered in bruises and cuts. They silently sobbed into their palms.

Quinn was nowhere in sight.

As if feeling my eyes on them, Avery's eyes snapped to me, their breathing quickening as they pleaded for help.

“W-wait! Help me! Please!” their cries echoed. “Don’t leave me here!” I heard them crying out our alias’s names, their voice cracking and straining through the sobs.

A stern bark sounded from across the room with a loud clunk followed by hasty, angry footfalls.

“Come now,” the Night Manager ushered us away.

One of the staff members not-so-gently pushed Hotch forward from his back, my body being forced forward as a result. I tried to catch myself to not stumble, my arm tightening around Hotch’s to steady myself.

The screams followed us until the door shut behind us. Then, blissful silence as we re-entered the Conditioning Suites.

“The couples here,” Hotch spoke up. “Do they return to the beach when they're better?”

“Oh, they get far better than that,” he smirked. “A European getaway for their hard work, and they’re well taken care of. If a couple you bring in graduates to that, you also get compensated.”

The way he said “European getaway” made me feel sicker than I already felt. That had to be the trafficking part of this operation. All the compensation he kept mentioning had to be their stolen assets.

“How lovely,” I cooed. “You still need to take me to Italy, my love.”

“In due time,” Hotch hummed, pressing his lips to my head.

“If you come on board now, you'll have more than enough for an Italian villa by next summer,” the Night Manager grinned, turning back toward us, gesturing vaguely with his boney fingers.

“How does that sound, hmm?” Hotch hummed, nose brushing mine.

“Perfect,” I answered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips and finding comfort in his embrace as we continued walking.

As we entered the Night Manager’s office once more, the door shut behind us with a quiet click and hiss. He waved us back into the seats across from his. The two staff members posted up at the door to his office, as if they didn’t trust us to stay put. It was clear that we couldn't leave until he was done.

“I hope this has been an enlightening experience for you both,” he sighed, groaning as his joints popped as he sat. His eyes searched our faces with an eerie amusement playing about his lips, knowing we didn’t have much of a decision. “I trust you understand what’s expected of you, now, based on your interactions with Becca and Leo?” His fingers were steepled under his chin as he asked us.

I looked at Hotch who nodded to me and took my hand, “We do,” we said at almost the same time.

“In sync as we love to see,” the Night Manager grinned. “Well before I can let you return to your room, I need a show of good faith. Loyalty.”

Hotch blinked, fingers barely twitching on my hand, “What do you need?”

The Night Manager smirked, his eyes flickering between us. The tension between us was making me anxious. Were we going to have to hurt someone? Each other?

His chair creaked softly as he leaned to reach for one of his drawers, unlocking the drawer and pulling out a thick, worn leather-bound ledger. The pages were old and yellowed, crinkled from the moisture in the air, but the contents were easy to decipher. A detailed record of couples on their payroll, those who had pledged themselves—unwilling or otherwise—to this cult. Names, dates, signatures and—blood?

“This book is older than any of us,” he said, running his hand reerently over each page he flipped through. “Everyone who matters to this operation has signed their life to us here. But, ink isn’t quite…binding enough for my liking.”

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, sharp blade that we both looked at warily.

“Not to worry,” he produced sealed wipes and slid them over with the knife. “We’re not in the business of infecting our prized possessions.”

Hotch reached for the blade first, looking at the Night Manager questioningly.

“Just your fingerprint, dear boy. Right here,” he tapped the page where our aliases had already been written with what seemed to be an ID number. “A proof of your commitment and insurance that you will keep things here confidential.”

I made note of where he’d pulled the ledger from, the DNA evidence in it could be priceless to the investigation and catching any stragglers. When we raided the compound, this would have to be one of the first grabs besides the victims downstairs.

Hotch flicked the blade open, cleaning it and his skin before pricking his thumb. He squeezed his thumb, letting the blood bead up and leaned toward the ledger which was now facing him the right way. His blood joined others’ fingerprints, which were now more brown than red from exposure to the elements.

Hotch handed me the knife and I followed suit, wiping his blood off the blade and cleaning my thumb before pricking my thumb. I cringed slightly, unable to completely ignore the sting. I pressed my own on the space next to my alias, shoving my thumb into my mouth immediately after to lap the drying blood off my thumb.

The Night Manager smiled, satisfied, and snapped the book shut. He tucked it back where he pulled it from and sat up straight once more.

“Welcome to the Twin Path.”

He gave us a final nod, waving at us to indicate we were free to go. As quickly as we were ushered in, we were being ushered out.

“You’ll receive further instructions later.”

I rose from my seat slowly, almost unsure, but was reinvigorated by Hotch standing up casually with a nod and smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt.

“Let’s go back to bed, honey,” he murmured, hand finding mine easily as the staff members opened the door for us.

“I’m excited to have you two on board,” he gave us one final sentence as the door shut behind us.

-

The cart ride back to our little bungalow was quiet, the tension still wound tightly in our bodies though we did our best not to show it to the two staff members. When the cart arrived, we couldn’t get out fast enough, bidding them goodbye and scrambling inside.

We had been with the Night Manager longer than expected. The sun was breaking over the land behind us, shining bright orange across the sky and bringing out the blue of the water sharply against the greyed sand. No one was up yet, the beach around us still sleepy and quiet, with the only sounds being the lapping waves and local wildlife waking up.

Stripping off the clothes I hastily put on earlier, I tucked myself back into bed without bothering to look at the agenda for the day. I heard Hotch rummaging through his bags and head to the bathroom, clearly still coherent enough to work. My eyes fluttered shut, only opening when I felt the bed dip next to me.

“It’s okay,” he hushed, pressing his lips to my head as he slid between the covers. He buried his face into my neck, wrapping his long limbs around me, “Have to hold out for the day so they can get ready. Nothing mandatory on agenda, just sleep.”

I wrapped my arms around him, fighting the way my hands shook from the adrenaline dump.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

I dug my fingers into his back, tilting my head to search for his mouth. His lips found mine, pressing softly; more comforting than anything. The situation had bled dry all the residual sexual desire we might have had from the night before. His hand engulfed the back of my head, pulling me tightly against his body. His unshaven face prickled against my chin, making me grimace but it was a welcome distraction. Hotch pulled away with a sleepy hum, laying on his back and inviting me to tuck myself into his warmth. I admired the way the light outside began glinting against his salt and peppered beard before my eyes finally shut.

-

Sleep didn’t last as long as I would have hoped.

I woke to the feeling of something…not right. Not unlike the feeling of being watched the last few days. I pressed my forehead into Hotch’s chest, groaning as I felt his hands trying to rouse me gently.

I opened my eyes, my body shooting upright and back toward the headboard.

Silent figures surrounded the bed, watching us intently.

Hotch reached out to settle me, having woken up before me and seen them first.

I was terrified at the intrusion but confused given that it was broad daylight. The heat was emanating through the back sliding door, the harsh light outside making it seem unnaturally darker inside.

A shiver ran down my spine as I realized this wasn’t over yet. But, the team was on their way, weren’t they?

“Time for your initiation,” Trent’s voice chirped in a sing-song voice from the doorway, more warmth to his tone than the Night Manager.

This rollercoaster of a morning was not sitting well with my stomach. It continued rolling and churning from the stress, lack of food—not that I’d be able to hold anything down right now—and the sterile but damp musk that still clung to my nose. The only time it had calmed was when I’d breathed in Hotch’s scent.

They’d been pushy about wearing all white and I grimaced at the thought of getting the inevitable stains out if blood was to be involved again. Honestly, after this op, all the clothes I brought with me were getting burned. I’d never be able to wear them again without smelling this awful place.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Trent apologized, turning to face us in the back of the cart, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “You weren’t answering the door and we were worried. Just one more task to complete and you’ll be fully fledged members,” he grinned, sharp, white canines contrasting his tanned skin.

“No problem,” Hotch smiled, clutching the coffee they provided in his hand, taking a sip after I’d tested it with my pinky. “Had an eventful night, then the meeting at three, so we were beat.”

“Ha, I can imagine. You two didn’t waste any time when you arrived,” his grin was sly and predatory.

Bile rose up in my throat despite the sweet smile on my face. Hotch’s free hand came to the back of my neck, his touch helping to ease my fear as he traced imaginary circles there.

We were ushered back down through the Conditioning Suites into the damp dungeon that re-assaulted my nose immediately. I tried to emulate the same confidence that Hotch presented as we followed Trent down the hall with staff members behind us, only being half as successful as I’d hoped.

The damp air thickened as we descended further. The sound of dripping water echoed in the narrow hallway, the fluorescent bulbs flickering overhead like they were struggling to stay alive in solidarity with the captives just below them. Each step felt heavier, my heartbeat growing louder in my ears. It smelled of damp rot and old blood. The air clung to my skin, heavier than the humidity outside, soaking into my lungs all over again.

The first thing I noticed as we passed through the biometric door was the Night Manager on the other side, waiting to bear witness to…what?

Trent led the way, hands casually clasped behind his back like this was just another morning ritual, “You’ve done well so far,” he mused. “It’s rare for newcomers to be so…committed after such a short time, so we wanted to be sure,” His tone was syrupy and fake.

The Night Manager followed closely behind us like a grim shadow.

I forced a chuckle, “We believe in the process.”

Hotch hummed in agreement, his grip tightening ever so slightly against my neck—just enough to remind me he was right there. That we’d get through this.

Then, Trent stopped.

A heavy metal door loomed ahead. The two staff members behind us shifted, and I felt the weight of their presence, an unspoken warning that turning back wasn’t an option.

Trent produced a key and slid it into the rusted lock. He took his time unlocking the heavy steel door, the clank of metal on metal grating against my nerves. It clicked open with an almost theatrical slowness.

I wasn’t prepared for what was inside. The room was dim, lit by a single bulb swaying from the ceiling. At the center of the room sat—

Avery.

With still no sign of Quinn, though I’d been too distracted to look properly.

Avery was bloodied, restrained, and barely conscious.

I sucked in a breath through my nose, struggling to keep my expression neutral. Hotch, ever composed, merely tilted his head as if assessing the scene with detached curiosity.

Trent gestured toward a small wooden table where various knives and a set of pliers rested. A sick little selection that nearly made me squirm, but my fingers rested on the table for balance.

Hotch reached for a small knife first, inspecting the blade as if considering its craftsmanship. “And?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow at Trent.

Hotch tested the weight of it in his palm as he waited for an answer, the blade not even long enough to clear the length of his palm.

Trent leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, “Avery’s been…more difficult than we anticipated. We need to soften them up. A little pain, a little fear. Nothing lethal. Just enough to remind them of their place.” Trent sighed dramatically, like this was just an inconvenient chore, “Before you fully join our family, we need something concrete.” His grin widened, flashing too many teeth, “A shared burden, if you will.” He gestured lazily to Avery, “We’re not asking you to kill them—just a lesson. A little reminder that non-believers don’t thrive here.”

Avery groaned weakly, their swollen eyes cracking open just enough to see us. And then pure, raw terror filled their gaze.

They thought we were really going to do it. My heart clenched at the thought of them believing Hotch and I could be so monstrous.

Hotch exhaled slowly, spinning the knife in his grip before sighing with an air of casual indifference, “Are you sure this won’t just make them more withdrawn and scared?”

Trent scowled, “They’re failing to adapt. We don’t tolerate weakness here.”

I swallowed thickly, glancing at Hotch.

We were out of time.

Hotch looked at me, still holding the knife, as if we were deciding together. But I saw the way his fingers shifted subtly on the handle. He was stalling, too; waiting for an opening.

Avery let out a weak whimper from between their cracked and bleeding lips, making my pulse roar in my ears.

If we stalled too much, we’d blow our cover. If we played along too well, we’d have to live with it.

And then—

BOOM.

The entire room rattled as something crashed above us.

A heartbeat later, the distant sounds of shouting and pounding footsteps. One of the staff member’s radios crackled for a moment but no one spoke from the other side.

Trent snapped his head toward the door, his scowl deepening, “What the hell—”

I dared to make eye contact with Hotch again. The raid was here.

Before we could fully register what was happening above us, a blast went off; the heavy metal door to the basement blasted off of its hinges. Armed agents barged in through the smoke, trapping Trent, the Night Manager, and the other two staff members before they could bolt. It couldn’t have worked out any better, honestly.

Hotch dropped the knife and we both raised our arms up and kneeled on the ground as guns were pointed our way.

It was easier like this.

One of the other agents used bolt cutters to unchain Avery as we were taken away in zip ties. We passed through the Night Manager’s office again, seeing Reid and Prentiss forcing open the drawer that contained the ledger.

Good.

As we were ushered back outside, we were met with agents sifting through the attendees, separating those on payroll from those who were innocent.

“I’ve got these two,” a voice spoke up, my body relaxing almost instantly hearing Rossi through all the noise.

He led us to a helicopter where JJ was waiting for us already with our belongings packed.

“Good work, you two,” Dave gave us each a pat on the shoulder and helped us into the helicopter.

As we took off, JJ finally cut our restraints. We practically melted into the seats as the stress of the day vanished.

“You two aren’t injured?”

I shook my head tiredly and Hotch gave her a short, “No.”

“We’ll wait for the others at command and debrief on the plane, so you two can rest a bit,” JJ smiled, understanding the exhaustion evident in our postures.

-

We slept fitfully while the rest of the team oversaw the raid, only allowing for a couple hours of sleep before we were loading onto the jet home.

We debriefed in detail, glossing over most of the sexual encounters to save the team from those mental pictures. The agents who had raided the basement found Quinn in far worse shape than Avery, but alive. Both of their recoveries would be trying and long but they at least had each other.

The next phase would include finding everyone in the ledger to cut off every head possible of the cult, but that would be a job for tomorrow.

I nodded off as the conversation died down, feeling Hotch’s eyes on me for most of the debrief. He was worried, probably that this whole thing had affected me more than we thought, and he would be right. But, all things considered, we got off with an insane amount of luck.

I startled awake as the plane landed, sitting up straight and gripping the arm rests with worried glances thrown my way. It was only logical, my reaction, considering we’d been woken up several times to those damn cultists doing strange things.

“You need a ride home?” Morgan asked as we got off the plane, hand hovering at my back but not making full contact, just in case.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” I gave him a barely there smile.

Morgan sighed, resigning to my decision. He nodded and let his fingertips drift to my shoulder as he stepped away. I glanced back to the plane where Hotch was talking to Prentiss as they were the last ones to exit the plane, but ground my teeth at the thought of asking him for help.

I was home. I’d be fine.

I met Rossi and Reid’s eyes as they glanced in my direction, but just gave them a tight smile and a wave. Reid returned the wave with sympathy written all over his face, but didn’t say anything.

“Night, kid,” Rossi called as he walked off.

I made my mind up, straightening my shoulders and marching to my car as bravely as possible.

I missed him, I realized as I drove home. Hell, I probably lov—no, no.

I glanced at my phone several times on the way, refusing to call him but slightly hoping he’d call me. But, he was going through the same thing I was, he was just better at hiding it. I’d be lucky if he even looked in my direction tomorrow, his words and actions over the course of the operation just collateral damage. It wouldn’t be unreasonable.

A hot shower helped my nerves to a point but laying in bed by myself, remembering hearing the staff members dragging out Avery and Quinn and being unable to do anything about it. Remembering waking up this morning surrounded. Remembering the stench from the basement…

I stared at the empty dark ceiling above me, lit occasionally by headlights reflecting off windows and passing through the cracks in my blinds.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to wake up tomorrow and have everything I witnessed be nothing more than a nightmare. I wanted Hotch here to tell me we’d be okay. I wanted—

The scraping of feet on concrete broke me out of my thoughts. I sat up in bed, immediately reaching for the sidearm I neglected to put away. Throwing my covers off, I stalked as silently as I could toward the front of the house, the scraping still there but localized to one spot now. Like someone was pacing. The feet stopped and I held my breath as I brought my face to the peephole, seeing Hotch standing there illuminated by my porch light.

I unlocked the door slowly so as not to startle him since he hadn’t knocked. His head snapped to the slowly opening door as I brought my face out from the darkness.

“Hey,” I greeted softly.

His eyes softened as he realized I’d heard him, “Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head, stepping back and opening the door wider, hand still gripping my pistol. His eyes flicked to it but he didn’t acknowledge its presence.

Hotch stepped inside as I put the pistol down and scrubbed my face with both hands. He closed, then locked the door behind him, finding his way to me in the dark. I heard him take a breath in, like he was about to speak but nothing came out.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, stepping forward and crashing myself into his chest. My shoulders sagged as I breathed him in, hiding my face against him so he couldn’t see my chin trembling.

He wasted no time wrapping his arms around me, tucking his face in and pressing his lips to whatever he could reach. It was a desperate embrace, arms holding on for dear life but bringing peace nonetheless.

“I’m here, we’re safe,” he murmured.

I nodded against him, the few tears that escaped being absorbed by his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I cleared my throat, attempting to step back but his arms tightened.

“Don’t be.”

“I—you came here for something?” I wiped my face, stepping back more intentionally.

He let me this time.

“To talk,” he nodded. “But we can do that tomorrow, okay?”

I licked my lips, “Yeah, yeah.” I couldn’t help the, “Sorry,” that slipped out immediately after.

We were silent and I briefly wondered if he was going to just leave but the words tumbled from my mouth faster than I could stop them, “Will you stay?”

“Of course,” he murmured, finding my hand in the dark and letting me guide him to bed.

We faced each other under the sheets, fully clothed but shier than we’d been when we were void of clothes.

“Can I…?” my hand twitched toward him under the covers.

“Yea,” he whispered.

Our arms reached for each other at the same time, limbs tangling together and heads practically sharing a pillow.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

“Is that my fake husband asking or my boss?” I let out a soft laugh.

“Neither,” he hummed, his nose bumping mine from our close proximity. “Just Aaron.”

“Please,” I pulled him closer, welcoming his kiss.

It was soft, languid, and reassuring. As soon as it ended, I tucked my face into his neck and felt my eyes growing heavier with sleep, until I snored softly in his embrace.

[longlivejemily]

Behind closed doors. | s.r. |

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: forbidden relationship, secrets, college professor x student.

The dim light of the hallway was guiding your path down to his office; the darkness of night covered every window, there wasn't a soul around to hear the sound of your steps echoing, or maybe that echo was the beating of your heart chiming like clockwork in your eardrums.

His office door was slightly open, an orange hue of light casting from the lamp sitting at his desk. It was that familiar sight of the previous moment to get to his arms. With a soft knock to announce yourself you stepped in, closing the door behind you.

"Hi." —you said with the shy voice you always have when you see him, something that has become inevitable. He raised his head from the pile of papers on top of his desk. As you looked at him you dissected every tiny detail: the frame of his glasses delicately resting on the bridge of his nose, the loose tie around his neck, that soft rebel curl that always fells down over his forehead, the blue ink stains on his hands.

"Did anyone see you?" —he asked you as you dropped your bag and walked to him. The rules have been crystal clear since this started, no one can see you, no one can find out.

The first time it happened was on accident, pure coincidence, right place, right time, and definitely right person. There wasn't any scenario were this was going to end up well, everything was at risk. His job, his reputation, your scholarship, everything you two worked so hard to get, to achieve; in a blink of an eye you could lose everything, but neither him nor you seemed to care.

"The building was empty, kind of creepy actually." —you pointed out, standing beside him, waiting for his touch. His arm strongly wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

"I missed you, my classes are dull since you finished my course." —he confessed as he sat you on his lap, his nose ghosted over the skin of your shoulder. –"No one comes close to your brain, you know?"

His words were music to your ears, the way he praised you was what got you into this, into him.

"I don't think that's fair for your new students." —A soft little laugh escaped his lips.

"Maybe not, but I couldn't care less about them." —You raised your eyebrows, surprised. –"No, I mean... Of course I care about them. I just miss you." —he breathed out, defeated.

"I missed you too, by the way." — you confession made him squeez you tighter. As his chin rested on you shoulder, his nose buried on your hair, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. –"Do you think this could have a happy ending?" —your words hung on the air for a little too long.

"I don't know." —he finally responded. His fingers traced loose patterns over your thigh, his mind trying to put together something to say, something that could make both of you feel better. –"It's hard picturing the future... We been living day by day, why would we be worried about something we can't control?" —His words fell heavy on the pit of your stomach, the uncertainty, the empty promises. Risking it all for something he couldn't project forward.

"Then why are we doing this?" —your voice broke the silence that flooded his office. –"If you don't see a future with me, why do you keep me around?" –his demeanor shifter, his body tensed up.

"That's not what I mean, not at all." —he leaned back on his chair, his hands still on you, but it felt like he was taking distance, even if you where still sitting on his lap. –"I want to see a future with you, believe me. But that future feels far away, and I don't want to lose what we have now."

"What we have is a secret, Spencer." —your words hit him. His eyes scanned your face, trying to read you. –"Is it worth it risking everything? I could lose it all, I'm in constant fear of being caught, and I'm not only scared about me, I am for you too. This job is your life, and in the blink of an eye everything can crumble down..."

"Please... Please don't." —his whispered words made you stop, his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer. Your forehead rested on his, his breath warm against your skin. –"Maybe I can't face the fact that I'm terrified, I can't imagine losing you, my love. The idea of not having you is devastating. I can't picture my mornings without you, not waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of your laughter." —the worry in your eyes made him realize that everything he thought was wrong, there wasn't a single scenario in his head where you weren't a part of. After the longest pause he spoke again, putting you at ease. –"I guess I am picturing a future with you, because the sole idea of being without you is making my heart ache."

It felt genuine, it felt real, it felt right. You felt yourself melting into his embrace, your body fitting against his like two puzzle pieces that belonged together. His lips ghosted over yours, leaving you craving for more that just a caress of them.

"___, I love you more than words can describe, for you I would risk everything, because there's nothing left for me if there's no you." —his words were pure, a raw emotion that came straight from his heart, aiming for yours. "And if I have to prove myself to you, I'll do it."

"You don't have to prove anything." –your soft, vulnerable whisper made his heart skip a beat.

"Wrong. I have to prove everything, because how are you gonna know that I love you if I keep quiet." –there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

"Knowing that you love me is enough." —he could feel his heart beating faster at your words.

"Then I'll keep telling you until you get tired of me, but please, don't get tired of me." —there was a vulnerability he never showed before.

"I promise I won't get tired." —he smiled and buried his face on the crook of your neck.

The silence grew for a moment, comfortable and warm, no words were needed after that confession, nothing else to say. You closed your eyes as you sat comfortable on him, the place where you belong.

"I love you, ___" —he whispered and you knew there was no turning back now.

[longlivejemily]

☕️ CM Meet Cute Fics 📚

Hey friends! I want to start by saying thank you so much to everyone who participated - You are appreciated and the diversity only makes these events better.

Without further ado, here are all of the entries + recs for the Meet Cute Challenge! 🤗

@emberfrostlovesloki 's Masterlist of Entries: This lovely prolific writer has entered several fics, which include Hotch/Reader, Emily/Reader, and Spencer/Reader fics! Check out their page for even more!

P.S. At the end of this post, I included all my fics for this challenge!

SFW S.R./GN!Reader

Heart Language by @foxy-eva: Spencer has a crush on his doctor (and the feeling is mutual)

Warmth by @cecedownbad: A mystery man stumbled on to you, his gestures alone changing the dim scenery into a bright fantasy.

And in the Beginning... by @milla984: After spending a day at D.C.’s multifandom convention, Spencer spills his coffee on Reader.

(Not So) Stupid Things by @railingsofsorrow: Reader is a detective on a case the FBI is called to work on. While trying to make a good first impression, they forget that Spencer doesn't shake hands.

Frights & Fractures by @therealmsdelulu: Spencer accidentally gets hurt in a spooky attraction and Reader, a scare actor, breaks character to help.

Style Theory: Fashion student Reader meets their favorite scholar and teaches him a lesson in self-love.

SFW S.R./Fem!Reader

The Perfect Seat by @/foxy-eva: Reader's never liked crowded trains until a handsome stranger fell right into her lap.

Funny Thing Fate: Autistic!Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Coffee Caramels by @007reid: Reader sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.

Every Single Day by @astrophileous: When his daughter demands to hear the story of how Spencer and Reader met, he must oblige.

War and Peace & Coffee by @drgenius-reid: Spencer meets a lovely stranger in a coffee shop where they read together.

NSFW S.R./Fem!Reader

In Full Bloom by @/foxy-eva: A random interaction between Spencer Reid and Reader leads to weeks of longing and yearning until they decide they have spent enough time being strangers

Get Lucky: It’s 3AM and a pipe burst in Reader’s apartment. She is soaked, angry, and forgot her wallet and phone. Her neighbor Spencer tries his best to make the night not terrible.

Elevator Pitch by @reiderwriter: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive man sharing the metal box of death has an interesting idea about how to can pass the time.

And for my Next Trick... by @reidmotif: Reader and Spencer unknowingly match costumes at a Halloween party.

Assorted Fics (A.H., D.M., E.P., T.L., P.G.)

What a Ride by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Hotch/GN!Reader] Whilst on a bus ride to work, Reader gets knocked into a very handsome strangers lap.

Midnight by @foxy-eva: [NSFW, E.P./Fem!Reader] Emily is the most stunning woman Reader has ever seen, so she makes sure their night together doesn’t end anytime soon.

Falling for Me Already? by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Derek/Fem!Reader] It's Reader's first day of work, and her heel breaks. Thankfully, Derek is there to catch her.

Supervisory Special Agent by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Derek/Fem!Reader] Reader already met Derek, but neither of them realize it for a ridiculously long time because she has much bigger issues to worry about.

October by @gaelic-symphony: [SFW, Temily] The couple arrives in a couple's costume.

Adding It All Up by @masterwords: [SFW, Hotch/William LaMontagne Jr.] Hotch follows Reid and Jack into a haunted house. Inside he meets a ghost and stumbles right into some unexpected arms.

Collision by @codename-mom: [Gen Fic, Hotch & Penelope] A brand-new BAU is forming but there is still someone missing. The team masterpiece: a technical analyst.

Co-Creator NSFW Entries (S.R./Fem!Reader)

Devil in the Backseat: Reader is a little too much for Spencer (he’s into it).

Yellow Light: Everyone thinks Reader is dangerous. Probably because she’s Cat’s sister. But is that why Spencer likes her?

Big Bad Wolf (Part 1, Part 2): Spencer is overwhelmed by the apparent innocence of an elementary school teacher he meets on a case.

All Legs: Tall!Reader. Spencer meets a woman at an event and finds he really wants to be under her heels.

Co-Creator SFW Entries (S.R./Fem!Reader)

Serendipitous: Spencer’s pretty sure Penelope mixed up his blind date.

Dead Air: Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student’s true crime video series, but is surprised to find it’s not so bad.

Porcelain: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim: Autistic!Reader is having a hard time at the airport.

Mister Spencer: Reader has a crush on her child’s teacher.

Maddening One, My Goddess: Spencer has a one night stand… on February 13th. The next day, he is confronted with a familiar face on his pre-planned double date.

Studious Shadow: Reader’s crush won’t stop avoiding her at work and she thinks he might hate her.

Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.

Happy Reading!

Is your entry missing? DM me and I'll add you!

[longlivejemily]

She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips. 

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over. 

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.”  He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions. 

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile. 

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

[longlivejemily]

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT

Watching 68 kill for the first time HEHEHE so excited

[longlivejemily]

Watching 68 kill for the first time HEHEHE so excited

[longlivejemily]

𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗗

what he knows

don’t think I don’t like you

good luck

cherry stems

apparent loss or modification of information

˗ˋˏ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗ untitled fics

[longlivejemily]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[longlivejemily]

hi! you know your best friends with no boundaries fic, I'm literally obsessed and was wondering if you'd consider writing something similar but with Spencer Reid because I'm also obsessed with him🙏🙏 please and thank you (totally understand if not💚)

And they were roommates - Spencer Reid

summary: Contrary to popular belief, Spencer Reid was not touch starved. In fact, there was nothing more he liked than to cuddle with his roommate. wc: 2.4k+ cw: SMUT, roommates/best friends/ lovers dynamics, panty theft (super brief)

Spencer Reid was not a touchy person. His germaphobic nature allowed him to endure very little physical contact with people, whether they were strangers or his family at the behavioural analysis unit in the FBI. However, it was not to say that Spencer Reid was touch starved, for he had one person he could always count on to give him some physical comfort.

You’d been friends with Spencer since university: you were completing your bachelor’s degree whilst the young genius was finishing up his third phd. In an exhausting night at the library, you’d encountered Spencer, and had complained to him about the library’s organisation system. You’d apologised, “These long nights are really wearing my patience.” But Spencer Reid had surprised you. He ranted on to you about statistics, explaining how a library’s organisation can quickly affect the levels of student productivity. You’d smiled, introducing yourself to him with an extended had. Hesitantly, Spencer shook it, only secretly sanitising his hands when you turned away from him. From that day onwards, Spencer Reid became your best friend.

At first, you had respected Spencer’s boundaries, understanding that he was not a touchy man despite your opposing preference. Then, one night, in a flood of emotions, completely wrecked by his mother’s decreasing health, Spencer had broken down in front of you, and you comforted him the only way you knew how. Your hug had taken Spencer by surprise, but the boy didn’t jerk away from you. Instead, he accepted your touch, leaning into your body's comfortable warmth as you ran a hand through his hair, whispering quiet words of comfort. He spent the night curled up in your arms, head dug in the crook of your neck. That was the first time he stayed in your dorm, and many similar nights followed.

Now, you and Spencer shared an apartment whilst he worked for the bau and you worked a part time job at the University of Virginia, where you were completing your masters degree. Your apartment held two cozy bedrooms, but at this point it was just for show, because you spent most nights cuddled up together on the sofa, your body laying nearly flat over his. The jingle of Spencer’s keys on the other side of your front door gave his entrance away, and you leaped up from your spot on the couch to greet him at the door. Spencer jumped when his eyes landed on you, and he had to readjust his hold on the plastic grocery bag he carried to make sure he didn’t drop it. He hugged you with one arm, letting you take the bag from him as he took his shoes and coat off, leaving them both at the entrance.

“Check in the bag.” He called out as he followed you into the living room. Peeking in the bag, you gasped, seeing the box of microwavable popcorn inside. “Movie night?” You questioned, looking out for Spencer’s reaction. He was smiling widely, nodding proudly with his chest puffed up, cheeks rosy. “I thought we could watch that film you’d mentioned the other day? With Anne Hathaway?” He was taken aback by the tight hug you’d pulled him in, whispering “Oh, you’re the best.” Spencer nervously laughed, resting both hands on your waist.

“Why don’t you get changed and I can take care of the rest?” Spencer nodded, pressing a single kiss on your forehead. You swallowed thickly, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the giddy look on your face, face hotly flushing. With the popcorn in a bowl and the movie ready on the television, you cozied up on the couch with a blanket, putting your laptop away. Spencer was back in the living room in no time, hopping on the couch right next to you and throwing his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his chest. Draping your legs over his lap, Spencer put a cold hand on your thigh, and you dug your face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

Spencer ran his hand up and down your leg, creating a row of chills across your skin wherever he left his touch. A shiver went down your spine, and Spencer quickly glanced down at you, mumbling “Are you cold?” Your eyes widened, unsure of how to tell him that no, you were not cold. In fact, your body was warming up relatively quickly from his touch. You shook your head silently. Spencer nodded at you, bringing you closer to him, his hand around your shoulders travelling down to your waist.

Silently deliberating, Spencer stared ahead at the screen, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Spencer wasn’t dumb. In fact, he was the single smartest person he knew, and it didn’t take a genius to decode the messages you were sending him. Spencer ducked down, digging his head in the crook of your neck, and you immediately brought a hand up to string in his soft curls. The rim of his glasses poked your neck uncomfortably, but you didn’t want to disturb him, a feat that was quickly rewarded with a soft kiss in the crook of your neck. Your eyes shot open in surprise, breath hitching in your throat, but you didn’t want to startle Spencer or make him think you weren’t enjoying this. Because, god, you were.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he kissed you again, lips parting as a satisfied breath escaped your lungs. “Is this okay?” Spencer asked against your skin, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. You gasped, nodding quickly, your thighs unconsciously squeezing shut to soothe the throb between your legs. Spencer, with his hand still on your thigh, felt the movement, but he decided to tease for a moment longer, shutting his eyes as he softly ran his tongue over the spot on your neck, closing his mouth slightly to begin sucking on the area. You tried suppressing the moan that bubbled in your chest, but it was a clearly miserable attempt because Spencer’s grin was prominent against your skin, and he finally unhid his face from you.

Spencer pushed you back slightly so you laid flat on the couch, moving from under you so he could hover over you, his glasses swinging inches away from his face, barely hanging on by their grip on his ears. Spencer’s lips were bare centimetres away from yours, but he was clearly waiting for the go ahead from you. “Spence?” The boy hummed, leaning in to press a kiss right next to your lips. “This isn’t going to change anything right?” His breath shook, shaking his head as one of his hands softly ran underneath your shirt, causing you to buck your body upwards into his touch.

“No, no it won’t change anything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Spencer took your eager hum as a plead for a kiss, so he leaned down, finally pressing his lips to yours. It was like a primal need in him was unleashed, a guttural groan coming out of his throat. Both your hands were instantly cupping his face and pulling him closer to you, parting your mouth further as Spencer sucked on your tongue. You whimpered, one hand travelling down to snake under his jumper. Spencer shuddered, a broken moan escaping his lips. He desperately lowered his hips down onto yours, driving them forward to grind against yours. Spencer broke the kiss, instantly amplifying the moans escaping your lips. “This won’t change anything,” You started, and Spencer reinforced that with a nod of his head. “So fuck me properly, Spence.”

Spencer gasped at your words, his hips unexpectedly bucking into yours, where you felt every ridge of his covered cock. “You-really?” You pushed Spencer away by the chest, observing his face, the colourful light coming from the lit screen reflecting the redness on his face. Your roommate sat back on his knees, watching as you sat up, crawling towards him and forcing him on his back, falling on fluffy pillows.

You climbed over Spencer, sitting on his lap and tugging his pyjama pants down. Spencer watched you wordlessly, adjusting his glasses to sit straight on his face. He finally found the courage to hook his fingers into the band of your shorts and panties, encouraging them down your legs. You watched his reaction, amused at the open-mouthed, wide-eyed, dilated pupil look he was carrying on his face. “Spence?” His head snapped towards you, face flushing impossibly darker at the idea of being caught admiring your body. It was almost enough to distract him from the way your fingers wrapped around his cock over his boxers. His lips bucked into yours, gasping loudly as his fingers tightly gripped your hips.

Leaning forward to press your weight against Spencer’s chest, you kicked your shorts and panties off your legs before sitting back down on his lap. “Can I take these off?” You asked, playing with the elastic band of his trousers. Spencer nodded, a pleading look in his eyes. You giggled, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on his lips, and the second you pulled away, Spencer’s torso was lifting off the couch, eagerly chasing your lips. “Please.” He begged, hips bucking into your hand. You didn’t know if he was asking for another kiss or for you to finally take off his trousers, so you did both, reconnecting your lips as you lowered his boxers.

Spencer sighed in relief, using his tight hold on your hips to drag you forward on his body, closer to his cock. You dug your face in Spencer’s neck, kissing him teasingly, but Spencer impatiently whined, throwing his head back. “Please, please.” Finally, you sunk down onto Spencer’s cock, eliciting a loud moan from him. Your breath hitched and you gasped loudly, saying with a broken voice “I have - have to warn you. I don’t usually get on top.”

Spencer nodded eagerly, immediately thrusting his hips up and rolling you over. You cried out, throwing your head back as Spencer desperately started snapping his hips into you, a certain fervour in his movements. Spencer whined with each thrust of his hips, a breath of air escaping his lips and hitting your face every time his body slammed into yours. A guttural moan dispersed in the air, and immediately, you were pulling Spencer’s face down to yours to desperately press your lips together. Spencer parted his lips to bite your bottom lip, tugging a moan out of your chest. You wrapped your arms over Spencer’s shoulders, forcing him closer to you, and he whined as his arms shook, dropping his weight onto you.

“Sorry,” He whimpered against your lips, “Fuck, I’m sorry.” You wordlessly dismissed his apology, tangling your hand in Spencer’s hair to pull him back into a wet kiss. You heard the creak of his glasses as your faces collided in an eager kiss. Spencer rolled his hips into yours, balancing his weight onto one arm so his second arm could come down to your thigh and pull your leg apart from the other. The new found space allowed Spencer to slide deeper into your cunt, causing you both to moan loudly, your pussy clenching around the wet ridges of his cock. “Oh god.” You cried, words coming out muffled as Spencer glided his tongue against yours

“Please Spence.” You begged as Spencer separated his kiss from yours to look deeply into your eyes, a hand coming up to push the hair away from your face, stubbornly sticking to the glistening sweat. “’Re you close?” You hummed, digging your nails into Spencer’s shoulders as you dug your head into the couch cushions. Spencer smiled from above you, watching as your face contorted into pleasure, failing to squeeze your thighs together for more friction. Spencer groaned, head falling into the crook of your neck and pressing kisses on your skin as a hand trailed down to rub circles on your clit.

Spencer bit down on your neck just as you let out a high-pitched moan, whimpering when his teeth sunk into your skin. Your eyes shut tightly as a shock of pleasure darted up to your abdomen, but Spencer caressed your cheek, begging “Look at me when you cum, please.” Your eyes shot open at his words as pleasure overtook you. You don’t know what triggered your orgasm, Spencer’s pleading tone or the use of the endearing term ‘baby’, but it had you coming anyway, your loud cries filling the air.

Spencer grunted as you came, his pelvis stilling, cock buried inside you. Spencer felt his dick throb as you clenched around him, trying not to cum as you loudly cried his name out. Spencer was only pulling out when you slumped back against the couch, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips. Spencer wrapped a hand around his cock, but you put a hand over his, prompting him to let go of himself. You gently squeezed the base of Spencer’s cock, beginning to stroke him, but there was no need: he was already coming, white, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his cock and onto your tank top.

Spencer sat back on his knees, catching his breath softly as he watched you watch him, a coy smile on your face. You giggled nervously, and Spencer grinned, crawling over you before lowering himself onto you, still hovering over you as he began kissing you. “So, same time tomorrow?” Spencer joked, moving off you and finding your shorts on the floor, carefully helping you slip your feet into the holes of your shorts. “Mhm, doesn’t have to be tomorrow.” You teased, standing up and walking out of the living room. You turned to look at Spencer one last time before rounding the corner to enter the hallway, leaving Spencer alone in the living room to blankly stare at the screen, watching cluelessly as the two characters began arguing, trying to distract himself from the way his cock hardened once more.

Spencer scanned the room, jumping up when he spotted your abandoned panties on the floor. He quickly pocketed them before rushing to follow you towards your bedroom. “What did you say about not tomorrow?” He breathlessly asked as he opened your bedroom door. You spun around to look at him, putting a look of fake shock on your face as he gasped, staring at your now naked body, eyes glued to your tits.

Spencer shut the door, approaching you, and it didn’t open again for a very long time.

[longlivejemily]

GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.

[longlivejemily]

spencer reid + season 1 vs season 13/14

[longlivejemily]

Addicted

In which Spencer meets a beautiful stranger at his local dealer, his addiction to weed rapidly turning into an addiction to her.

Pairing: stoner!spencer x stoner!fem!reader Genre: slight angst x smut (18+) Content warnings: weed usage (not promoting it! pls zont zo it), short mentions of tobias hankel and maeve, finger sucking, mutual masturbation, lazy high sex Word count: 3,6k A/n: my first fic inspired on a song! when i listened to 'denial is a river' by doechii, this fic immediately started to form in my mind

Spencer oftentimes wondered when he started becoming afraid of his own mind. Maybe there was never a starting point — maybe it was rooted in his bones, something he never had the chance to escape. An inherited terror, passed down like a family heirloom. 

He knew the descent into insanity was inevitable. That there would come a time when his mind, the thing he’s relied on all his life, would betray him. That he’d watch the pieces of himself scatter until his identity was nothing but a cruel mockery of who he once was.

What Spencer didn’t expect was for that moment to arrive so soon. He never imagined his first meeting with madness to be in a dark cabin as the sting of Dilaudid coursed through his veins. And what Spencer least expected was how he’d feel afterward — how, no matter the trauma, he would find himself aching for that sensation, longing for it to return.

With his reason still intact, he managed to sign himself up for a support group destined for addicts in law enforcement. Rehab might’ve been the hardest battle he’d had to face, and being clean is a title he still doesn't deserve. Because even though it’s been years since his arms last looked blue, he’s been smoking weed habitually. 

It started when a police officer in the program spoke up about his struggle with weed addiction, going into detail about the tranquilizing effects and how it left him unable to focus on the job. Whereas his story would sound appalling to most, Spencer found appeal in its descriptions. Cannabis offered the same calming qualities as Dilaudid, but with a lower overdose risk, and on top of that, it was far easier to obtain.

So when the officer casually slipped his dealer’s address in the middle of immersively sharing his story, Spencer made a mental note and found himself on the location later that day. The transaction was easier than he’d expected; showing the cash in his pocket was enough for the gruff man to hand him a small, opaque bag, its contents concealed. 

That same night, Spencer found himself sitting on his couch, supplies spread out on the coffee table before him. He remembered a guy from his PhD mathematics program, rolling a blunt in Yale’s community garden under the same big tree where Spencer would read his literature for the day. It gave him some of an idea on how to proceed. Once he had the wrap filled, he methodically pinched and smoothed the paper as he rolled it with his fingers, careful to avoid tearing. 

He didn’t feel much with the first drag, but as he inhaled deeper, a tingling sensation spread to his head and chest, almost coaxing him into a dosed state. The world around him instantly softened, and he sank further into the couch, as if a fuzzy, warm blanket had draped over him.

That moment marked the first of many, as Spencer would often return to the plant when experiencing withdrawal or when he started developing headaches later in his life. He frequently recalled how the officer mentioned performing less at his job while under the influence, but for Spencer, it had the opposite effect. He tended to approach cases too objectively and analytically. When he would go home at the end of the day and smoke before bed, his mind would suddenly make creative, out-of-the-box connections — connections he had never considered before. 

Spencer wasn’t ready to give up weed just yet.

———

You were lying down, your head resting on the armrest of the pink velvet couch that stood in the corner of your therapist’s office. For the past fifteen minutes, you’d been staring at a small star painted on the ceiling, which was part of a mural of the universe. It was supposed to help people ground themselves — to remind them that their existence was nothing more than a tiny spark in the entire cosmos.

“I don’t know,” you eventually responded in a sigh as your therapist questioned you once again. “This is a really dark time for me, I’m going through a lot.”

“By ‘a lot’, you mean drugs?”

You were thrown off guard by the inquiry, brows furrowing. “Um, I wouldn’t-”

“Drugs?” She repeated, her pen ready in hand, as her notebook rested open on her lap.

Your head shot up from its position on the armrest of the couch. “No, it’s a-”

“No?” She probed, her eyes raised up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a natural plant,” you stated, sitting up straighter.

“No, I’m not judging.”

You rolled your eyes at her attempt to reassure you. “I’m not an addict.” 

“I’m just saying-”

“I don’t think-”

“You wanna talk about it?”

———

The door slamming behind you was as much of a response as you would offer her. With hurried steps you walked out of the building, hand reaching into your pocket as you searched for your car keys. With a small click of the door, you entered your beat-up old car, shivering as you still haven’t been able to fix the radiator. 

You didn’t need to pull up the GPS — not that you even owned one — to know where you were headed. You speed-dialed your dealer as you rounded a corner, and maybe that was enough to confirm that you did have a bit of a problem with drugs. At least you were seeing a therapist; not many can say the same.

The sun was disappearing behind the clouds as you pulled into the familiar motell parking lot. There was a chill in the air, making you pull your jacket tighter around you as you walked toward room number 13. 

Your attention was drawn to a tall, lanky man with messy curls, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stood in front of the door. It was a rare sight to see someone ahead of you in line — usually people would arrive one by one to not bring any attention to the scene, but then again, you made an appointment at the very last minute.

You walked up to him, standing beside him in an attempt to make the scene look like a casual visit. You offered a polite smile, which he returned with a brief wave of his hand. Awkwardly, you turned your gaze to the door in front of you, waiting. You could feel his eyes scanning over you, making you reach up to fix your hair, just in case something was out of place. He seemed to notice your action and turned his head.

After a minute, you cleared your throat. “Did you knock?”

He looked at you, and you weren’t expecting the flutter in your stomach as you met his deep, brown eyes. 

“I did,” he answered. “It’s been four minutes and twenty eight seconds, which, based on my previous encounters, gives him approximately three more seconds to open the door.”

You fell silent as the door opened, just like the handsome stranger had predicted. You reached into your jacket pocket, pausing when you found it empty. Your heart began racing as you checked the other pocket, then anxiously patted down your jeans.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” The brown-haired man asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I forgot my wallet.” 

“I could pay for you.” 

The casualty of his offer took you by surprise. “Really?” 

It was embarrassing that you didn’t turn him down, but you didn’t have the energy to be polite — today had been rough, and all you wanted to do was go home and relax. You felt a little less guilty when the stranger’s lips curled into a smile, as if he was happy to do this for you.

“Well, I don’t give a shit who pays. Just give the damn money — it’s cold.” 

The stranger’s lips tightened in response as he handed the man twice the usual amount of bills. The dealer handed over two small bags in return, closing the door behind him with a loud slam. 

“Here you go.”

You breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ as you accepted the bag from him. “I’ll pay you back next time.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand. 

You exchanged names, which led him to compliment yours and give you a brief history lesson on its origins. 

“I never expected to learn more about myself from a total stranger,” you chuckled. 

You didn’t notice he had walked you to your car until you stopped in front of it. “This is me. Where are you parked, or are you staying here?”

“I got here by subway, actually.”

You raised your brows, surprised. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood, especially at night, and Spencer didn’t strike you as the type to wander around here. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, just to be certain.

“Absolutely!” he answered, lifting up his shirt, revealing a gun holstered at his waist. “I can handle myself.”

Alarm bells blared in your mind at the sight, and you instinctively stepped back. 

“Wait! No, no, no,” Spencer put his hands up, showing you that he meant no harm. “I work at the FBI.”

He could read the doubt in your expression, slowly moving one hand to his jacket while keeping the other raised in the air. Carefully, he retrieved his badge and held it out, revealing it to you. You leaned in, observing the golden emblem and the ID picture beside it.

“Now, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” you said with a relieved sigh. “I guess I can offer you a ride, then?”

Spencer looked at you, as if considering all the possible outcomes of his answer. He ended up nodding his head and giving you a soft grin.  

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” 

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over both of you. 

“You seem nervous,” he observed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, and they’re out of rhythm with the radio, so it’s not like you’re tapping along with the song.”

“I guess I am.” You turned your head to him, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you, though. I feel oddly comfortable around you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling, a glimmer in his eyes, shyly playing with his fingers. “Me too.”

———

You hadn’t expected Spencer to invite you in when you arrived at his house. He suggested you smoke together, saying you shouldn’t be driving while feeling anxious. 

Honestly, you didn’t care about the reasoning. You just wanted to spend more time with him. 

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs pulled up and half draped over his as you took another drag from your joint. You didn’t know who started the conversation, but somehow you found yourself opening up about life and its struggles.

“I caught my ex cheating. He was supposed to pick up his stuff and leave the next day, but instead he crashed my place and just… destroyed everything I owned.”

His expression remained neutral, like he was trying not to judge, though his eyes said enough. After a beat, he spoke up again. “My girlfriend got shot in front of my face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but the weed dulled your reaction. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah… shit,” he muttered in an exhale, picking up his joint again. 

Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, noticing the long, slender shape of them, the small bones shifting under his skin as he gripped the joint. The image of a tree flashed through your mind, its branches moving in the wind — or maybe it was just the weed making your mind wander. 

As he brought the joint to his lips, your gaze followed the movement, your breath catching when his pink lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of his tongue. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes lingered there, entranced. He closed his lips around it, letting out a low hum that was almost a moan as he inhaled. 

He exhaled, filling the air with smoke, the rich scent enveloping you.

“Can I take a hit?” 

He didn’t question why you weren’t using your own. Instead he handed you the joint, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you took it.  

You kept eye contact with him as you placed it between your lips, softly moaning at the contact, knowing his mouth had been right where yours was. 

Spencer took you in with dark, tired eyes. You threw your leg over his thigh, feeling the need to be closer to him as the air around you grew warmer. 

He didn’t seem to mind your clinginess, which gave you the confidence to lean in closer. Carefully, you reached out, your nails lightly grazing his jaw, making him shiver as he let out a quiet purr at the touch. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a husky whisper, more intrigued than accusatory.

“I’m horny,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his jaw. 

His breath heaved at the proximity. “Evidence shows that cannabis can enhance sexual pleasure.” 

“Yeah?” you purred, lips brushing against his. “And what should I do about it?”

“You should touch yourself.”

“Should I now?” your voice teasingly sang as you leaned back, your hands sensually moving up the sides of your body before squeezing your breasts through your shirt.

“Like this?”

He blinked a couple of times, licking his lips. “A bit lower.”

You smirked, your hands trailing down your body, relishing how he was taking you in, unable to look away. Your hand stopped as you cupped your heat through your clothes, slowly rubbing your fingers in circles. “Here?”

He groaned at the sight, nodding his head in confirmation. “Right there.”

Spencer’s bulge pressed against your leg, which you had thrown over his lap. You couldn’t resist moving against it, making him gasp as he threw his head back.

“You should take care of that,” you suggested, nodding towards his pants. “Let me give you something to work with.” 

Spencer’s gaze was expectant, as he watched you slowly peel your clothes off. Inch by inch, you revealed your skin, leaving him desperate for more. 

Spencer mirrored your actions, undressing himself before he took a hold of your bare leg, placing it back on his lap, so that your legs were spread wide open. With one arm behind you, he pulled you in closer, his other hand reaching out to caress the skin in between your breasts, making you catch your breath. 

His hand trailed further up your skin, until his fingers were lightly tapping against your lips. “Open up for me,” he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips for him to slide two of his fingers inside of your mouth. You responded instinctively, wrapping your lips around them, your cheeks hollowing as you started moving your head back and forth. Your tongue swirled in lazy circles, humming at the taste of his skin.

“Good girl,” he cooed in approval. “Get them all nice and wet, so that I can touch you.”

Spencer watched your eyes sparkle at his words. When a moan escaped your lips, vibrating around his fingers, he was reminded once again why he loved being high — it soothed his anxiety in a way that made his thoughts spill out without overthinking. And it thrilled him to see the effect his words had on you, words that would usually stay locked in his mind. 

The hand that had been resting around your shoulder wandered down to your breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. You moaned around his fingers, meeting his gaze, his nose nearly brushing yours as he watched you with intent focus. 

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, before he reached down to press them against your pussy. You closed your eyes in bliss as he rubbed his fingers up and down your slit, the combined juices of your slickness and your mouth made his fingers easily slip between your folds with every move.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“That’s your fault,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, his breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll take the blame,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to yours.

You hungrily accepted his kiss. Your hand slid between his thighs, finding his hard length pressed against his stomach. His cock felt warm against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, the movement causing a string of precum to form, connecting from his tip to his happy trail. 

Spencer groaned into your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours, deepening the kiss even further. You traced your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck his hips and pressing his fingers harder against your clit in response. 

You squirmed at the intensity of his touch. His slender fingers continued to trail over your pussy, teasing with delicate strokes before slipping a finger into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned. 

You began stroking his length, squeezing him gently as you flicked your wrist. Every movement was a lazy, unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies. Savoring the haze of the high as it sharpened your every sensation. 

You broke the kiss, as you reached for the joint on the coffee table, turning toward Spencer with a playful glint in your eye. He gratefully parted his lips, as you placed the roll between them. He took a deep drag, the smoke curling into his lungs. You leaned closer, opening your mouth in anticipation to receive the smoky breath he exhaled, as you shared the pleasure.

Spencer took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips were slightly parted as you breathed in. Your nipples were hard with excitement, and your pussy glistened around his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. You were a sight to behold, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten tonight.

He could look at you all day. He’s never felt so drawn to someone before, and he could easily finish just by watching your body as you sat bare in front of him. His cock fitted perfectly in your delicate hands. You were gripping him just right, bringing him closer to the release he’s been longing for.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words slipping out naturally. 

“So are you,” you replied just as sensually, your eyes tracing the way your hand palmed him, feeling his heavy weight in your grip. “I wanna know how you’d feel inside of me.”

A flush crept across his cheeks at your bluntness. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, humming in response. “Bet you’d fill me up so good.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, swallowing hard as he could feel the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Are you clean?” you asked him, and he quickly nodded.

He eagerly grabbed your hips as you crawled on top of him, moaning softly as he felt the weight of you. His hand slid to your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, sucking your bottom lip.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers curling around his thick length as you guided him to your entrance. You let out a shaky whisper as he filled you up more than you expected. Spencer noted the furrow in your brow, but before he could remind you to take your time, you were already rocking your hips against him.

“Oh, baby,” he cried out, his hands sliding to your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your thighs rolled over his, and he met your pace, thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good,” he continued moaning as his fingers dug into your skin. 

You could only whimper in response and you fastened your movements, your breasts brushing against him with each slide of your hips.

He could feel you tightening around him, your legs trembling against his. “Spencer, I-”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand. “Me too, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

You kept moving, the urgency in his voice spurring you on. You leaned in to capture his lips one more time, and Spencer accepted with a desperate whine. 

The pressure in your core finally broke, and you cried out his name as an overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed up into you one last time, his body shuddering as the warmth of his release filled you.

“You’re so amazing,” he sleepily groaned, nuzzling his head into your chest as you came down from the high. You chuckled at the scene, unsure if he even noticed how clingy he was being. It had to be the weed that made him hold onto you like that, but the action still made your heart flutter, imagining how you could be the reason why he’s acting this way.  

“Can you pick up the joint for me?” he softly asked, his lips brushing against your stomach. 

You giggled. “You’re really an addict.”

“I’m just addicted to you.”

[longlivejemily]

MasterList

MDNI AO3 All contain smut unless otherwise indicated Spencer Reid x Reader Feelings of Ecstasy Obsession Still On the Line Blood Lust Trying Something New Play Party Beyond Expectations (V1) Beyond Expectations (V2) Heat of the Moment A New Kind of Intimacy Tasting the Forbidden Sweet Agony Captivating Touch Strength in Submission Out of Hand High Stakes Sweet Cravings Hidden Feelings Expecting A Little Pumpkin (Fluff) My Little Vampire Good Boy

Elle Greenaway x Spencer Reid Elle Takes a Break Elle's Pursuit

Spencer x Reader x Emily Emily Prentiss Wing Woman Extraordinaire After Hours Tease

Elle Greenaway x Reader Needy Intimate Connections New Sensations Greedy Unwinding Together Stakeout Tender Love and Care Happy Anniversary Chasing the Spark

Elle x Reader x JJ For One Night Only

Emily Prentiss x Reader Release Passionate Reunion The Velvet Room Stepping Into Desire Turning Up the Heat A Taste of Lust The Quiet After

[longlivejemily]

After Office Hours p.2

Read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader continues to receive more extra credit at office hours with Professor Reid.

WC: 2.5k

Warning: Student/teacher relationship, slight sub/dom dynamics, semi-public sex, fingering (f receiving), hair pulling (f receiving), use of “baby,” “little girl,” and y/n. plz let me know if I’m missing any!

You spent 3 days with Dr. Reid being the only thing on your mind. Replaying Thursday night over and over and over. It was the last thing you thought of when you fell asleep, and the first thing you thought of when you woke up. The morning after you planned to study most of the day, so much for that. The image of him underneath you, holding you as you came undone is persistent in staying at the front of your mind. You spent at least an hour and a half zoned out imagining all the ways next week's office hours could go. Don’t show up before 7. What did he mean by that? What’s going to happen after office hours this week? 

Your criminology class is the only one you have on Mondays. You spent most of the day getting ready for his lecture. You took that time to pay more attention to your hair, makeup, and outfit. Taking one last look in the mirror before you left, you questioned if you did too much. Curled hair, winged liner, and so much jewelry to the point that you’re sparkling. At the last minute, you brush out your curls. Deciding to trade these fresh barrel curls for a light wave that will be easy to toss over your shoulder. You take off some of the jewelry, this is your criminology class, not a red carpet. 

With every step closer to his door, your anxiety grows. You sit in your normal seat, the third row back in the center. When he walks in, he glances towards you for just a second, and that is the only time he acknowledges you all day. 

You are more distracted than ever before in his class. 4 days ago he was still an object of your fantasies. Now you know how his hands feel on your body, how his voice sounds as he talks you through your orgasm. He talks with his hands when he lectures, you’ve never hated it until today.

All day you were falling behind in your notes. At one point he misspelled on the chalkboard and wiped away his mistake with his pointer and middle finger. Imagining those two fingers inside you had you lost in your dreams for at least 5 minutes. You regained consciousness and were focused on the material for all of 45 seconds when he decided to sit on his desk. Your eyes were laser-focused on his crotch while he subtly man-spread. Is he doing these things just to fuck with you? It was hard to say, he never made eye contact. As he would scan the room his eyes would skip yours. 

Was he trying to hide his attraction? Maybe if he didn’t look at you nothing ever happened? You felt a fire in the pit of your stomach. Not sexual tension, something else. Jealousy? You noticed his eyes linger on the front row which was all girls just auditing. They were there oogle at your professor for 3 hours a week and then had the audacity to come to office hours. Because they were auditing, their questions weren’t about the class and criminology, but about his social life and where he spends his free time. Hoping to get a glance at the professor when he wasn’t in teaching mode. 

You never liked those girls, they were distracting, and couldn’t care less about criminology or profiling. But now, you hate them. You want his glances at them to be towards you instead. You want to giggle at his jokes and have his eyes meet yours with a smile. How did one hour with him make you so possessive?

“That’s all for today, class. We’ll pick up where we left off on Wednesday. Please read chapters 12 and 13 in preparation.” As soon as he uttered that last word, you were out of there.

–

Your Wednesday class with Dr. Reid went the same as the class before. He simply ignored you. In hopes of getting his attention, you wore the same thing to class as you did during office hours last week. You arrive at class before him and when he walks in and sees you, he pauses for a moment, sucks in a breath, and continues his walk to his desk. Thanks to him you weren’t the only one with profiling skills. You noticed the slight change in his step and knew you had him hooked. Too bad he's not hooked enough that he still ignored you for all of class. Every time you raised your hand to answer a question he called on someone else. You’ve always been a jealous person, but this is something else. Possession, obsession, you needed to make him yours. This ‘game’ he was playing was getting really annoying.

–

You were an anxious mess for most of Thursday. You didn’t absorb any knowledge from your classes and skipped your study sessions with some classmates due to your zombie-like behavior. Not a zombie focused on brains, but Professor Reid. You even skipped your stats class due to worries that you would get out even later and miss your office hours with Dr. Reid. 

You traded your usual mini skirts for a knee-length one, which is more comfortable for your lack of underwear. You’re wearing thigh-high stockings with Mary Jane’s and a chunky sweater. Under the sweater, you have an extremely thin lace bra. You shaved your entire body this morning to get ready for him. Your makeup is gorgeous but mild, and completely waterproof. You have no idea how tonight is going to go, got to be prepared!

The click of your heels down the hallway and the blood rushing in your ears are the only things you can hear on the walk to Dr. Reid’s office. You take a deep breath to ground yourself before you turn the corner of his hallway. It’s 7:05 and you hang out for a few moments outside his door. You pretend to read a plaque on the wall that lists the prominent people to have come out of your university. You are trying to look busy in case another student exits his office. After 5 minutes of reading the names of old white men, you get the courage to knock on his door. You only have to wait a few moments after knocking for him to appear in front of you. Your neck snaps up to meet his eyes as a shy smile appears on both of your faces. “Y/N! Thank you for coming to office hours, welcome.” He steps to the side letting you enter, locking the door behind him just as last time. 

Hearing the click of the lock sends heat straight to your core. You have to resist the urge to climb him like a tree. Instead, you both sit across from each other, the desk and thick air of sexual tension the only thing between you. You are having deja vu from last week as he asks, “What can I do for you?” Earth-shattering rough sex would be just fine, you think to yourself. “Yeah I do have a question about class this week, were you having fun teasing me?” He licks his lips and avoids eye contact. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says with a gulp.

 “Oh fess up professor.” You say while standing and walking over to the other side of his desk. You sit atop it facing him while keeping your ankles crossed. You don’t want to tip him off about your lack of underwear just yet. You flash a smile at him while touching his knee with the side of your foot. “Okay,” he says with a sigh. “I wasn’t teasing you. Not on purpose, at least. I felt that if I acknowledged you, for some reason everyone would know about us.” You blush at his last syllable as he continues. “This job is very important to me, it gives me purpose. But also I can’t get you out of my head. I was afraid of my glances lingering too long and tipping someone off. I traded my glances at you for glances at the auditors in the front row. I was looking at them, but only thinking about you.”

You smirk at the subtle shade he throws at the girls who are paying to look at him twice a week. “Less talking about the girls in the front row, let's move forward with how I can gain some extra credit.” You say while uncrossing your ankles. He is immediately peaking underneath your skirt. He starts to blush when he meets your eyes and knows he's been caught. “Dr Reid you don’t have to sneak a peak, just ask,” you say in a seductive tone while slowly spreading your legs. He slightly rolls his chair back to get a better view. He sees something shiny between your thighs. It takes a moment for him to realize that it's your slick catching the low light in his office. When he realises you skipped on underwear he grunts and stands up. He stands in between your spread thighs and puts his strong hands on your waist. “No underwear huh?” You blush and look away. 

He takes a hand and grabs your chin to look up at him. “You’re brave walking around campus like that.” “What can I say? You’re worth the risk.” Those suggestive words make Spencer lose all of his control. He grips your face with both of his hands and kisses you with fervor and passion. You kiss him back with the pent-up feelings you’ve been having all semester. You’ve never been kissed like this, it’s like he wants to swallow you whole. His tongue is tasting all of you like a man starved. When you pull back for air he doesn’t stop, just lowers his head and continues his assault on your neck. Sucking on your pulse point causes you to let out a moan, and he moans back. 

His eyes meet yours and he eagerly says, “Can I touch you?” “Please.” His lips find your neck again and he wastes no time putting his fingers to your clit. You moan immediately and he catches your mouth with his. He whispers against your lips, “Shh baby can’t have anyone hearing you. Gotta be quiet for me.” You nod eagerly and he continues devouring your neck. You have always had a fascination with his hands; feeling them against your most sensitive spot is quite literally a dream come true.

You pull him back up from your neck and connect your lips once again. You can’t get enough of him. His tongue dances with yours naturally, like muscle memory. As he draws shapes over your nerves your mind goes blank with bliss. Dr. Reid is taking up all of your senses. It’s as though he’s all you’ve ever known. You could die right now and be okay with it. 

You start to feel that familiar heat in your abdomen, feeling shocked at how quickly he got you here. A man has never been this successful with you before. Dr. Reid plunges two fingers inside of you unexpectedly, and you moan loudly into his mouth. He pauses his movements to whisper, “Be quiet little girl I’m not gonna tell you again.” It’s so hard to stay quiet with his beautiful hands in you and his perfect lips on you. If his fingers feel this good you can’t imagine how good his dick is going to feel. The way he’s slamming his fingers into you has tears of joy pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’re gripping the edge of his desk tight as if this moment will disappear when you let go. 

As his long fingers fill you up just right, his palm meets your clit in a delicious way. “Oh god doctor don’t stop” you instinctively moan. “Never baby, this is -oh- all for you.” He’s getting off by just providing you pleasure, you wonder how well this will benefit you in the future. His free hand grabs a handful of hair and pulls your head back. “Is this what you wanted little girl? Gave a ruse of extra credit just so I could fuck you with my hand?” You’re too drunk on him to form a coherent response, a string of moans pours out of your mouth instead. “I thought you were a smart girl huh? did I fuck you stupid?” No response, just a breathy moan. 

He feels your pussy tightening on him, “Oh my god Dr. Reid.” “Come for me, baby.” He starts kissing you again as you come. You truly thought this could only happen in your dreams. Making out with Dr. Reid while he finger-fucks you and you’re cumming all over his hands. Your vision goes white and you feel your soul rise out of your body. This is the best orgasm you’ve ever had. When you come back to earth, Dr. Reid's hand is still in your pussy and he is still kissing you. Your lips are barely moving at this point but he doesn’t care, he just wants to keep tasing you. 

You pull back from him and look at him amazed. He looks back at you concerned but then you just smile. You see him start to relax. “You okay?” “More than okay,” you say with a giggle. “Thank you, professor. That was truly educational.” “Oh yeah? What’d you learn?” “How your hands feel when they’re inside of me. It was even better than I hoped.” He smiles and gives you a quick kiss and grabs both of your hands. “Can you stand?” As you slide off his desk your knees buckle a little but the Doctor catches you and helps you stand up straight. “Sorry, I thought I’d fully recovered.” “Are you going to be okay getting home, y/n?” “Yeah, my apartment is only like a 10-minute walk.” 

“A ten-minute walk for someone your age is about half a mile! Please let me take you home.” “It’s okay Dr. Reid it’s a safe campus and I’m always aware of my surroundings.” “I don’t know it’s kind of late.” “I do this walk all the time when it’s dark. I’ll let my roommates know I’m coming home and to watch my location. I’ll be okay I promise.” He raises an eyebrow at you. He steps away from you for the first time since you got here to dig through his desk drawer. He pulls out sticky notes and a pen and jots something down quickly. “This is my cell phone number. Please text me once you’re home.” 

You are screaming on the inside when you grab the paper from him and your fingertips brush. Dr. Reids phone number!!! No way this is actually happening. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you say goodbye. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. This was fun.” “It’s always a pleasure Ms. y/l/n. Same time next week?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smile, turn away from him, and walk out the door. 

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on this story! It means so much to me and makes me want to continue writing. Sorry this took so long, I had so many ideas it was hard to decide on which way to go with this story. Please keep liking and sharing and I would love more ideas!

Taglist: @beansarecooler @bubbleebubz thank you ily

[longlivejemily]

masterlist ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖₊˚⊹

“i never did understand the duality of art and reality.” — the 1975.

(the neighbor!au)

i’ll show you heaven (if you’ll be an angel all night)

➥ in which you give your pretty boy neighbor a few much-needed lessons in pleasure.

crashing into him tonight (he’s a paradox)

➥ in which your lessons continue, and you want to be more than spencer’s teacher.

(the professor!au)

trying hard not to get into trouble (but i’ve got a war in my mind)

➥ in which your criminology professor is just too tempting.

[longlivejemily]

sometimes i genuinely think i’m ovulating but then check my cycle and turns out i’m not even close but i’m just horny because i’ve been looking at mgg gifs all day