#🤍ebullientheart

[ebullientheart]

sleep mad. spencer reid x reader

content — hurt comfort. bau!reader. mention of bau case. short fic.

you don’t let spencer leave your hotel room after a fight.

it was a perfectly normal reaction, to storm out for fresh air after a tense argument. spencer didn’t expect you to literally scream ‘no!’ from behind him. he turned on his heel so fast, recognising the fear in your voice from case victims, preparing himself to see you being attacked. he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of tears, and no criminal presence.

when the two of you disagreed, it was almost always with quiet voices and levelled frustration. this time was no different. neither of you had yelled, cursed, or become enraged. it was irritation and exhaustion at the root of it, and it wasn’t worth the look on your face now. his own eyes shot wide in concern, spencer saw how you visibly trembled in the doorway, despite the evening being uncharacteristically warm, humid even. in the dingy light from the hotel hallway, he could hardly make out the contours of your face, but he could imagine what it must have looked like. why had you shouted?

you swiped messily at the damp rivets dug into your cheeks from the sudden fit of crying, effectively willing yourself to stop as you folded your arms defensively. your voice was wavering but firm as you said, “no. if you want space, i’ll go sit on the fire escape, but you can’t… you can’t leave this late spence.”

he raised a brow at you. usually, he disliked being told what to do, but that clearly wasn’t your intention here. spencer could clearly see the terror on your face, but he couldn’t decipher what you were so afraid of. so, forgetting the rule to not profile each other, he asked. you reached forward and tugged him into the room by his forearm, ever gentle, before spinning away to leave him be. but he didn’t want space anymore, he wanted answers.

“what’s going on?”

knowing you could never successfully lie to spencer, you sighed and dug your hands into your pockets. you felt guilty for not allowing him what he’d needed to cool off, but you couldn’t let him leave like that while working this case. each of the three victims left behind a brokenhearted spouse, each of which you’d been interviewing since eight that morning. the last was the worst, breaking down fully in jj’s arms, wracked with uncontrollable sobbing as they explained the last interaction they’d shared was a verbally vicious fight. their last words were venomous, and no peace was made.

“tell me.” spencer’s demand was soft. he sat on the edge of the hotel bed, and your heart twisted as the new angle enunciated the dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. you were sure you sported a matching pair.

you tried your best not to shut down, to communicate, “we… we see so many grievers. how many tell us that their last conversations were full of anger? they… can’t ever accept what happened, move on, because they never go to say ‘i love you’ that last time. they think the other died hating them. if we’re apart, and something happens, and our last words were just mean…”

he listened as you struggled through your explanation, but when you finally trailed off and dropped eye contact, he stood slowly. you heard him pad across the cheap carpet to get close enough to find the palm of your hand, and you let him take it in his own. a light rain had begun to batter the small window.

“you’re right,” spencer whispered, something you rarely hear when dating a genius, “you’re right. our lives are dangerous. but i don’t want us to fight anyway. i’m sorry.”

you sniffed and tried to not think about how pathetic you sounded when you repeated his final sentence back to him, equally as sincere.

spencer thumbed lightly at the dip between your eye and cheekbone, “i love you. now, and when we fight. i- i always love you.”

again, you echoed his sentiment, accompanying it with the sweetest kiss you could press to his jaw. your fingers curled into his hair, carefully undoing a tangle, and simultaneously undoing every knot of tense muscle in his body.

most couples just worried about going to sleep mad. you weren’t sure what it said that your worries centred around one of you being brutally murdered before making up, but you supposed that unique thought process just came with the territory. there was no blanket pulled over your eyes, the world wasn’t hiding it’s most sinister corners from you. or if it was, you sought them out. but those fears that usually haunted you just melted away when you held spencer. you were just like most couples.

two young adults, completely in love, swaying back and forth to the rhythm of your breaths in a crappy hotel, blissfully ignorant to the residents of the rooms either side of you grumbling about being awoken by your hallway confrontation.

a mess of entwined limbs, you eventually made it to bed, to sleep. one of you, or maybe both, uttered an “i love you” every few minutes. an enforced reminder to linger in your half-asleep state, lulling your minds to rest.

sleep came easy, for once.

[ebullientheart]

the nice guy. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. casual mention of sex. loosely based on season four episode nine. case talk. nondescript injury to reader.

you explain to spence the difference between a nice guy and a ‘nice guy’.

“i don’t understand this.”

morgan spun on his chair, “what’s that, wonder boy?”

the files he was flicking through were baffling him. each of the interview transcripts read the same sort of thing. ‘oh, he was a textbook ‘nice guy’ you know’, or something to that effect.

you were the one conducting that set of witness interviews, and the text before him showed no confusion on your part as you continued your original line of questioning. concluding this meant you understood, spencer ignored derek’s response and instead got up to find you. predictably, in garcia’s office, watching unreleased films, seeing as your paperwork was long completed.

“can i ask you something?” he interjected, causing penelope to throw popcorn at him as a consequence of her surprise.

“can you knock?” she quipped back, but he wasn’t really listening to her. spencer could become pretty single minded when he set his focus on something, especially if it was something he didn’t understand.

you excused yourself and followed him into the hall. the simple window on your right showed nothing but the clouded night sky, meaning only a few people lingered in the office now. spencer turned the light on by reaching past your head to the switch, while you tried to ignore the way your stomach felt upon having him lean over you.

clearing your throat, you addressed him, “what did ya need, spence?”

he showed you what he’d been preoccupied with, “what does this mean? we profiled our unsub as desperate, creepy, and we were right. why did they all describe him as a nice guy?”

you pondered for a moment on how best to explain it to him before you answered.

“they’re kind of being sarcastic. a textbook ‘nice guy’ is a guy who really pities himself, quotes ‘nice guys finish last’, that sort of thing. he thinks he’s so kind, and for that women owe him sex, so when they don’t meet that standard, he just believes women only like jerks. he sees himself as good, but he doesn’t comprehend why women would take offence to his sexual reward system for human decency.”

spencer frowned, “there are enough of them that women have a collective name for this?”

you nodded, “trademarked and everything.”

“really?”

“no, kidding.”

he smiled at you and you returned it, his curiosity fulfilled and his faith in humanity slightly lessened, as it was case by case.

a few days later, you were all jetting off to another police department, examining files and bouncing theories. spencer sat on your left, the only one close enough to hear the low rumble of your stomach. chuckling to himself, he produced a breakfast bar from his satchel and slid it over to you. the overjoyed expression on your face at food, and food in your favourite flavour, prompted him to remember your ‘nice guy’ conversation.

you offered him your thanks and he answered, “you’re welcome. no sex required.”

even though he was half kidding, half sincere, you gave him a whole laugh, easy and unabashed. the smile he donned was satisfied at initiating such glee from you.

as the investigation progressed, the danger became more and more apparent. the team knew someone was going to end up hurt, but it didn’t stop them from flinching as they saw you swinging your legs in the back of an ambulance, taking emergency blood supply. you rolled your eyes at their concern, “really, i’m fine guys. just a scratch.”

they weren’t so quick to dismiss your injury, but they didn’t hover. they had protocol to follow, local cops to brief, and press to alert. the only one who lingered was spencer, awkwardly sitting next to you at your invitation. he thought about wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder as a chill set in the air, but was too afraid to dislodge the tube. you bit the bullet of his worrying and leaned until he was prompted to support you.

“are you alright?” he knew it wasn’t the right thing to ask you, but he wasn’t sure what else to say in that moment, not when you were pressed against him so the warmth from your body bled through his vest to his own skin.

you gave a light shrug, but didn’t comment further, instead saying, “you’re nice, spencer. the real way.”

he hummed, “how’d you know?”

“nice guy trademark would’ve tried to kiss me by now. you’re just holding me.”

he knew what he was about to admit was a risk, but the question burned in his throat, “what if i wanted to? kiss you?”

you looked up at him and his heart skipped a beat. if he tried, he could count every one of your eyelashes, even though a few were clumped together by smudges of mascara that had congealed in your initial reaction to the wound. there was a brightness in your irises that sparked something in his chest. the hand you could move freely came up to his face, which had become flushed. you could feel the heat beneath your palm, but couldn’t make it out visually with his back to the ambulance light.

“i’d think you’re even nicer.”

he didn’t seem all that surprised, “can i?”

“please.”

[ebullientheart]

roomies. spencer reid x reader

content — fem!bau!reader. injured!reader. fluff. anonymous request. brief injury description. reader uses conditioner. making out.

when you no longer need your live-in doctor, you find you desperately want him to stay.

you were absolutely fuming when the unsub shot you. just one, clean through the shoulder, that caused you to fall in a twist down the stairs, spraining your ankle. the chances of both of those events occurring had to be low, and spencer assured you of the statistics to back that theory up. just bad luck. fuming.

unfortunately, it also meant your life was substantially difficult to navigate while healing. you could barely shower, cook food, unlock doors, get changed. in fact it wasn’t ‘barely’, you just couldn’t. so the natural solution was to have your best friend move in with you while you were out of action entirely.

“it’s no big deal.” he shrugged. your best friend that you harboured secret feelings for, shrugged. no big deal.

there were some challenges.

“spencer,” you huffed for the tenth time that morning, “i am not swallowing those gross fish vitamins.”

he tutted at you, “they’re cod, and they’re going to help your sprain recover. valid studies have shown-”

awkwardly, you stood and used your uninjured arm to jab him in the chest, “i don’t care if they would grow me a whole new bone, they’re gross.”

it was weeks like that, when he wasn’t on cases. harmless bickering as he fussed over you like a newborn. but despite your teasing, you were not looking forward to the day he’d be moving back into his own apartment. it was nice, having someone to come home to. it took the sting out of the loneliness you felt, and you weren’t delusional for thinking he felt that way too. as your casts and slings were eased off, the both of you looked rather dejected, confusing the nurse tending to you greatly.

spencer nudged your good shoulder, “now you can help me box up my things.”

you’d gotten used to his things, though. his aftershave in the bathroom, his chess set by the couch. even his supposedly mobile library he’d moved into your apartment. you knew how empty it was going to feel.

in fear of that emptiness, you blurted it out on the car ride home from the hospital, “maybe you should stay a bit longer.”

“yeah?” he briefly took his eyes off the road to raise a brow at you, “you think you still need help?”

“i don’t need it.” you mumbled, picking the skin around your cuticles nervously. spencer noticed, and flicked your hands apart as a silent way of telling you not to do that. still taking care of you.

he didn’t push your declaration, just nodding, “okay. how long were you thinking?”

somewhere between a bated breath and a rush of words, you pushed out, “like, forever?”

this time, both his brows jumped and he had to clear his throat to stop his voice from cracking, “really? like roommates?”

no, like lovers, “yes, like roomies. nevermind, it was a stupid idea.”

“i don’t think so. i’d love to be… roomies.” the word sounded strange, too informal, coming from him, and it made you laugh. which made him smile.

after that very spencer-esque conversation, he moved the rest of his material belongings in, and put his flat up on listings. it sold fast, and you had to wonder why he’d agreed so rapidly, considering his place was notably nicer than yours. you had to wonder why he agreed at all, though it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone else that you hadn’t been able to separate. and the rest unfolded like one of the rom-coms you forced him to watch.

you no longer needed him to wash your hair over the side of the bath, which had at first been annoying because he did not wash the conditioner out properly. but now you missed it; it had become almost a bonding experience. that became true of a lot of things you’d adjusted to in the past months. him helping you into bed, you playing the wounded card to make him watch your shows on tv.

one thing that hadn’t changed was the sheer amount of card games you two played. you knew spencer was always going to win, but you tortured yourself with it anyway. one night, you were splitting the deck as you announced, “i’ve got a new game. it’s called rummy version two.”

before he could explain all the deviations rummy had from its origin over the years, making your game not a second version but at least an eighth, you rushed on to outline the rules. you were completely making it up as you went along, and continued adding to it as you played. it was impossible for you to lose, and spencer quickly figured out that you were bullshitting. for a profiler, you had a terrible poker face.

“you’re making this up.” he stated, putting his cards down.

you leant over the table, now able to rest pressure on your arm, and challenged, “prove it.”

there was a thick tension that had arisen suddenly between the pair of you, though the more you thought, the less sudden it seemed. maybe it had been building for a while. like the blush steadily rising to his cheeks as you got slightly closer to his face.

he smirked, “you’re winning.”

“rude. that doesn’t mean i’m-”

what it didn’t mean, spencer never got to hear, because it was at that moment he surged forward to close the remaining distance between your lips. you almost fell when you two collided, but his grip had attached to your upper arm to steady you. his kiss did not relent, demanding and speaking of all the impatience he’d felt recently. you responded likewise, threading your hands into his curls as soon as you got your balance, barely breaking for breath.

spencer’s skin on yours was something you had thought about more than you cared to admit, and with the fervour he was kissing you with, you thought he might’ve experienced the same. he was almost desperate against you, hands trailing to smooth over any section of exposure he could find, before one rested on the side of your face, and the other on your thigh.

“spencer,” you gasped, pulling away to catch air in your lungs, “need to breathe.”

he nodded as though he’d forgotten that, mimicking your heavy breaths, but not taking his hands off you. you rested your forehead against his and blinked. it was starting to sink in, the line you’d just crossed together.

“do we have to tell hotch about this?” you suddenly asked.

spencer frowned, “why are you thinking about hotch right now?”

you laughed and kissed him again, quickly this time, “you’re right, let’s just…”

“yeah.”

thank god he agreed to be roomies.

[ebullientheart]

access. spencer reid x reader

content — suggestive fluff. established relationship. fem!reader. sunshine!reader. blurb.

you move in with spencer.

the pout on spencer’s face as he helped you haul boxes up the stairs was almost comical, though you couldn’t laugh at him when he looked at you like that. like you hung the moon and the stars. like you weren’t carrying a box of towels to his box of large books.

“need some help?” you jested, setting your load down. your teasing wiped off his former expression, his answer a deadpan stare until you bounced over to him with palpable excitement, and he couldn’t fight the smile off anymore.

he saw the sunlight glare straight into your eyes when you stopped in front of him, so he nudged you to the side with his elbow.

“i’ve got it.” he huffed, dropping your books unceremoniously onto the bed. you resisted the urge to whine at him for the mistreatment of your collector’s editions, since he had hauled them all the way from the car without assistance. instead, you poked his bicep repeatedly until he took hold of your wrist, still amused by your antics. his patience rarely waned with you.

you weaselled out of his purposefully loose grip and darted behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist before he could turn with you. from the new angle, you rested your cheek against his surprisingly firm back. it felt safe, and he liked your touch.

“i’m so excited to live with you.” you weren’t sure if he was going to hear you, but the affectionately light squeeze he gave your arms let you know he did.

he muttered, “well, seventy percent of couples live together before marriage, so it seems like a step in the right direction.”

you weren’t sure if his words held any weight or if he was observing and reciting, but the thought had you ready to jump his bones. he sensed the shift in your mood and unwound you from him, “we have more boxes to get from the car.”

except spencer didn’t finish the sentence because you spun him to face you and the words died in his throat. the breath he released was one of defeat as he kissed you once, twice, three times before straightening to his full height so you couldn’t reach him anymore. you groaned, knowing there was no arguing with him. he’d kiss you again later but he couldn’t leave the task half done. you took his compromise and trudged back down to the car with him, to merge your home with his.

as he shouldered another heavy collection, and you picked up a single teddy bear, the look he gave you was blown away by your giddy, “love you”, as you ran inside to start unpacking.

[ebullientheart]

second opinion. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. humour. reader has a rough cold. blurb. established relationship. implied fem!reader. some medical talk.

spencer takes advantage of his title.

“spencer, put it down.” you warned, approaching him slowly, “it’s not worth it.”

his eyes widened, almost dropping the medicine bottle, “don’t be so dramatic! now, sit back down and take your cough syrup.”

you sighed, falling back to the sofa where he’d had you confined since the first sign of a sore throat. at first, you’d fought him for it, trying to get dressed for work, but he’d pressed one hand to your burning forehead and all but forced you into joggers and a sweatshirt. he’d even called in sick for you.

begrudgingly, you swallowed the syrup and frowned at your boyfriend, “is this really necessary?”

he nodded seriously, “absolutely. i’m a doctor.”

you groaned, “oh stop it. i want a second opinion.”

he screwed the lid back onto the bottle and returned it to your kitchen cupboard, before clambering over to join you. once again, he felt your temperature and frowned unhappily, “opinion one, you’re very ill…”

then to your surprise, your germaphobe boyfriend leant forward and kissed you on the head, “opinion two, you’re very beautiful, and opinion three, you should stay still and let me take care of you before you unleash this plague on the rest of humanity.”

your cheeks suddenly held a similar heat to your forehead, grumbling, “i only asked for two.”

spencer shrugged, “i always say more than requested.”

“understatement,” you scoffed, recalling the ninety minute conversation you’d had that morning on the function of lymph nodes in advanced drug trials, “but i don’t mind. makes me smarter.”

a fit of coughing overtook you then, and for all his knowledge, spencer didn’t know how to take away the burning in your lungs, nor did he know how to not feel bad for that. your suffering wasn’t something he revelled in, and the thought of you going to work through this made him worried about your commitment. not that he was one to question someone for overworking themselves.

you deadpanned him after enduring his fretting, “it’s just a cold, babe, you can stop looking at me like i’m dying.”

spencer sighed, mumbling, “i don’t like it when you’re sick.”

you teased, “it’s not a picnic for me either,” but upon seeing the pained look on his face, “but i appreciate you looking after me, it’s nice.”

he surprised you again, seemingly unafraid of contracting your ‘plague’ as he sat close enough to you that you could lay your head on his shoulder. you weren’t sure where his spark of bravery came from, remembering the one time you sneezed while walking into a dusty room and he didn’t touch you for two days.

“what’s the sudden change of heart with these germs?” you poked his side, only playing. the guilt on his face, however, was unmistakable.

you sat up straight, he didn’t meet your eye, “spencer. why are you not afraid of my cold?”

he cleared his throat, “i… was sick, on our last case. i might have still been contagious when i came home, so this may be my fault.”

you gaped, “hey! you told me colds were most contagious before symptoms were even present!”

“that’s true. most contagious. they’re still slightly contagious after, especially if say, you were to make out with someone…”

“i can’t believe you.”

“i love you?”

you rolled your eyes at him, “yeah, i love you too.”

[ebullientheart]

dogs. aaron hotchner x reader

content — dogs🤍. fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. brief mention of case. one swear. sorta sunshine!reader.

5 times you try to convince hotch to get a dog with you +1 time it works.

1. the scent dogs

a frazzled officer had handed you the leads of two sniffer dogs, running away on the insistence his captain was going to ‘kill me for letting them piss on his van again’. you had snorted sympathetically, meaning to tell him you’d love to help out but your unit chief would be expecting you; he was already running away.

you laughed and accepted your fate, wrapping the leads tightly around your knuckles and sitting cross-legged with them. they were eager for your affection and silly voices, even though they were squashing you in their best attempt at hugging. two large german shepherds, but probably the friendliest police dogs you’d ever seen.

“how do these things always happen to you, agent?”

hotch saw the way your shoulders stiffened, and regretted scaring you. the dogs seemed to pick up on this too, turning to the man with low growls at his interruption. you stifled your mirth at their reaction and twisted on the spot to look up at your slightly formidable, but currently intimidated by the dogs, boss.

you chanced a shrug, careful not to dislodge the canine leaning on your shoulder, “one of many mysteries, sir. wanna say hi?”

the look he gave you then was priceless; it was pure disgust. but at your giddy grin, he did crack the smallest of smiles on the hard stone of his face.

i wish i could make him smile all the time. no, shut up.

your mind was not on your side as you tried not to flush, instead burying yourself in between the dogs and letting them yip happily at the attention.

“don’t you just want one of them forever? or maybe both. look how cute they are!” you put your face between theirs.

hotch risked a muffled laugh and extended a hand, wondering how you were an adult. instead of putting your palm in his own, though you were severely tempted, you handed him the leads for the dogs.

“careful, there’s an angry captain on the prowl with a piss stained van. okay paperwork, bye!”

like the officer before you, you were gone before he could open his mouth to reprimand you. not that he was planning on reprimanding you. he was planning on asking if you wanted to get a drink post-case, but for now he had two other problems in the form of two disgruntled german shepherds.

2. the stray

the neighbourhood you were canvassing was not exactly upmarket. it had a high concentration of crime and poverty, and with that, plenty of malnourished animals that likely carried many diseases. no matter how much you loved them, and you did still love them, you were not planning to kneel down with them and touch. you weren’t carrying hand sanitizer.

“the unsub should be familiar to almost all of these people, he’s prominent in this community, so if- erm, shoo?”

seeing hotch startle back and weakly attempt to ‘shoo’ a stray dog was probably the highlight of your day. she was a small thing, possibly some kind of terrier, but too underfed to tell for sure. she sniffed at his ankles as though he’d have any food kept there, but besides that, made no threatening move. you took pity, unwrapping the sandwich you’d got from the hotel cafeteria to eat for lunch, and ripped it up into pieces to make it easier for her to chew. she wolfed it down and skittered off.

hotch frowned, “why would you give your lunch away?”

“she clearly needed it more than me. i hate people who abandon their pets….” you lamented, watching the assortment of strays on the outskirts of each alley. the dogs formed small packs, while the cats hunted alone, equipped with the ability to catch birds and mice.

the two of you kept walking, knocking on doors, when the idea struck you on the way back to the local precinct. you were only teasing, lacking even an ounce of sincerity.

“you should adopt one! i’m sure jack would be thrilled, and i don’t mind holding it on the plane home.”

he just deadpanned you and walked away at a pace you struggled to catch up with. eventually, he took pity as you had on the dog, and slowed down for you to fall in step next to him once more.

3. movie night

it had taken him quite a while, but hotch did eventually ask you out for that post-case drink, which turned into a few dinners, which turned into regular dates, until the two of you had a designated saturday night. this time, you were at his apartment watching a film he’d picked out from his limited stack of dvd’s.

“oh my god!”

hotch had left you alone for two minutes to get you a glass of water.

he raced back into the room, causing his hair to become disarrayed for probably the first time in his life, only to see you pausing the movie to point out… a dog.

he huffed, “are you kidding? my knees can’t cope with that, woman.”

you laughed, beckoning him over, “i didn’t mean to scare you, but look how cute he is.”

“i can see just fine from here.”

“suit yourself.”

but he caved, and crossed the distance between you. not to stare enthusiastically at the dog, but to kiss you on the cheek and press play on the remote while you were distracted by his affection.

you hummed, “i think i’m gonna get a dog.”

he raised a brow, “it’s never moving in here.”

now both completely ignoring the film playing behind his back, you smiled, “and i am?”

at the risk of sounding too forward and scaring you off, despite you being one of the most intense people he knew (and he knew garcia), hotch merely offered you a shrug and another quick peck before returning to the kitchen. you could hardly contain the glee on your face as you burrowed into the cushion you were clutching and tried not to let your thoughts get ahead of themselves.

4. jack’s plea

“i made a mistake.” hotch murmured to himself, watching you and jack bond.

as he once predicted, you were going to be the death of him. albeit a happy, glittery death.

your activity of choice to bond with the child you’d only officially met once so far, was to take him to a park. a dog park, where you volunteered in your free time. some people took their dogs there, others dropped them off with a volunteer for the workday. jack was jovially bonding with your daily pups, a young golden retriever, and an elderly pomeranian.

he tried to stack them, but you quickly intervened.

“mistake? the only mistake was not letting me get matching boots for him and the dogs.”

hotch just looked at you blankly, lacking the heat of a glare, but clearly unamused with your antics. externally, at least, because on the inside he was definitely smiling fondly at you. you took that from his eyes.

jack, at that moment, rushed to you with the enthusiastic dogs on his heels. you didn’t miss the fact hotch didn’t flinch as they jumped at him, whereas a few months ago he definitely would of. you decided that was progress, kissed him on the cheek, and knelt down to speak to jack.

he whispered conspiratorially, though loud enough for his father to hear, “i want to take one home.”

hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, while you looked between the two gleeful you, “well, little man, these lovely guys belong to some other lovely people who would miss them very much.”

you weren’t going to promise him on of his own. it wasn’t your place, and you were not in the business of making empty promises; you’d all but accepted that aaron’s reluctance translated to ‘never gonna happen’. it was just fun to tease.

jack nodded, “that’s true. i like the big ones, anyway.”

that was not what his dad wanted to hear, but you were elated.

“finally,” you laughed, entwining your arms behind aaron’s neck when jack went back to play, “a hotchner after my own heart.”

he only laughed back, spinning you around so you both had eyes on the adventurous kid, and keeping his arm firmly around your waist. eventually, he responded, “we work too much for a dog.”

the fact he’d even got that far in thinking about it? you considered it a win.

5. clooney

morgan didn’t ask the team for favours all that often, but occasionally he asked one of you to dogsit, if he knew nobody else could check in, feed, walk, and so on. reid never took that bait.

one extended, long weekend, on which he planned to travel to a nice resort on his time off, he handed responsibility to you. at first, you’d been delighted, but not even a day into bonding with your new pal, you’d fallen with the flu. fallen being an accurate term for your dramatics. luckily for you, you’d recently moved in with aaron.

luckily for him too, because you made much better pancakes than he did.

so while you were ill and uncharacteristically miserable, he was playing tug of war with the dog, and cursing himself for thoroughly enjoying it. jack rolled around laughing, and he was struggling to fend off the invasive thoughts that were result of your persistence. he had once promised to dedicating the parts of his life that weren’t reserved for profiling to making you happy, and while that was usually an easy task, a dog would…

but he cut the thoughts off when clooney peed on his kitchen floor.

yeah, fuck no.

later on in the day, he ventured into your shared room to check on you. pitifully, you curled into his side of the bed and offered a morose sniff in reply to his gentle greeting.

“how’re you feeling, honey?”

you sighed, unfolding the covers from where they were tucked into your chin, “you know how you felt when jack accidentally hit you in the skull with his metal lunchbox? worse.”

despite your detailed description, aaron took your verbose approach to his question as a sign you were on the mend. he brought you another glass of water, and let jack give you a get well soon card, while holding your breath to risk contaminating him. on the front, a rough sketch of clooney, holding a flower.

“this is the best card i’ve ever seen, jack.” you assured him, propping it on your nightstand.

“if we had a dog, i could put him on the card!”

you nodded, “that is true.” aaron rolled his eyes.

he was saved by your chest racking cough, ushering jack out the room to let you rest. jack was happy to run back down to clooney.

aaron gave you ‘the look’; it meant calm down and go to sleep. he gave it to the team a lot.

you had to giggle as he went downstairs to jack’s onslaught of ‘can we get a dog? when?’. you were proud of your little ally as you laid back down.

+1

having to work a case on your birthday was unfortunate but unavoidable. the team bought you a cake, which you really appreciated, and until the strangulations, there was a celebratory air to the unit. on the plane home two days later, spencer even offered to let you win at chess. you flipped him off for that.

in the car, you yawned dramatically. amused, aaron asked, “tired?”

you mumbled back, “jus’ wanna go home and see jack.”

he couldn’t ignore the way his heart tightened at that admission. glancing over to your sleepy face, he didn’t think he’d yet been this in love with you. if he regretted the decision he’d made on a phone call to jessica while in california, he would remember this moment. by the time he pulled into the driveway, you’d long since closed your eyes.

“honey, wake up. we’re home.”

you all but slugged your way to the front door, aaron’s hand between your shoulder blades, urging you onward. he carried both your bags, and tomorrow you’d apologise for not helping. today, you just wanted to check your stepson was tucked in for the night, then crawl into your own bed and collapse.

to your confusion, the tv was still playing. which wouldn’t be strange, jessica did put it on sometimes, but it was playing cartoons. you frowned, off to investigate. if you’d turned and seen aaron’s smile, you would’ve been more confused.

“hey, little man, what are you still doing up?” you opened your arms and he ran to them, while you gave his aunt a quizzical look. she gestured for you to turn around, jack giggling.

behind you, aaron held a gorgeous puppy, looking at you with round, brown eyes, inset in a face of smooth fur. his tail whipped back and forth excitedly as you reached out to hold him. aaron deposited him carefully in your arms, overcome with second hand joy at the expression on your face.

tearfully, from your exhausted state and fear of his answer, you asked, “are you kidding?”

he shook his head, while jack drew your attention again. he wanted to pet the puppy.

you lightly put him to the floor, where he ambled around with little grace, absorbing all the attention you had to offer him. at some point, aaron had to intervene and put jack to bed, but you stayed with the dog for hours on.

almost nervously, aaron asked, “do you like him?”

you gaped at the ridiculous question, “i love him. and i love you.”

there was a quiet moment, where he admired the happiness before him, and you hugged your new friend some more.

“can he sleep in with us, aaron?”

“absolutely not.”

[ebullientheart]

rational. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. established relationship. suggestive comment.

in which you and your boyfriend are both terrified of the dark.

“don’t panic!”

“when has saying ‘don’t panic’ ever helped someone not panic?”

your reply to spencer’s command was more of a hiss as you tugged on the door desperately. he mumbled that it wasn’t going to open, but you completely ignored him. you fumbled for your torch blindly, but knew in your heart you’d left it in the car. right next to spencer’s.

his arm brushed yours, and you all but screamed as you jumped away from the contact. he reached for you, so you didn’t get lost in the void. his fear was quieter than yours, but you felt it in the tremble of his hand and bit back the curse you were about to unleash. you moved closer to him, winding your arm around his waist.

“how long do you think it’ll be until the power comes back on?” his words were hurried, as if too much noise would alert the monsters to your location.

you shrugged, offering no further comment, while resisting the urge to burrow into his side. he was just as scared.

after a beat more of silence, you asked, “can we leave both lamps on tonight?”

the kiss he pressed to your forehead was saccharine, albeit messy from his lack of vision, “yes, please.”

the room surrounding you wasn’t massive, but big enough that a few steps away from each other would have you lost. no windows, no emergency lights, and a door that could only be unlocked electronically.

the pair of you jolted out of your skins at the loud knock that suddenly resounded throughout the room, the top of your skull knocking spencer’s chin, making you both suck in pained breaths.

“reid? you still in there?” it was morgan, “do you know where the others are?”

spencer called back that it was the two of you inside, and he didn’t know where anyone else was.

morgan chuckled, “hang tight, i’ll keep looking. and keep it clean, the power will be back on soon.”

as he walked away, you dissolved into laughter. you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face, but you knew he’d be frowning at you anyhow. it was hilarious to you that derek assumed you’d take the moment of solitude and the cover of darkness to get handsy, while instead you were stood shaking like leaves.

“i mean, it’d be something to do.” you teased.

again, you didn’t need to see him to know his face resembled that of a tomato.

[ebullientheart]

chatterbox. aaron hotchner x reader

content — fluff. humour. implied adhd!reader but not necessarily. fem!reader. bau!reader. blurb.

inspired by this poll and this person’s tags

it was always hard for you to focus on the same thing for long periods of time, growing up, and over the years it has caused you some problems. it’s also made you incredibly effective in the field, able to keep in pace, think on your feet, and not fixate on a detail, losing the bigger picture. it has made you incredibly ineffective at staying quiet during films.

from ‘wait, what did he say?’, to ‘i know her from somewhere, let me google it’, and even, ‘that was the worst plot twist i’ve ever witnessed’. unfortunately, there is nothing that irks aaron more. he has endless patience for you, usually, but talking during a movie is a crime to him. at one point, you really think he’s about to flash his badge at you.

at another comment from you, he groans loudly.

you bite your lip, “you hate me so much right now, don’t you?”

aaron huffs, “no, honey, i don’t hate you. i love you. please stop talking though.”

you really try. but when you don’t talk, you squirm. movie night may not have been the smartest date idea with an attention span like yours. on your third time shifting and clicking your tongue, he sighs, but is unable to completely contain his amusement, “do you ever stay still?”

“i mean… when i sleep, yeah.”

he lets his head fall back against the sofa back and gives a breathy chuckle, “alright. let’s do something else.”

even though he doesn’t seem mad, you aren’t fond of giving up on his first choice for your evening. it isn’t often he makes a request for something, and you didn’t want to ruin it. you shake your head and stop him from getting up, “no, no, i’ll be quiet. i’m sorry.”

you stress that last sentence and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly.

aaron gives you a playful glare, “i do not think you’re capable, sweetheart.”

you mime zipping your lip and curl back into his side as he resettles in his seat and presses play. true to your promise, you don’t say another word for the duration of the film. he does miss your voice slightly, but if he knows if he opens that floodgate, he’ll never watch a film in peace again. so he finally can pay attention to the plot, thoroughly enjoying it, and occasionally rubbing up and down your arm.

as the credits roll, he stretches his legs, and the arm you aren’t clinging to, asking, “can i get you anything?”

no answer. he frowns, “hey, movie’s over sweetheart.”

then he looks down to see you sound asleep against him, a state you’ve probably been in for over an hour. aaron sighs, wondering how engrossed in the film he could’ve been to not notice that. more accurately, to not realise there is no way you’d keep still and silent for that long.

not remembering when he became so soft, he kisses your forehead and mutters, “sleep well.”

[ebullientheart]

memory foam pillow. derek morgan x reader

content — fluff. fem!reader. dog. neighbours to lovers. blurb.

you dogsit for derek while he’s away, which is often.

“clooney!” you shrieked, tugging a pillow from between his teeth. he was getting restless now, as he did when derek was on a particularly long case. it had been eight days, “that’s my memory foam pillow.”

you discarded of it with a grumble. those were expensive.

but clooney gave you what you insisted were puppy eyes (derek said he was too old for that and it was okay to scold him) so you forgave him pretty quickly. you jingled his lead and his head poked up from behind your sofa instantly, knowing that meant it was time for another walk. agreeing to dogsit was keeping you in brilliant shape.

while derek never shared details of his cases when he came back, you saw his team on the news. it made you more cautious, everything that happened. walking around as the sun set wasn’t something you made a habit of, but clooney was large enough and loud enough to make you feel safe. by the time you’d jogged him round the block a few times and back home, derek’s car was in the driveway.

ignoring the excitement that bubbled in your stomach at the return of your neighbour, you bounced over to his door and rapped on it a few times. it swung open rapidly, and the frown on his face dissipated at an equal rate when he saw you. a trace remained.

“hey, sugar. you shouldn’t be walking around at night.” straight to the point. always was.

you gave him the same sweet smile you always did, “clooney’s got me.”

he tutted at you, but opened the door and jerked his chin back to invite you in. you entered gladly, unwinding the lead from your fist and letting the dog leap at derek in excitement. the man took the affectionate attack in his stride and headed for his kitchen to make you a coffee. he knew how you liked it, this was somewhat of his homecoming ritual.

his living room wasn’t as homey as yours, probably from the amount of time he spent away from it. a few cases ago, he’d given you a key at your offer to dust while he was away. now he didn’t cough so violently when he opened his door after a week away. some may call that reckless, but you’d been his neighbour for years, looked after his dog for more than half of that time, and he’d be lying completely if he said he didn’t look forward to seeing you.

“damage report?” derek asked, handing you a vibrant mug you guessed had to be a present from garcia, who you’d met once or twice.

you tried to lie, “oh, nothing.”

but he was a profiler, and the raised eyebrow told you you’d been caught out. you sighed, “just one of my pillows.”

derek winced, “crap, the new memory foam ones?”

your silence and averted gaze answered that for him and he reached for his wallet to compensate you with the thirty dollars. you waved him off and refused to take it, “i don’t mind, save it.”

and with a surge of bravery you were going to blame on the caffeine when you looked back on it, “can take me out for dinner instead.”

it took him less than half a second to recover from this rare display of boldness, but he did so smoothly, “that was gonna be my line, sweetheart.”

[ebullientheart]

bulletproof vest. aaron hotchner x reader

content — hurt/comfort. fluff. fem!bau!reader. brief references to typical bau violence. marriage. requested by anon.

you have a nightmare that, for once, is unrelated to your line of work.

your jobs are quite literally nightmare material. arson, murder, and a volley of heinous crimes you spend days and nights peering into. it is entirely unsurprising these villains chase you into the realms of subconsciousness, living in your minds as payment for delving through theirs. almost poetic.

so later, when your adrenal gland gets itself under control, you’ll likely find it funny that your scare came from something objectively less terrifying than your daily life. but in the moment, it feels just as horrible as being hunted by an unsub, or being forced to shoot, or finding yourself utterly defenceless.

all the typical signs of an activated fight or flight invade your body as your eyes peel open. you force yourself to sit and push your pillow upright against the headboard, swiping your damp palms over the sheets and trying to calm your heart. you think its intense pounding is probably what wakes aaron, whose head is right by your chest.

he rasps your name, momentarily confused at your shift in position. he reaches for your bare arm and you resist the urge to shrug him off in your paranoid state. it doesn’t take long for him to work out what’s got you trembling, too familiar with them himself.

“nightmare?” at any other time, you’d be entranced by his rough cut morning voice.

you shrug, whispering back as you’re conscious of jack asleep just down the hall, “i’m alright, babe, go back to sleep.”

with a quiet groan as he stretches his limbs out to sit also, he brings a warm hand to your shoulder blades. it’s firm and consistent, a presence you crave.

“you can’t lie to your husband.” he smiles, trying his best to remind you that he’s not just a fleeting comfort.

you scoff, trying your best to sound braver than you feel, “yeah, cos he’s a profiler.”

“a profiler in love with you,” he affirms, “talk to me, honey. was it foyet? the silencer? piano man?”

your laugh is watery as he lists off evils from your real world. you shake your head, covering his free hand with your own to politely cut him off.

“s’none of them. just a nightmare.”

aaron smiles fondly, “yeah?”

“yeah.”

he’s almost incredulous as he muses, “i didn’t know we could get those anymore.”

again, you laugh, and pride blooms in his chest. he’s not exactly known for his humour, and it stokes something nice in him that he can elicit that chuckle from you, even through your tears. still, he notes the self-deprecating undertone to the sound, and moves to pull you further into him.

“don’t be embarrassed.”

you nudge him, “stop that, we’re not supposed to profile each other.”

“i can’t help it, i know you too well.”

shuddering lightly at the memory of your cold fear, you concede, “there are worse things.”

he agrees and locks you to his front as he eases both of you back down to the mattress, not bothering to fix your pillow as you lay across him like a bulletproof vest. that’s how aaron makes you feel in moments like these; bulletproof.

[ebullientheart]

blinking. aaron hotchner x reader

content — fluff. self centred guy. bad date. alcohol mention. fem!reader. requested by @cr1minalskies .

aaron sees you from across the bar, and you are not having a good night.

it was so rare to end a case on such a high that everyone went out for drinks. often they’d all tag along if it had ended so badly that beer and company were the only solaces, but celebration wasn’t all that common. so, when it rolled around, the team took the opportunity and ran with it.

“hotch!” penelope screamed, startling the man, “are you laughing?”

to everyone’s surprise, including his own, he laughed some more and nodded. derek cheered and then spencer fell over, so he helped emily haul the genius up. suddenly, said boy wonder lit up, “hey, there’s-”

he did not finish the sentence, instead falling over once more, but the team followed his line of sight and saw you in the crowd. due to affiliation with aaron, they all recognised your face, which usually met them with beams and pleasantry. you definitely were not beaming in that moment.

rossi watched the unit chief shift to keep you in his line of sight and stifled a knowing smile, all the while aiding jj in sitting spencer down.

the man you were with, aaron assumed on a date because of your nice dress he knew you bought for those occasions, was talking incessantly. and not in reid’s patented manner of incessant talking, but rather in that of a terrible date. you could not get a word in edgewise, and the heavy set of your brow told aaron all he needed to know about your feelings on that matter.

he practically itched to save you from that dull night, but he looked around at his seasoned squad of profilers and knew it was a bad idea. luckily for you, he decided, with the help of liquid courage, that their scrutiny was worth being subjected to if it could help you out.

putting down his glass a tad too harshly, he easily moved through the throng of people separating you two until he was right at your shoulder, which he placed a warm hand on. you jumped, but immediately eased as you recognised the man behind you. you tilted your head back and smiled, thanks lined on your face.

“hey, what the hell man?”

aaron’s expression must have screamed ‘where did you find this guy?’, because you sighed heavily. he took that to mean ‘on the doorstep of a dog shelter’.

“sweetheart,” the name rolled off his tongue far too easily, “i didn’t know you drank here, or i would’ve called to say i was coming.”

the man spluttered, “excuse me, we’re in the middle of-”

maybe it was the crimson lighting in the bar, but the glare on aaron’s face was so formidable he just stopped talking. you mumbled an apology about cutting the evening short, and looped your arm through aaron’s to make a swift getaway.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you were speeding through gratitude and embarrassment, which your appointed hero just rolled his eyes at, “you’re fine, sweetheart, stop apologising. i really don’t know where you find them though.”

you groaned, “i’m looking too hard, i don’t know.”

“well, maybe just stop looking for someone new.”

his words were loaded with various sentiments, you knew that, though the potenial ramifications wouldn’t hit you until the next morning. in the moment he said it, however, you just gazed at him in an awfully lovestruck way. it was the way he had been gazing at you for months, and not the first time you had reciprocated. but unspoken, always unspoken.

as you made your way over to his group of coworkers, you only briefly registered the shit eating grins on their faces, too busy overthinking aaron’s last words.

rossi breached the moment of silence, clearing his throat and staring at hotch, though he was addressing you, “will you be joining us?”

before you could answer, garcia interjected, also staring at her boss, “why will she be joining us, hotch?”

then her eyes widened comically as she rushed to assure you, “not that we don’t love to see you or anything, you are always free to join us, in fact i’ve been meaning to ring you about baking something sometime, because-”

that conversation, which devolved into talk of different recipes for an assortment of treats, gave aaron a reprise from your attention. he missed it already. morgan handed the man a beer and said, “make uninformed decisions.”

that was the calibre of advice a drunk derek had to offer.

“i think i should get going.” spencer announced, on his fourth, or fifth, trip to the floor.

jj nodded, “i think i should get home now too, will might be waiting up.”

emily gave her intention of helping reid into a cab, and then going home to feed sergio. derek slid away to make contact with a girl he’d been sharing intense eye contact with. rossi declared he was too old for further lateness to bed. garcia stared at you like she had no excuse, and before running off, just blurted, “goodbye!”

it left you with aaron, under the weight of his employees knowing stares even in their absence. he deduced he spent too much time with them before devoting all of his focus to you. to his delight, your face was light again, happy. the talking came easily, flowed. you elicited a genuine smile from him that you thought might be telling of his affection, though you didn’t dare let yourself speculate further.

eventually, the bar closed, and the two of you emerged onto the freezing street hours later. your shiver had you standing as close as you could to him, and he really didn’t think his heart could take it.

“do you want to share a taxi?” he enquired, making to flag one down.

you shook your head, “i was planning on walking, i only live around there.”

you gestured vaguely, and aaron raised an eyebrow, “seriously? alone? do i need to go through my case slides with you again, because i will.”

“no, no, i remember. i was going to call a friend to get me but… you could walk me back?”

try as he might, he could not refute your invitation. while the pair of you walked, he tried to convince himself you’d only asked for the purpose of safety, and he’d only agreed for the same reason. really, he knew you would ask him to walk anywhere with you if it meant more time together, and he would definitely follow.

in the low light, you fumbled with the keys, but eventually unlocked your door. he hesitated to move inside with you at first, but you hadn’t let go of his arm, so he really had little choice.

it wasn’t that he’d never been in your home, but with the circumstances so drastically different, he couldn’t help but profile you from the decor.

“you don’t have to do that,” you nudged him gently, “you know everything there is to know about me. more than my family, more than my friends.”

he barely breathed, “really?”

your answer was unusually reserved, “i’ve never felt like i had to hide when i’ve been with you. i can’t say the same for many others.”

the feeling was mutual, and he didn’t need to say it for you to understand it, which was good because he was convinced his vocal chords had given out on him. there were no words he could muster to tell you how lovely you looked, even tired and vulnerable. especially then.

“it’s late… or rather, early. i understand if you need to be back for jack, but if not, you could stay.” the offer was softly spoken, but confident.

and what he loved about you was that you would understand, you always did. if he had to be a father, or a profiler, before being in your living room, you would never berate him for it. but for once, things had aligned, and his responsibilities diminished temporarily. jack was on a trip for the weekend, and the only texts he had from his coworkers were drunken spams asking him if he was going back to your place.

aaron hoped they wouldn’t get the answer to their questions just by looking at him on monday morning.

“i’d like that.”

[ebullientheart]

sidetrack. aaron hotchner x reader

content — hurt comfort. swearing. mention of hotch’s divorce. gn!reader. short fic. established relationship.

aaron doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. or sidetrack, by catfish and the bottlemen.

aaron hotchner was an fbi agent. to achieve that, he, like all, had to pass his physical fitness test to go into the field. but he was seriously wondering how effective that was, because as he dived off the bau’s jet and let his feet carry him over the wind to his car, the breath was knocked entirely from his body.

his satnav insisted the bridge was the quickest route home, but it felt longer in the silence. he couldn’t bring himself to slow down and switch on the radio. not when he’d woken to such a simple message from you — “give jack a kiss.” he knew, rationally, that you were just kidding, referring to a photo of jack puckering up to the camera before going to bed. but it set off haley’s last words before she left, and they were knocking at his temples like hammers. you had to be there when he got home. you had to.

aaron turned off home when he was at work, or at least he tried to. sometimes he thought about you telling him that he was everything you wanted. but he strove to keep his mind focused. if he didn’t, all he could think about was losing the life you had together, and that was unacceptable. he never wanted to feel the backlash of you turning from him. he never wanted to feel that way again.

had he been too caught up in work again? he struggled to remember.

everytime he apologised, you’d look at him with this endless patience that he felt undeserving of. he felt too responsible for it all. you promised you’d wait for him. would you wait for him?

the satnav beeped that this was the quickest route. he wasn’t convinced.

at a red light, he rested his head on the steering wheel for a few moments. he’d been short with you the night prior, when you rang to say goodnight, all loving and affectionate, and he’d had little to say back. a sincere whisper of love, but he was sure you were frowning on the other end of the line. it made him go mad to consider you weren’t getting back the endless love you threw at him. aaron needed you to know that he loved you. to really know it.

fuck this. he spun his car into the next lane, pissing off the drivers behind him and his satnav. he switched it off, confident he knew better. he was right. he needed to be with you as soon as possible, to make sure you were tangible. nothing ever good comes when there’s nothing on the line. something you told him a long time ago. did you know he used it like a mantra?

the door opened quietly. he might have been half delirious at that point, but he knew his son was well tucked into bed at this time of night. you probably had a hard time getting him down, he didn’t want your work for be to nothing. and you might be in bed too. he told you he’d be back that night, but he said things like that a lot.

he thought his heart was going to give out, constricting so tightly as he took in the scene before him. you were still wearing your jeans, and one of his college sweatshirts, curled into the sofa with a book hanging loosely from your grasp. you had tried to wait up. you believed him when he said he’d be back.

aaron crossed the carpet, imagining you scolding him for not taking his shoes off first. gently, he took the book and marked the page you were gripping so you wouldn’t lose it. he didn’t mean to wake you up, but your eyes were fluttering open at his movement and the adrenaline coursed through your body as you recognised his face.

before he could get a good footing, you shot up and threw yourself toward him with the energy infected in you by his son. your arms were around his neck and your legs were around his waist. instinctively, he held onto you as he stumbled back, managing to keep the two of you upright as you clung to him, reminiscent of a koala. his hands curled under your thighs as he shifted you slightly off his bad hip, thinking that he definitely needed to check on that fitness test.

“i didn’t mean to wake you, honey, i’m sorry.” he mumbled first, but you covered his mouth with your palm, ignoring the awkward position it put your elbow at. you shushed him lightly and pressed a chaste kiss to his downturned lips.

“no apologies, not right now.”

with his hands occupied, he used his head to make sure you were looking resolutely at him. he needed you to see his words, not just hear them.

“i love you.”

[ebullientheart]

migraine. aaron hotchner x reader

content — migraines. bau!reader. brief case talk. fluff. pain meds. blurb. anon request.

aaron is prepared for your migraines to hit.

the team used to theorise that it was the flight which gave you the unbearable, burning headaches. but they hit you even after local cases, so that was ruled out. it hadn’t been your secret for long, not with the profilers you worked with, and especially not when they became debilitating.

“is one coming on?” hotch knew the answer by the way you were rubbing at your temples with one hand and rifling through your go bag with the other. his voice was low so as not to attract the attention of your colleagues, but they were all sleeping or glued to devices anyway.

you just nodded lightly, not feeling like jogging your cranium anymore than that.

frustration was bubbling, and not helping the pain, as you searched for the medication you knew should be in the separated pocket of your bag.

aaron stopped your hand, mumbling, “here.”

he pulled the paracetamol from a small bag within his own. you were hurting too much to try look inside of it, but you didn’t have to as he started listing off offerings, “i’ve got a snap ice pack, water, and headphones, if you want any of those. also, here…”

he carefully undid your collar button, knowing it was probably choking you right now, and turned the lights down from a panel above his head. morgan and prentiss, the only one’s who weren’t asleep, looked up at the change, but saw your grimace and respectfully looked away. hotch worked a blanket around your arms and the sigh you let out was audible when he pressed the ice pack to you. you’d probably feel embarrassed about it later.

it took a while for the pounding to subside into something more manageable, so you could blink without searing pain. you inclined your head closer to him to whisper, “thank you, aaron.”

he seemed surprised at your voice, looking up from his phone screen. he had been angling it away from you so the light didn’t hurt your head further, and as he turned, you could see he’d turned on the blue light filter.

“of course.”

[ebullientheart]

chewing gum. emily prentiss x reader

content — pure fluff. gn!reader. drabble. established relationship. requested by dm.

emily subtly supports you with your oral fixation.

sometimes the urge to move your mouth hindered your day to day life. you managed by rambling with reid, or chewing your pen. but spencer was for once quiet and half asleep at his desk, and you had no pen because the form you were completing was all computerised. so, you’d resorted to the bane of your dentist’s existence — teeth grinding.

across the bullpen, emily frowned. she could see the clench of your jaw from where she sat.

“hey, my love, can you send those to me when you’re done?” she had bridged the distance to tap your screen and distract you from the urge in your jaw. you smiled and nodded, copying her into the email before you sent it.

she reached for your hand and squeezed it in way of thanks, depositing a packet of gum in your upturned palm before returning to her desk. gratefully, you tore into the packet, and the compulsion that was damaging your teeth subsided.

[ebullientheart]

doctor who. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. spencer is sad for a bit. fem!reader. just tooth rotting fluff. blurb. doctor who reference.

spencer feels insignificant, but that’s why he has you.

a bad case had every agent shellshocked. it always did. when they had such streaks of success, a failure felt like a full breakdown of their abilities, like suddenly they just weren’t good enough. they were the best of the best, but still human, and they tended to forget that.

especially doctor spencer reid. often, he felt alienated becuase of his intellectual capacity, but he was used to that isolation. it was a dull pain. but what was always raw, and fresh, was suddenly feeling out of touch with this defining quality, like maybe he wasn’t that smart after all. the comedown from that tore at his heart everytime.

you were getting ready for bed, swiping cleanser over your face, followed by moisturiser, when you looked out of the bathroom into your bedroom. spencer was sat, rigid, under the covers, just blinking slowly. he hadn’t picked up his book, he hadn’t turned on his reading light, which is what he usually did for at least half an hour before sleep. but it didn’t look like he was going to do that either.

the confusion, the sadness, it was painted harshly on his face, in his eyes. you hated that.

“hey,” you whispered, switching off the bathroom light and swinging yourself into bed. you leant over to kiss him on the cheek, and he turned slightly towards you, but gave no other indication he heard.

leaving your lamp on, you straightened yourself and bit the bullet, “do you want to talk about this, spencer?”

his name tumbling from your lips is what had him looking at you, finally. the way you said it, with so much love that he just felt undeserving of, grabbed his attention, though cruelly. undeserving.

he stammered, “i- i don’t know…”

he wondered if you were aware of the way you looked at him, tracing your fingers lightly over the side of his face. his heart was skipping a beat, probably another, just from your lovestruck look. pure, soulful warmth spread from your fingertips to his skin, almost reminding him of his worth, to you if nothing else. but the gripping reminder of loss stopped him embracing it.

“i’m not… i’m not as smart as i was. or thought i was. i guess it’s just, now, i’m not needed or… important.”

the words were hushed, hurt. you sucked in a breath at the self hatred rolling from his voice, clearly what he thought to be the truest sentences he could muster.

it wasn’t often you remembered phrases from the many shows and books he showed you. you engaged with them at the time, but they tended to slip your mind after a while.

“that’s incredible.”

spencer looked up from his hands with a frown, “what?”

“in all my years of time and space, i’ve never met anyone that wasn’t important.”

it seemed to let his guard down enough for him to process the love you were trying to force into his mind, his lungs, his chest, wherever you could make it stick. he practically glowed.

as a kindness, he didn’t point out that your wording was off, instead pulling you closer for a chaste, sweet kiss, and to allow to fully cup his face in your palms, “i love you very much, spencer, but i’m not biased when i say that you are brilliant. and smart. and lovely, and loved, and a hero. you are a very, very attractive genius.”

he smirked, “i never said i wasn’t attractive.”

“i felt like reminding you.”

then he kissed you again, slightly less chaste, but impossibly sweeter, his hands kind against the slope of your back.

his speech was muffled as he refused to pull more than millimetres away from your lips, as he declared, “you’re too good to me.”

“i can stop.” you teased.

again, between his mouth on yours, “don’t you dare.”

[ebullientheart]

violet. emily prentiss x reader

content — requested by @lucreziaq2001 . heavy warnings for child loss (stillbirth). please proceed with emotional caution. fem!bau!reader. grieving.

six months ago, you and emily lost your baby girl. the team are here for you on this day.

there is no earth-shattering comparison of pain that compares to losing a child. there isn’t an adjective or analogy that can describe the feeling to anyone who has not experienced that grief, and only a silent understanding between two that have. when you’d woken that morning, with emily already sitting next to you, she’d instantly had you in her arms, as though trying to shield you from this feeling. but such a shield could not exist in a world where you’d experienced such loss.

some point that night, your three year old son had climbed into bed with you, likely as a result of a nightmare. regardless of the reason, you were never more grateful for his presence. oscar was a quiet boy, but not still. never still.

“morning, baby.” you whispered, enveloping his tiny hand in your own. the beam he offered you sent shockwaves of love through the resolute cracks in your heart. the tight grip on your upper arm told you that emily was feeling the same way. she released her hold mindfully, and instead passed a hand gently over your stomach. sometimes you could feel a phantom pain there. not this morning though.

you moved slowly. everything was lulled into a half-pace, with emily’s gentle encouragement and oscar’s plea for pancakes serving to keep you moving. slowly, slowly, you mixed the batter, while emily warmed up the stove. occasionally, she’d squeeze your hand to remind you of her presence.

i wonder if violet would like pancakes. her brother certainly does.

usually, you had to push these type of thoughts to the back burner of your brain; you were likely to be incapacitated for the day if you let them dominate. but today, you permitted yourself the pondering. if there was a day to think about violet, it would be days like these.

a small budgie landed on your window sill, uncommon for houses in the city, and you had to think it was a sign. you saw them everywhere. you knew it was probably because you looked for them, but how could you not look for your baby in every aspect of the world?

“mumma?” oscar approached you while you were deep in thought, lightly startling you, though you welcomed his attention.

emily saw the tears on your waterline and intervened, scooping up her son and placing him on her hip as she said, “let’s give mumma a moment, yeah? we can go set the table.”

you smiled at her sadly, and she again held your hand as she passed you, before trailing away to let you have your thoughts. sometimes, they were a refuge, no matter how full of grief.

at that moment, your phone buzzed. it was hotch, which you were somewhat expecting. hotch and jj were the others of the team who had their own children, and therefore the most empathetic. and hotch had felt the fear of losing jack, the same day he did lose haley, so he was the one who could connect the most.

“when i thought, for a while, i was going to face my son’s funeral, i lost control,” he’d muttered to you in hospital, where you lay in a numb aftershock, “and that was only a thought. if there is anything, and i mean anything, we can do for you… you let me know.”

sometimes you cried, sometimes you shouted. sometimes emily did too. sometimes oscar asked why he never met the sister he’d been promised, and there was no answer for that. no why in the cruel, vexing world. but there was healing, gradually.

you slid breakfast to three settings on the table, bitterly wishing for four, with that same soft, sad smile from before, “here we are, my loves.”

while your son dived into the food enthusiastically, emily did not sit down at first. she rounded the distance between you to pull out your chair, something she’d done since your first date, and rest a hand on your shoulder. it wasn’t uncommon for the passing of a child to push couples apart, but it had glued you and emily together. the constant touches were just a reminder of the love still left in the world, one that extended far beyond to where your baby rested.

there was no combating the pain, but months of therapy helped you accept it as undeniable evidence of love. love for violet, love for oscar, love for emily, and love for yourself.

while your son was entertained with his junior lego set, you dried the dishes that emily washed, loading the bowls from earlier into the dishwasher. by the time you had finished, still moving sluggishly, the clock read half ten, and emily checked her phone.

“are you feeling up to some company, sweetheart? the team want to come and say hello this evening.”

you cast your eyes down to your hands, and finding them free of tremors, you agreed. it took some time to dress for the day, including a moment in the mirror where you had to shed some tears. emily reciprocated this reaction, and the two of you swayed in each other’s hold for a while. eventually, oscar became bored of his inflatable book and twisted his way in between the two of you to insist on ‘up!’. you laughed wetly, wiping your cheeks (too harshly based on your wife’s disapproving stare and careful repeat that followed), and bent at the waist to hoist your demanding toddler ‘up!’.

eventually, evening arrived, and you felt only minorly more prepared than before at the prospect of people in your home that day. nevertheless, you shook your body free of tension and headed outside at the sound of approaching vehicles. you tried not to think of that same sound, accompanied by sirens, coming to take you away six months prior.

emily descended the steps before your porch to meet the others at their cars, probably to issue an unnecessary but appreciated reminder for them to be sensitive. you stood in the doorway, determined to have the remainder of the day a comforting memorial, with oscar leaning his face on your shoulder. at the sight of the incredibly colourful and therefore toddler appealing penelope garcia, however, he quickly wanted ‘down!’, which you gave with a bright smile at his joy. one that surprised you, as you didn’t think you would be capable on such a day.

first to greet you was hotch, who had driven over garcia, jj and rossi, who greeted you in turn. morgan pulled into the drive at the same time, with reid in his passenger seat. there were all dressed in their varying styles, but they all sported a purple, or specifically violet, accessory. hotch’s tie, rossi’s shirt, jj’s bracelet, morgan’s shoelaces, reid’s vest and… garcia’s entire ensemble. hair included.

you willed the overwhelming emotion, as a result of their support, that scalded your throat back down into your chest, where it settled warmly. an acknowledgment of the family you found in these people.

there was confusion on your part when they did not try to enter your home, instead lining up on the roofless section of the porch with you. you turned to emily for an answer; she wrapped an arm around your waist and directed your attention to where garcia had brought your son to the cars. the two emerged holding many balloons, all violet, and begun handing them out to the line up of you.

“do you want to say anything?” emily mumbled to you, while the others pointedly chattered to alleviate any pressure you may have felt.

you choked and shook your head.

emily cleared her throat, leaning on you as she said, “we love you, violet.”

and the balloons went up. nine of them, twirling skyward with no weight to hold them down. they flew up and east, with the wind, and you stood until the last one edged from your view.

the sun set, and streaked her colour across it’s domain, bathing you all in that light and love you didn’t expect to feel on that day. that gentle hand on your heart, reminding you that you were not alone, and she was not alone.