#BAU reader

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[badathumanemotions]

Marked By Fate

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList CW: Soulmates, Awkward Soulmate Mark Placement, Accidental Groping, Slapstick, Awkward Spencer, Clumsy Spencer, BAU Reader, Awkward Romance, Smut, Fingering, Oral (f rec), Vaginal Sex, Creampie. WC: 21,798

You've always hated your soulmark, mostly because of it's placement. Knowing that's where your soulmate would first touch you left you dreading the day you'd meet. At least it'd be a funny story one day…probably. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had always believed in soulmates. Not just in the theoretical sense, the way one might believe in gravity or quantum entanglement, but in the deep, unwavering way that only a hopeless romantic could.

His mother, an English literature professor, used to tell him stories about fate, about invisible strings tying people together across time and distance. She read him Tristan and Isolde, Chaucer, and Shakespeare, filling his childhood with grand tales of love and destiny. He had clung to those stories, even when the world made it hard to believe in them.

His soulmark had appeared the same as everyone else’s, soft, golden, shimmering like trapped stardust against his skin. It had settled onto his left hand when he was young, a delicate glow across his palm. A promise. A certainty. Proof that somewhere out there, someone was waiting for him.

But knowing that hadn’t made the waiting any easier.

The mark had been both a comfort and a quiet ache. It was proof that someone out there was meant for him, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. He had always felt a step out of sync with the world, his thoughts moving too fast, his words landing awkwardly, his presence somehow too much and not enough at the same time. He had been the kid buried in books while others played, the one who rattled off facts when people expected small talk.

But through it all, his soulmark had remained, gleaming softly under the light, reminding him that someday, someone would touch his palm, and they would be *his*. Someone would reach for him, hold him, connect with him in a way no one else ever had.

He had dreamed about it more times than he could count. Would it be a gentle touch, fingers slotting between his? Would it be an accident, someone catching his hand in a crowded room? Would he recognize them immediately, or would it take time?

He had spent years turning the possibilities over in his mind, longing for the moment it would happen.

—

Soulmates were supposed to be romantic. A cosmic thread binding two people together, ensuring that out of the billions of people on the planet, you’d find the one meant for you. For most people, it was a beautiful thing. Something to be cherished. Something to be shown off.

For you? It was a nightmare.

Everyone else had sweet, poetic stories about their marks. A brush of fingers across a wrist. A guiding hand on a shoulder. A reassuring touch at the small of the back. Cute, wholesome, normal. You had grown up surrounded by people who proudly displayed their marks, eager to imagine the moment their fated person would finally arrive. Kids in school would trace theirs absentmindedly, daydreaming about the love story that would unfold when they met their soulmate. You had done the exact opposite.

You had spent your whole life covering yours up, never wanting anyone to know where it was.

Because your mark—the physical sign of where your soulmate would first touch you—was right on your right boob.

And no matter how many times you tried to spin it, there was no way to make that romantic.

It was embarrassing. Mortifying, even. While your friends talked about their dream scenarios, you avoided the subject entirely. You became a master of misdirection, dodging curious questions and changing the topic whenever soulmarks came up. You kept it covered at all times, never letting anyone see even a glimpse of it. The idea of someone realizing where it was? Horrifying.

And as the years passed, the worry only got worse. How would it even happen? What kind of scenario would lead to someone’s first touch being *there*? You didn’t want to think about it. The possibilities ranged from awkward to downright humiliating, and you weren’t eager to find out which one fate had in store for you.

You had resigned yourself to dreading the inevitable. To constantly living with the anxiety of an unpredictable, embarrassing first contact.

And then, in the span of a single day, it happened and it was even worse than you ever could have imagined.

The elevator ride up to the BAU was smooth, but your nerves weren’t. You inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and resisted the urge to fidget with the strap of your bag. New job, new team, no big deal, right? You’d done this before. Well, not this exactly, but how different could it be from any other first day?

The doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the bullpen, busy but not overwhelming. Agents moved between desks, chatting, sipping coffee, typing away at computers. The place had a steady energy, something just shy of chaotic but still purposeful.

You stepped out and caught the attention of the first person who didn’t look like they were sprinting between tasks. “Excuse me, can you tell me where Agent Hotchner’s office is?”

The man barely looked up from his coffee. “Up the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

You adjusted your bag and started weaving your way through the bullpen, eyes scanning the space as you walked. It was all standard office stuff, desks, computers, a board covered in what looked like case notes. But then, about halfway across the room, your gaze snagged on something or rather, someone.

A man, standing near a desk, gesturing as he spoke to someone. Tall, lean, with soft brown curls that curled just slightly at the ends. His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing like he was sorting through his own thoughts in real time. He had this nervous energy about him, but not in a bad way, it was almost endearing.

You didn’t mean to slow down, but your feet betrayed you for half a step. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms that were far more attractive than they had any right to be. His lips parted slightly like he was about to say something else, but then he hesitated, head tilting just a fraction as if reconsidering his phrasing.

Oh no. He was adorable.

You forced your eyes forward and picked up your pace before you could get caught staring like some kind of weirdo. You weren’t here to develop a workplace crush within five minutes of arriving.

Reaching the stairs, you made your way up to the offices, stopping at the last door on the right. Taking a quick breath, you knocked.

Reaching the stairs, you made your way up to the offices, stopping at the last door on the right. Taking a quick breath, you knocked.

“Come in,” came the voice from inside.

You stepped into the office to find Aaron Hotchner standing behind his desk, his expression serious but not unwelcoming. He was taller than you expected, somehow even more imposing in person, though not in an intimidating way, more like he exuded authority without trying.

“Agent,” he greeted, extending a hand.

You stepped forward and shook it, his grip firm, professional. “Sir. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

He gave a short nod, releasing your hand as he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

You sat as he picked up a neat stack of paperwork and set it in front of you. “Just a few things to sign. Standard HR documents, confidentiality agreements.”

You nodded, picking up the pen he offered and quickly scanning through the forms. The usual legal jargon, nothing surprising. As you signed, Hotch watched you with the same careful scrutiny you imagined he used in interrogations.

“So,” he said as you finished the last signature, “I trust you’ve been briefed on the expectations here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We deal with difficult cases. It’s not always easy work, but it’s important. We rely on each other here, you’ll find this team is more like a family than anything else.”

You glanced up at him. “That’s good to hear.”

He studied you for a second longer, then nodded in approval. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”

And just like that, your stomach flipped. You smoothed your hands over your pants, bracing yourself as you stood and followed him back out the door, back down the stairs, into the bullpen, where everyone was waiting.

As you followed Hotch down the stairs, you could feel a dozen pairs of eyes flicking toward you, agents sizing you up as you entered the bullpen. Your stomach did a nervous little flip, but you kept your posture straight, your expression steady.

“This is the team,” Hotch said, his voice calm but carrying enough authority to command the room’s attention.

He stopped just short of the gathered group, and you quickly took stock of them, each one distinct, each one watching you with varying levels of curiosity.

“Jennifer Jareau, communications liaison,” Hotch started, motioning toward a blonde woman with warm eyes and an easy smile.

“JJ,” she corrected, stepping forward to shake your hand. Her grip was firm but friendly. “Nice to meet you. You’re in good hands here.”

Next was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a knowing smirk that practically screamed trouble—in a good way. “Derek Morgan,” Hotch introduced.

Morgan took your hand but didn’t shake it right away. Instead, he held onto it just a second longer than necessary, flashing you a dazzling grin. “Now, how come Hotch didn’t mention we were getting someone this gorgeous?” His voice was warm, teasing, and effortlessly charming.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That line work on a lot of people?”

Morgan chuckled. “You tell me.”

With a playful smile, you finally pulled your hand back, and he winked before stepping aside.

Next was Emily, who smirked and gave you a firm shake. “Hope you’re ready,” she said, her tone light but teasing. “This place has a way of keeping things… interesting.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,” you replied, grinning back.

David Rossi, the older man standing beside her, had a knowing smirk before you even reached him. Rossi stepped up next, shaking your hand with a knowing smirk. “Welcome to the team. If you’ve heard any rumours about me, don’t believe a word.”

“Oh?” you said, raising a brow. “Not one?”

“Not unless they’re good,” he said smoothly.

Then, there was the woman who had been practically vibrating with excitement the moment she laid eyes on you. She had neon-bright clothes, chunky rings, and an energy that could only be described as infectious.

“Oh, aren’t you just a vision?” she gushed, taking your hands instead of shaking them. “We are so going to be besties, I just know it. And if anyone gives you trouble, you just tell me, I have access to all the databases, and I’m not afraid to use them.”

You grinned, already knowing you’d love her.

And then, finally—

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch said.

Up close, Spencer was even cuter. His eyes were wide, warm hazel with flecks of gold, his hair a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. He had that awkward, gangly charm, the kind that made him look both brilliant and completely out of his depth at the same time.

And right now, he looked very out of his depth.

Spencer stepped forward, moving faster than he seemed to be thinking. “It’s, um—hi. I mean, I’m Spencer—”

And then, it happened.

His foot caught on the leg of a chair.

For a split second, you could see it happening in slow motion—the way his body pitched forward, the way his arms flailed uselessly. His hands shot out on instinct, and—

Oh. Oh no.

One of them landed. Squarely. On. Your. Boob.

A tingling sensation shot through you.

Not just any tingling, the kind that sent an involuntary shockwave down your spine, that made your breath hitch in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a workplace setting.

Your brain barely had time to register the mortifying zap of pleasure before Spencer, in his frantic attempt to not grope you, lost what little balance he had left.

His eyes went impossibly wide, his mouth opening in a silent oh no, and then—

Gravity won.

He collapsed onto you.

There was no graceful way to go down. One moment you were standing, and the next, you were flat on your back, crushed under the full weight of a long-limbed genius.

The bullpen went silent.

For a single, excruciating second, no one moved.

Spencer was on top of you. His face was hovering inches from yours, his body pressed against you in a way that should never happen in front of new coworkers. His breath fanned across your cheek, warm and panicked.

And worst of all?

His hand was still on your boob.

A strangled noise escaped his throat as the realization hit. He jerked his hand back so fast you half expected it to break the sound barrier. “I—I didn’t—oh my god—I swear—I didn’t mean—”

You, meanwhile, were malfunctioning. Your brain had shut down. Your soulmark—the one you had spent years pretending didn’t exist—was buzzing, sending little pulses of heat straight through you.

Your breath hitched.

Before you could even think about how to respond, something even worse happened.

A soft, golden glow lit up the room.

Not from just Spencer.

From you, too.

Beneath your clothes, under layers of fabric, you felt it glow, bright and undeniable.

You were still trying to will yourself into nonexistence when the entire team’s eyes snapped to Spencer’s hand, where his mark was completely visible, shimmering bright gold against his palm.

Another beat of silence.

Then—

“Ohhhhh my god,” Garcia shrieked.

You scrambled to get up, which only made things so much worse because Spencer was still on top of you, and in his panic, he tried to move at the same time, which led to a disastrous tangle of limbs.

“Kid,” Morgan choked, wheezing with laughter. “Did you just—”

“I DIDN’T—” Spencer’s voice cracked as he flung himself off of you like you were made of fire. He scrambled back so fast he nearly tripped again, his hands flailing uselessly in the air as he tried to word.

You, meanwhile, were dying.

Actually dying.

Because you were pretty sure your face had caught on fire, and everyone was staring at you, and Spencer Reid, your new coworker, had just met you in the most horrifically inappropriate way possible.

Your brain refused to form words, refused to process that this was how you found your soulmate.

JJ, eyes wide, pressed a hand to her mouth like she was holding in a gasp.

Emily covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Rossi just smirked knowingly, because of course he did.

Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, clasping her hands together. “Oh. My. God. This is amazing!” she squealed, bouncing on her heels. “Boy genius finally meets his soulmate, and it’s happening right in front of us! This is better than I ever could have imagined!”

Morgan, still laughing, clapped Spencer on the back. “You move fast, pretty boy.”

Spencer made a noise that was somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

Hotch, to his credit, remained utterly stoic as he calmly clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Well.”

You turned to him, desperately hoping he would restore some order to the situation.

Instead, he deadpanned, “That was not the introduction I had planned.”

Spencer, still wide-eyed and looking like he wanted to sink into the floor, ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I—I just want to clarify that I did not mean to—” His voice cracked, and he coughed, his hand flying up to adjust his tie like it might somehow fix the situation. “It was purely accidental. I mean, statistically speaking, the likelihood of me tripping at that exact moment, at that exact trajectory, in a way that would cause my hand to—” He floundered, gesturing wildly, “—land there of all places is astronomically low.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “You don’t have to—”

“I mean, I—I don’t go around touching people’s—” He made a vague, frantic motion toward your chest before realizing what he was doing and immediately aborting it. His face somehow got even redder. “I have never—! I wouldn’t—! Not that I don’t want to touch—NO! That’s not—”

“Spencer.” You held up a hand, your voice dangerously close to a plea. “Please. Stop talking.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I mean, obviously, I will touch them, statistically speaking, at some point in our relationship—not that I’m assuming we’re going to have a relationship! I mean, soulmates don’t have to be romantic. There are plenty of cases where soulmates are just platonic or even completely uninterested in—”

Morgan wheezed. “Kid, shut up.”

“I can’t,” Spencer blurted helplessly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god.”

There was no coming back from this. You were going to have to quit, change your name, and move to a remote island where no one knew what had just happened.

Spencer was spiralling fast. “I just—I want to be clear that I wasn’t trying to make a first impression this way! I had a whole range of hypothetical scenarios mapped out for meeting my soulmate, and none of them involved—” He gestured between the two of you before groaning and dropping his hands like he’d officially given up on controlling them. “This is literally worst-case scenario. No—this is worse than worst-case scenario because even in my worst-case scenario calculations, I didn’t account for—” He hesitated. “Accidental second-base.”

Morgan choked. Garcia gasped like someone in a telenovela.

You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

“Spencer,” Emily chimed in. “I am begging you to shut up.”

“I mean, I’m just saying that biologically—!”

You turned sharply to Hotch, your last hope for salvation. “Sir, with all due respect, can we please pretend this never happened and move on with our lives?”

Hotch stared at you. Then at Spencer. Then at the rest of the team, all barely containing various degrees of amusement. After a long, excruciating moment, he exhaled through his nose and said, “Get back to work.”

That was apparently everyone’s cue to start snickering openly as they dispersed. You, however, remained frozen, still reeling from what had just transpired.

Spencer shifted awkwardly beside you. “…So. Uh.” He swallowed. “Welcome to the BAU?”

As the team filtered back into their individual desks, you followed Hotch as he walked you through the bullpen. The sound of keyboards clacking and phones ringing filled the air, but it felt oddly... comforting. Hotch gave you a reassuring smile.

“Your desk is right here,” he said, gesturing to a spot directly across from Spencer’s.

You blinked.

“Oh,” you muttered, dread settling in your stomach. "I... I see."

To your horror, the desk Hotch had led you to was positioned directly across from Spencer’s. You were now squarely within his line of sight at all times.

Spencer, who had been sitting hunched over his desk with a pen in hand, suddenly looked up at you. His wide eyes locked on yours, and you both froze for a moment. There was a brief, awkward silence before he cleared his throat, looking more like he was trying to reassemble his entire sense of self rather than just continue working.

Morgan, who had been watching this exchange from his desk, immediately straightened up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He threw a glance toward Hotch, then back at Spencer.

“Well, well,” Morgan drawled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “Looks like you two are gonna be real cozy, huh?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his own breath. “It’s—it’s just a coincidence,” he sputtered, clearly flustered.

Morgan only smirked, raising an eyebrow. “A coincidence, huh? Funny how that works out. So, Hotch, who’s gonna show our new friend the ropes?”

Hotch glanced over at the team, then back at Spencer. He sighed, clearly understanding where this was headed but deciding to go with it. “Spencer, why don’t you help her out? Show her around, make sure she’s settled in, whatever she needs.”

Spencer, looking both surprised and horrified, opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it. There was no way he was getting out of this. He gave a stiff nod. “Right. Sure. I can do that.”

Morgan leaned forward, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Good choice, Hotch. I’m sure she’ll be in good hands with Spencer,” he teased, practically grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the team was barely able to contain their snickers as they returned to their work, but not before Garcia shot Spencer a wink and Emily gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up.

With a final look at Spencer, Hotch turned back toward his office.

Spencer stood there, his face as red as ever, clearly unsure whether to laugh, cry, or run for the nearest exit. He turned to you, his eyes wide. “Uh, so... coffee machine's this way, I guess?” He began to move toward the break room, clearly desperate to get something, anything, done to distract from the absurdity of the situation.

You followed as he led you through the bullpen, his posture a little too rigid, like he was manually controlling every movement. You weren’t sure why he was the one acting like he’d been groped in public, but at this point, you were too tired to question it.

The break room was empty when you entered, thank god for small mercies. Spencer exhaled like he’d narrowly escaped death and immediately went to the coffee pot, reaching for it.

You stepped forward at the same time.

Your hands brushed.

Spencer yanked his hand back like he’d been electrocuted. “Sorry! You—uh—you go first.”

You couldn’t help but notice how strong the pull between you felt just then. It was subtle but undeniable, a strange connection drawing you both closer, but the awkwardness was still thick in the air.

You eyed him. “…It’s just coffee, man.”

“Yes. Coffee.” He clasped his hands behind his back, as if he needed to physically restrain himself from further accidental contact. “A normal workplace beverage.”

You grabbed the pot before he could overanalyze hot bean juice any further and poured yourself a cup. Spencer, still standing there like he wasn’t sure how to exist in this room with you, cleared his throat again.

“So. Do you, um. Enjoy coffee?”

You turned to stare at him. “I—yes?”

“Right. Of course.” He nodded rapidly. “Most people do. Statistically speaking, caffeine consumption is highly common among FBI agents due to demanding work hours and the need for heightened cognitive function.”

You took a slow sip of your drink. “…So that’s a yes on the coffee, then?”

“Yes.”

An awkward beat passed.

“…Would you like some?” you offered.

He startled like you’d just reminded him of the reason he’d brought you here in the first place. “Yes! Right. I’ll—I’ll just—” He reached for a mug, hesitated, then grabbed a different one, seemingly putting way too much thought into the choice. You caught a glimpse of the one he’d originally gone for.

Hot Stuff was printed across the front in big, flashy letters.

He cleared his throat so aggressively you thought he might hurt himself and quickly busied himself with pouring coffee. You decided to let him have that small dignity.

Unfortunately, fate was not so kind.

Just as he turned with his full mug, you shifted toward the sugar packets, and the two of you nearly collided. Spencer flinched, jerking back too fast. His coffee sloshed, spilling right over the rim of his cup—

And directly onto his tie.

He made a strangled noise.

“I’m fine!” he blurted, already yanking out a napkin like it might somehow erase the entire situation. “This is—fine! Totally fine! Very normal, in fact!”

You watched him with a mixture of sympathy and quiet amusement, the whole situation too awkward and funny to ignore, but also... strangely endearing. You could feel the bond, the unspoken connection drawing you toward him even more as you both fumbled through this moment.

You could feel your own heart rate picking up, not from panic, but from something else you couldn’t quite place.

Spencer, still trying to dab at his tie like he could somehow make it all go away with sheer willpower, cleared his throat again. “Uh. Right. I think we should—”

He paused, his eyes darting between you and his coffee-stained tie. It was like the connection between you two was too much to ignore, but neither of you were brave enough to act on it yet.

Spencer sighed. “Okay. Let's move on. Shall we?”

He tossed the napkin into the trash, and you both decided to leave your mugs behind. There was no point in finishing them now—both of you too distracted by the moment to care about the coffee anymore.

You nodded in agreement.

It was going to be a long day.

You followed as he led you through the halls, his pace brisk, like he was trying to outrun the mortifying events of the morning.

“This,” he said, gesturing stiffly as you passed a door, “is the copy room. If you need to print, scan, or make copies, the machines are all in here.”

You peeked inside. A row of printers and copiers hummed softly, an overflowing bin of discarded printouts shoved into the corner. “Got it.”

Spencer nodded, then pivoted so fast you barely kept up. “Restrooms are down this hall, men’s on the left, women’s on the right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna walk me in? Thought you were supposed to be helping me with everything.”

He visibly choked. “That would be highly inappropriate!”

You barely contained a smirk. “Relax, I was kidding.”

Spencer made a noise suspiciously close to a huff and muttered something under his breath that sounded like why is it always me? before motioning for you to keep following.

He led you further down the hall before stopping at a plain, unmarked door. He knocked twice, then pushed it open.

“This is Garcia’s office.”

The room inside was an explosion of colour, trinkets, figurines, and twinkling string lights surrounded an impressive setup of monitors. Penelope Garcia turned from her screens, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw you both.

“Oh, look who it is!” she cooed. “If it isn’t my favourite pair of soulmates, stumbling through the day together.”

Spencer sighed. “We’re just—”

“Existing in the same space? Yeah, I know.” She smirked. “Listen, newbie, if you ever need help navigating the BAU—real help, not whatever awkward crash course this one’s giving you—my door is always open.”

You smiled. “Appreciate it.”

Spencer, clearly done with this interaction, turned on his heel. “We’re leaving.”

Garcia waggled her fingers at you in a good luck sort of way as you followed him out.

After a few more hallways and a very dry explanation of where the case files were stored, you finally made it back to the bullpen.

Spencer exhaled like he’d just completed a physically exhausting task. “That concludes the tour.”

You gave a mock salute. “Appreciate it.”

Morgan, who had clearly been waiting for your return, smirked from his desk. “So? How’d our boy do? Make you feel nice and welcome?”

You opened your mouth, but Spencer cut in before you could answer.

“She is now fully briefed on the layout of the building and equipped with all necessary information to function efficiently in the workplace,” he rattled off in a clipped, robotic tone.

Morgan blinked. Then grinned. “Well, damn. Sounds like she got the deluxe tour.”

You snorted. Spencer scowled.

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ were blatantly watching, thinly veiled amusement written all over their faces.

As you settled into your desk, Spencer hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to start this next part of your “orientation.” He cleared his throat once more, probably for the hundredth time that day.

“So,” he said, pulling a chair out beside you, “this is, uh, the part where you’ll be doing a lot of the, well, paperwork. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it’s important.”

“Let's start with something simple,” Spencer said, flipping open a file with way more urgency than necessary. “These are reports from precincts around the country requesting a profile. Our job is to go through them, assess and start a preliminary profile then send it back with recommendations.”

You grabbed one of the files, skimming over the first page. “Okay, got it. So, I just—” You reached for a pen at the same time Spencer did, your hands colliding.

Both of you pulled back immediately.

“Oh—sorry—”

“No, you—go ahead—”

Spencer hesitated, then went for the pen again at the exact moment you did. Another collision.

You both froze.

From across the bullpen, Morgan let out a low chuckle. “Man, this is painful to watch.”

Emily, who had been mid-coffee sip, grinned. “It’s like a nature documentary. Two very awkward creatures trying to establish dominance over a writing utensil.”

JJ, passing by with a file, smirked. “Should we intervene, or just let it play out?”

Spencer, determined to regain some semblance of control, cleared his throat. “Right. Uh. Let’s—” He reached again, but you had the same idea, and somehow, in a tragic display of poor coordination, his elbow swung outward—straight into your chest.

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening. Spencer, face going so pale it was almost impressive, snapped his arm back like he’d been burned.

“Oh my god—I—” His voice pitched slightly. “That wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

In his panic to put some distance between you, he pushed off the desk a little too hard. The chair, already slightly unsteady from his sudden movement, tipped dangerously backward.

The chair fully went over, taking Spencer with it. He hit the floor in a spectacular mess of limbs, momentum sending him rolling straight into an empty chair nearby, which immediately toppled over onto him.

The bullpen went silent.

Heat flooded your face. Your hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to help him or pretend this wasn’t happening.

Morgan let out a wheeze before cracking up. “Oh, hell no. Did that just happen?”

Emily had a hand pressed to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. JJ, pausing mid-step, blinked. “…Is he alive?”

Spencer, from under the chair, let out a weak, “Unfortunately.”

That was enough to set Morgan off. “Man, this is gold. I’ve never seen him go down that hard in my life.”

Your entire body was burning with secondhand embarrassment. “Should I—uh—” You half-stood, awkwardly gesturing toward the disaster zone.

Spencer, seemingly deciding he’d rather die than accept help, pushed himself upright, shoving the fallen chair away. His face was crimson. “I’m fine. That was—just—another minor miscalculation.”

JJ snorted. “Looked more like a full system failure.”

Morgan grinned. “Guess soulmate proximity messes with your equilibrium, huh?”

Your stomach twisted at that, embarrassment doubling. “Okay—um—can we not?”

Spencer shot Morgan a glare that was about as threatening as a wet cat. “Yes. Let’s not.”

Morgan just held up his hands, still grinning.

Spencer, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone, sat back down—carefully this time.

You hesitated, then picked up the pen, the cause of this entire disaster, and cleared your throat. “…So. Paperwork?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. Paperwork.”

JJ patted his shoulder as she passed. “You’ll bounce back.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath.

You just exhaled, still trying to will away the heat in your face.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance over at you. He'd helped you get settled with the paperwork, but now the silence between you was becoming almost unbearable. He cleared his throat again, the sound almost too loud in the quiet office.

"Well," he said, standing up a little too quickly, "I think you’ve got the hang of things here. If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk."

You glanced up, catching the way he looked at you—still flustered, but maybe a little more composed than before. He hesitated for a split second, his eyes darting between you and his desk, before he finally walked away, leaving you alone with your files.

As Spencer made his way back to his desk, you felt the weight of the connection between you both linger in the air.

Spencer sat back at his desk, his movements careful, like he was hyperaware of every single one. He stared at his screen, fingers poised over the keyboard, but he wasn’t typing. His pen, previously abandoned, found its way back into his hands, spinning between his fingers in a nervous rhythm.

You settled into your own work, flipping through the files. Every so often, your gaze drifted, just for a second, toward him. He was pretending to focus, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed whenever you shifted in your chair, like he was resisting the urge to look over.

Eventually, he did. Just a quick glance, but enough for your eyes to meet.

Spencer snapped his attention back to his monitor so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Spencer sat at his desk, his notes scattered in front of him, trying to focus on the paperwork. The awkwardness from earlier hadn’t quite settled. It lingered in the air between you, thick and palpable. He adjusted the papers in front of him, trying to make himself look busy, but his eyes kept flicking toward you.

You felt it too. The pull, the strange connection that seemed to tie you to Spencer. Every time you looked up, you’d catch him looking at you, his gaze darting away so quickly that you wondered if you’d imagined it. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he feel it, too?

There was no way to avoid it. He was your soulmate. The bond was there, shimmering between you, even if neither of you was ready to admit it out loud. He was just as awkward as you, maybe more so, which somehow made the whole situation even more complicated.

You tried to focus on the papers in front of you, but Spencer was impossible to ignore. The more you tried to get lost in the task at hand, the more aware you became of the pull between you. Your thoughts kept straying back to him, wondering what he was thinking, whether he was struggling with the same feelings you were. What did he think of you? Did he feel as attracted to you as you did to him?

Spencer shifted in his seat, turning his attention back to his papers, but the tension in the room was too much to ignore. He cleared his throat, glancing up just as you happened to do the same. His eyes met yours for a split second before you both quickly looked away, as if the gaze itself had burned.

The silence continued on between you, both of you trying to pretend that everything was fine, that there was nothing to this strange, electric pull you were both feeling.

At one point you both stood at the same time. The movement was so synchronized it almost felt rehearsed, but neither of you had planned it. You both glanced at each other as you pushed back from your desks, eyes widening in surprise.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly in place. “Uh… coffee?” he mumbled, as though he needed to confirm the very simple action.

You nodded, a little too quickly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Yeah… coffee.”

Neither of you moved right away, both standing there awkwardly, like you were trying to figure out what to do next. The whole moment felt ridiculous, and neither of you seemed willing to take the first step.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat again, a sound that seemed to break the tension just enough. Prompting you both to move.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke, both of you walking side by side but not quite together, the space between you almost suffocating. Neither of you had said a word, but the attraction was there, simmering just beneath the surface, as if the bond had wrapped itself around you both without either of you willing to acknowledge it just yet.

As you entered the break room, the sense of awkwardness only deepened, and you both stood there, pretending to be focused on something as simple as making coffee. You avoided making eye contact, each of you trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy while the rest of the world hummed around you, completely oblivious to the tension that had overtaken the two of you.

The entire thing felt like an elaborate dance. One that neither of you knew the steps to, but somehow it was drawing you closer, whether you liked it or not.

The coffee break didn’t last long. Both of you seemed to realize at the same time that standing in silence, avoiding eye contact while sipping coffee, wasn’t doing either of you any favours. So, with an awkward shuffle and a few too many polite nods, you both turned back toward the bullpen.

The walk back to your desks was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of movement as you each settled back into your respective spaces. You slid into your chair, exhaling slowly as you picked up a pen, trying to will yourself to focus. Spencer did the same, tapping his fingers against the desk, his leg bouncing slightly beneath it.

For a while, you both managed to maintain the illusion of productivity. The tension hadn’t disappeared, but at least it wasn’t suffocating.

At some point, you stood up to grab a folder from the nearby cabinet, stretching slightly as you reached for it. And that was when it happened.

Spencer didn’t mean to. He really, truly didn’t. But his eyes betrayed him before his brain could catch up. His gaze dipped lower, drawn to the curve of your ass, the way your slacks fit just right. It was a fleeting look, barely a second, but in that second, his brain short-circuited. His grip tightened on his pen, his face burned, and a thousand panicked thoughts flooded his mind at once.

Then, horror of horrors, you turned.

You caught him.

The second your eyes met, his face went completely red. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He looked like he’d been caught committing a federal crime.

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the smirk threatening to creep onto your lips.

Spencer made a strangled noise, immediately ducking his head down, suddenly very interested in the absolute nonsense scribbled on his page. His ears were burning, his entire body stiff with the sheer force of his embarrassment.

You let the moment stretch, watching him squirm for just a beat longer before finally deciding to take pity on him. With a small hum, you sat back down, not saying a word.

Spencer, still looking anywhere but at you, cleared his throat—loudly. “I—I wasn’t—uh—I just—” He exhaled sharply and gripped his pen tighter. “Never mind.”

The next hour dragged on in a haze of forced focus and pointed avoidance. You worked through your files, sneaking glances at Spencer just to see if he had recovered. He hadn't.

Spencer was sitting impossibly still, his entire body rigid with what could only be described as a masterclass in sheer mortification. His eyes were glued to the papers in front of him, but he wasn’t reading them. His pen hovered over the page, unmoving. It was as if he had decided that any sudden movements might make the ground swallow him whole.

You bit back another smirk.

At some point, you had to stand again, stretching your legs and reaching for another file. This time, you did it slowly, just to see if he’d risk another glance.

He didn’t.

If anything, he overcorrected so hard that his head turned in the opposite direction, eyes trained on the most uninteresting corner of the room like it was the key to solving life’s greatest mysteries. His hand twitched, gripping his pen so tightly you were mildly concerned it might snap.

Alright, maybe you shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. But after everything, the fall, the soulmate marks, the tension—it was kind of nice to be on the other side of the awkwardness for once.

You sat back down, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He still refused to look at you.

The bullpen had settled into a steady rhythm, but Spencer still looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. The stiffness in his posture remained, his eyes locked onto his paperwork like sheer focus alone could erase the last hour.

For you, everything still felt off. The quiet murmur of the team working, the soft rustle of papers being shuffled, the distant sound of a printer. It should’ve been easy to focus. It wasn’t.

Across from you, Spencer sat at his desk, his eyes flicking between his notes and his paperwork in a clear attempt to look busy. He wasn’t. You could tell. Every few moments, his pen stilled, his fingers drumming absently against the page like his mind was anywhere but on the work in front of him.

You weren’t doing much better.

The awareness of him had settled over you like a weight, something pressing at the edge of your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to shake it. It wasn’t just the fact that he was there. It was the bond, the pull, the quiet way his presence wrapped around yours like an invisible thread you couldn’t loosen.

You could feel when he looked at you.

And sometimes, you caught him.

It wasn’t obvious, not really. It was quick, subtle. A flicker of movement as he glanced up, his gaze barely landing on you before darting away. But the more it happened, the more you noticed. He wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was like his eyes had a mind of their own, betraying him before he could stop himself.

And every time it happened, your stomach tightened.

It was getting harder to ignore how attractive he was. You’d thought it from the moment you met him, but it was different now. More intense. He had this way of being awkward and endearing all at once, like he was constantly fighting against himself, caught between wanting to hide and being unable to look away.

And it was affecting you.

Every time he adjusted his tie, every time he ran a hand through his hair, every time his lips parted like he was about to say something but didn’t, you felt it. A pull, an ache, something unspoken that settled deep in your chest.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost didn’t notice when Spencer shifted in his chair, exhaling sharply like he was trying to physically shake himself out of whatever was going on in his head.

And whatever was going on in his head… was a mess.

Spencer had given up on pretending to focus. He knew it was useless. His mind had been running in circles all day, stuck on an endless loop that always brought him back to you.

It wasn’t just the soulmate thing, although, God, that was enough to keep his brain short-circuiting. It was everything. The way you moved, the way you talked, the way you existed in the space across from him like you’d always belonged there.

The bond was pulling at him, making him too aware of you.

Every time you shifted, every time you sighed, every time your pen scratched against the paper, he felt it. It was like his entire body had attuned itself to you, responding to the smallest movements without him meaning to.

And the worst part? You were beautiful.

He’d noticed before, of course. He wasn’t blind. But now, it was like his brain refused to let him think about anything else. Every detail was burned into his mind, the shape of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the way you furrowed your brow in concentration.

And then there was earlier.

Spencer swallowed hard, forcing his eyes down to his papers.

She caught me staring at her ass.

His face burned at the memory, the mortification still fresh. He had looked for one second. One stupid second, and now it was all he could think about. He hadn’t even meant to! His brain had just… done it, and now he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Had you noticed how red he’d gotten? Had you thought he was a creep? God, what if you thought he was a pervert—

No, no, no, stop.

He clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply through his nose. He needed to get it together. He needed to focus.

He picked up his pen.

It immediately slipped from his fingers.

Spencer closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if pleading with the universe to give him a break.

It didn’t.

Because the second he opened them, his gaze landed on you again. And this time, you were already looking at him.

His heart stopped.

Your eyes met, and neither of you looked away.

It was so brief. Barely a second. But in that second, the air shifted, something unspoken settled between you.

Then, just as quickly, Spencer tore his gaze away, his entire body stiff.

His mind was a whirlwind, and his breath caught. He couldn’t afford to focus on this right now. The bond was already too much. It was making it harder to get through the day.

So he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the work in front of him. The one thing he could still control.

The rest of the day passed without further incident. You focused on your work, occasionally catching glimpses of Spencer doing the same, both of you settling into the rhythm of the office. The initial awkwardness lingered, but with the steady hum of productivity around you, it was easier to push aside.

Now, as the workday wound down, the bullpen grew quieter. Desks were cleared, conversations turned to evening plans, and the weight of the day began to lift.

You gathered your things, telling yourself you had officially survived day one. But even as you slung your bag over your shoulder, a feeling of unfinished business settled over you, lingering like an unspoken question.

Across from you, Spencer was… lingering too.

His bag was packed, his work was done, but he wasn’t moving. Instead, he hovered near his desk, shifting his weight, fingers twitching like his own thoughts were betraying him.

He wanted to say something.

He needed to say something.

But every time he tried to open his mouth, his brain helpfully supplied the worst possible ways to start this conversation.

'So, about earlier when I—uh—accidentally groped you…'

No. Absolutely not.

'We should discuss our predestined spiritual and emotional connection…'

Nope. Horrifying.

You glanced up just as he let out a slow exhale, rubbing at his temple like he was trying to force his thoughts into order. The way he kept fidgeting made you pause.

“You okay?”

Spencer startled like you’d caught him committing a crime. “What? Yes! Completely. Totally.”

A beat.

“Actually… no.”

He shifted from foot to foot, adjusting the strap of his satchel like it might give him confidence. “I—uh—I was wondering if we could talk.”

You blinked. “Aren’t we talking now?”

His throat bobbed. “Yes, but—I meant tomorrow. Before work. Somewhere private.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh.”

“Not that—uh—! Not that it has to be—” He made a flailing gesture, his face going red. “I just want to have a conversation. A real one. So I can—um—gather my thoughts first.”

You studied him. He looked so nervous, but there was sincerity behind it. A genuine desire to approach this properly.

The bond between you hummed—like an unspoken thread pulling you closer.

You found yourself nodding. “Okay.”

His relief was immediate. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

He hesitated, then straightened slightly, as if he’d just remembered an important fact. “There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here. It’s quiet in the mornings. We could meet there before heading in.”

You nodded. “That works.”

Spencer exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “Great.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “It’s a date.”

Spencer froze.

“Not a—!” You backtracked, laughing at his full-body panic. “Not a date-date. Just… you know. A conversation.”

Spencer let out a breath like he’d been holding it for an hour. “Right. Of course. A normal, casual discussion between two people who happen to be soulmates.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Super normal.”

“Completely.”

You shook your head fondly. “See you in the morning, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, nodded stiffly, and then practically bolted before he could embarrass himself further.

You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you step into your apartment. Day one was over. You survived. You should be relieved. But as you move through the motions of settling in for the night, your mind refuses to let go of the one thing that has lingered with you all day.

Spencer.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you flop onto the couch. You should be exhausted, but instead, you’re restless. Too aware of the way his presence still clings to your thoughts. The way he fidgeted when he spoke, adjusting his bag strap like it might hold him together. The way he tapped his fingers against the desk when he was thinking. The way his hair curled at the ends, falling into his eyes when he forgot to smooth it back.

And the way he looked at you.

It was subtle, but you caught it more than once. A flicker of his gaze before he forced himself to look away, like he was fighting something he wasn’t ready to face.

Maybe you were, too.

You exhale, stretching out against the cushions. He wants to talk tomorrow. In private. The thought sends a nervous thrill through you. What is he going to say? What does he think about all of this?

Because for all his awkwardness, all his nervous rambling, one thing is clear—he feels it, too.

Spencer stares at the ceiling of his apartment, arms folded behind his head, willing his brain to slow down. It doesn’t. It never does.

Today was a disaster. Well, not a complete disaster. He could have done without the public soulmate revelation via accidental groping. Could have done without the mortifying moment when he got caught staring at your ass. Could have done without the entire day feeling like an out-of-body experience.

But still. There were moments. Little things that kept looping in his head.

The way your lips pursed when you were focused. The way your fingers skimmed absently over the edge of your notebook as you listened. The way you smiled when you talked to the others, easy and warm.

The way you looked at him when you caught him staring.

You didn’t look annoyed. Or uncomfortable. If anything, you seemed just as caught in this strange, magnetic pull as he was.

Spencer continues to stare, unseeing.

What is he supposed to say to you tomorrow?

He rubs a hand over his face. He needs a plan. He needs to say something that isn’t completely humiliating.

'Hey, so, I’ve been thinking about you all day—'

No. That sounds obsessive.

'I believe we should establish an open dialogue about the nature of our soulmate connection—'

Too clinical.

'I don’t want things to be weird between us, but I also can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t know what to do with that.'

Too honest.

Spencer groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He’s overthinking. He knows he’s overthinking. But how could he not? You’re his soulmate. He’s spent his entire life wondering about his soulmate. Fantasizing about the moment he'd meet you, the way it would feel, the certainty of it.

And now that you’re here, he has no idea what he’s doing.

Tomorrow. He’ll figure it out tomorrow.

…Hopefully.

The coffee shop is quiet, just as Spencer had promised. It’s the kind of place meant for lingering, for hushed conversations and slow sips of something warm. You step inside, your stomach tight with nerves, scanning the space until your eyes land on him.

He’s already here, seated at a corner table, hands wrapped around a to-go cup of coffee that’s barely been touched. Another cup sits in front of him, waiting. His fingers tap anxiously against the cardboard sleeve, a restless rhythm that betrays the thoughts undoubtedly racing in his head.

When he spots you, he straightens instinctively, like he’s bracing himself.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as you make your way over and slide into the seat across from him. Your eyes flick to the second cup, and he follows your gaze.

“I, um—” He clears his throat. “I got you a coffee. The way you like it.”

Surprise flickers through you, quickly followed by something warmer. You reach for the cup, fingers curling around it. The heat seeps through, grounding you. “Thanks,” you say softly.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s an odd weight between you, something unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Spencer forces himself to take a steady breath. He spent all night overthinking this conversation, running through a hundred different ways it could go, and yet, now that you’re sitting in front of him, he feels utterly unprepared.

Then Spencer clears his throat. “Thanks for meeting me.”

You nod, wrapping your hands around your own drink, grounding yourself in its warmth. “Yeah. I think we need this.”

He exhales, shoulders rising and falling as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t want to rush into anything just because of the soulmate bond,” he says carefully, like he’s testing the words as they leave his mouth. “I want to get to know you—really get to know you—before we decide what this means for us.”

Your eyes study him for a moment, unreadable, and for a brief second, doubt prickles at the back of his mind. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if you expected more, something immediate and undeniable? What if he’s already ruining this.

But then you exhale, nodding slightly.

“I do too,” you admit. “Honestly, I’ve always been worried that my soulmate would expect something right away. That they’d take one look at where my mark is and assume that’s all this is supposed to be about.”

Spencer’s chest tightens.

You hesitate, fingers pressing into the side of your coffee cup. “I was afraid of being seen as just… a cosmic guarantee of sex instead of a person.”

Spencer inhales sharply, something in his expression twisting. “I would never—” His voice catches, and he shakes his head, forcing the words out more carefully. “I don’t see you that way. I never would.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and something in your gaze softens.

“I know,” you say quietly.

And the worst part? You do know. Because Spencer Reid, for all his fumbling awkwardness, has done nothing but try to keep his distance—to not make this weirder than it already is.

Still, the fact that you had to carry that fear at all…

Spencer grips his cup a little tighter. “I always wondered what meeting my soulmate would be like,” he admits, voice quieter now. “I spent a lot of time thinking about how it would happen, how it would feel.” He lets out a small, breathless laugh. “I didn’t expect it to be—” He gestures vaguely between you. “—this.”

You laugh too, because what else can you do?

“You and me both.”

Spencer exhales, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t completely ease. “I guess part of me was scared I wouldn’t live up to whatever expectations you might have had.”

Your brows pull together. “Spencer…”

He shakes his head quickly, like he doesn’t want you to try and reassure him. “I just—I don’t want this to be something dictated by fate alone. I want it to be our choice, not just something that’s happening to us.” His fingers tap against his cup. “And I don’t want to mess it up.”

Your breath catches slightly, because that, that is something you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

“I get it,” you say softly. “I don’t want to mess it up either.”

He looks at you then, eyes searching, like he’s trying to make sure you really mean it.

And you do.

Because even though there’s a pull between you, something almost magnetic, you don’t want to rush into it. You don’t want to make this something predetermined. You want it to be real.

You let out a slow breath. “Friends first?”

Spencer blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it first.

But then his shoulders loosen, just slightly, and he nods. “Friends first.”

The words settle between you, a quiet agreement, but the bond doesn’t lessen its grip. If anything, you’re more aware of it now. The way the air between you crackles, the way every glance lingers just a little too long.

But at least now, you know you’re not alone in this.

Spencer watches you, his fingers still tapping absent patterns against his coffee cup. He wants to say something else, something reassuring maybe. But instead, he just nods, more to himself than to you.

As you both move to stand, your hands nearly brush, and for a split second, Spencer wonders what it would feel like to just give in. To let the bond take over, to find out exactly what fate has tied him to.

But he clenches his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets like it’ll stop the impulse.

You smirk slightly, amused by his obvious effort.

“See you at work, Spencer.”

His ears go red.

“…See you at work.”

You step out of the coffee shop, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the warmth lingering in your chest. As the door swings shut behind you, you take a breath, steadying yourself. That conversation had been… good, you think. Necessary. And yet, the undeniable hum of the soulmate bond still lingers beneath your skin, a quiet reminder that no matter how much you both insist on taking things slow, something bigger than either of you is already in motion.

You glance over your shoulder but the coffee shop window only shows Spencer still sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around his cup, staring at it like it holds all the answers to the universe. You smirk to yourself. For all his brilliance, he’s painfully obvious.

Still, you appreciate the effort. You both knew walking to work together would’ve been too much. Too soon. So, instead, he’s staying behind, waiting until enough time has passed for you to be comfortably apart by the time he leaves. It’s thoughtful in the most awkward way possible, so distinctly him that you find yourself shaking your head, amused.

With one last glance at the coffee shop, you turn forward and start walking. You don’t know what today will bring, but one thing is certain.

This thing between you and Spencer? It’s not going away anytime soon.

The bullpen hums with the usual morning energy. Agents shuffling papers, murmuring about last night’s game or the latest headlines, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. It should be like any other day, except for the way Spencer’s mind keeps circling back to you.

He tells himself it’s fine. He got here on time, sat down at his desk, and started working just like he always does. No one suspects a thing.

Except when he glances up, you’re there, sitting at your desk, sipping from the drink he ordered for you that morning. The sight of it in your hands sends a strange sort of satisfaction curling through him. He looks away fast, focusing on his paperwork.

Normal. He just has to act normal.

But the universe seems determined to make that impossible.

The bullpen moves around you like a well-oiled machine. Phones ringing, keys clacking, agents exchanging gossip and weekend plans between mouthfuls of burnt coffee. On the surface, it’s a normal morning. But the moment you sit down and take a sip from the drink Spencer ordered you, the illusion cracks.

You don’t even look up right away. You feel him.

When you finally do glance over, he’s at his desk, head down, flipping through a case file like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Which might be believable, if he weren’t holding the pages upside down.

Your lips twitch.

You’d laugh, but you’re not doing much better. Your brain keeps looping back to the coffee shop, the almost-touch, the way he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say goodbye or sprint into traffic to avoid it.

He showed up after you. Purposefully, obviously. It doesn't take a profiler to spot a man avoiding awkwardness at all costs. And really, you don’t blame him. It was weird. You're both still pretending it wasn't.

But pretending only gets you so far.

You make it a whole ten minutes before you need something from the filing cabinet. It’s tucked against the back wall, awkwardly close to the corner of the room, and when you get there, you tug open the heavy drawer, scanning rows of neatly labelled folders.

You hear footsteps behind you and shuffle to the side without looking. A breath later, Spencer slides into the space beside you. He’s reaching for the same drawer, his fingers brushing against yours for a heartbeat before both of you yank your hands back like the other was made of fire.

You glance sideways. He’s staring at the folder like it just insulted his mother.

“…Morning,” you say.

His jaw ticks. “Morning.”

The silence stretches.

You tilt your head, watching the way he’s very pointedly not looking at you. He’s rigid. Like someone wound him up and forgot to let him out of the packaging. You can’t help but wonder if he's always like this, or is it just around you?

Eventually, you grab your folder and step away to spare him whatever internal malfunction he’s experiencing. His relief is palpable.

It’s barely past ten when it happens again.

You step out from behind your desk at the exact same time he does, and you almost collide. Your bodies halt a breath apart, close enough that you can smell the soap on his skin, see the way his pupils flicker wide before he flinches backward in alarm.

This time, he sidesteps so hard he nearly knocks into Rossi.

“Easy there, kid,” Rossi mutters without missing a beat, brushing past with his coffee. Spencer’s halfway to combusting.

You smile, far too amused. “Smooth.”

Spencer opens his mouth, then closes it. His ears do the talking—burning a deep, unmissable red as he mutters something that sounds like an apology before making a swift exit down the hall.

You watch him go, biting back a grin.

By the time you’re back at your desk, you’ve decided the universe must be bored. That’s the only explanation. There’s no way this many accidental run-ins can happen naturally. Not with an office this size. It’s like fate is running a slow-burn sitcom, and you’re the unwilling stars.

You try to focus on your work, but the quiet hum of conversation around the bullpen pulls you in. Morgan’s voice carries first.

Morgan’s voice cuts through first. “Okay, hear me out: stranded on an island, you get to bring one thing. What are you taking?”

“Not this question again,” Emily groans, though she’s already leaning back in her chair to join in.

JJ chimes in without looking up from her notepad. “A book. Something long. Preferably with a happy ending.”

“You’d be bored in five minutes,” Morgan shoots back. “Give me a hatchet or something useful.”

Rossi strolls past, coffee in hand. “I’d bring a bottle of scotch and a box of cigars. If I’m going down, I’m going down in style.”

That earns a round of amused groans.

You glance up just as Spencer looks over. He’s sitting across from you, posture perfect but his fingers are fidgeting slightly, tapping against a closed file. Listening.

Morgan raises an eyebrow in your direction. “Alright, your turn. What’s your one thing?”

You pause, glancing up from the file in your lap. “A survival manual I probably won’t read.”

That earns a few laughs from the bullpen.

You shrug, settling back in your chair. “It’ll make me feel better just having it. False confidence is still confidence.”

Spencer huffs something that might be a laugh, and when you glance at him, he’s watching you. Not mockingly, but with this soft, surprised kind of curiosity.

He speaks, voice measured but soft. “I’d bring a collection of classic literature.”

You raise a brow. “That’s ambitious.”

“It’s practical,” he replies. “You’d want something that lasts. Long narratives. Complex characters. Enough variation to keep your mind engaged.”

That piques your curiosity. “So you wouldn’t get tired of rereading the same stories?”

He shakes his head. “Not if they’re good ones. The kind that let you see something different every time. They grow with you. Or maybe you grow into them.”

You tilt your head. “You sound like someone who’s read them more than a few times.”

He glances down, like he’s not sure whether to be embarrassed or not. “A fair assumption.”

You smile. “So, what’s the appeal? Isn’t a lot of it just old language and people with too many names?”

He laughs, a short, surprised sound. “Sometimes. But that’s not what makes them last.”

You watch him now, genuinely curious.

“Most people approach them academically,” he says. “But that strips them of what makes them human. They’re not puzzles—they’re full of longing and desperation and hope. That’s the point. The imperfections, the contradictions.”

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t that. You watch him for a moment, struck by how earnest he is. How unselfconscious. There’s something quietly compelling about it. His passion laid bare like he didn’t think twice about offering it.

“That’s a lot of feelings for a stranded island situation,” you tease lightly.

He huffs a laugh, ducking his head. “Sorry. I know it sounds dramatic.”

You shake your head. “No, it doesn’t. Just unexpected.”

He looks like he wants to say more, so you let the silence stretch comfortably.

“I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who liked the classics,” you admit. “But I never really connected with them. It felt like I was waiting for them to make sense, and they just… didn’t.”

“That’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “A lot of them weren’t written to be accessible. But sometimes, all it takes is the right one. One that just clicks, and suddenly everything makes sense.”

You smile a little. “You make them sound worth another shot.”

He shrugs, then nods, a bit softer this time. “They are.”

You rest your elbow on the desk and lean in a touch. “Alright, then. What’s your pitch? If I was going to give one a chance.”

Spencer pauses, considering, and there’s something warmer than thoughtfulness in his eyes now. Something quietly delighted.

“I’ll get you a list,” he says.

You grin. “A curated reading experience?”

“Exactly.”

You glance down at your file again, but it’s useless now. The energy between you has shifted—warmer. Quieter. Easier.

Across from you, Spencer doesn’t go back to reading either. He just stays there, like maybe he’s not quite ready to stop talking yet.

And for once, neither are you.

The conversation between you and Spencer seems to flow effortlessly, like two people who’ve known each other for years, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface of your time together. With each laugh, each shared moment, the tension fades a little more. You feel more comfortable, more familiar.

“Wait—hold on. You can remember everything you’ve ever read?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between awe and playful suspicion.

Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly bashful about it. “I… yeah. I have an eidetic memory. It means I can recall written material almost perfectly.”

You blink at him. “So, like… if you read the back of a cereal box once, it’s just in there forever?”

He gives a sheepish little laugh. “Unfortunately, yes. Even the part about riboflavin.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Okay, so you’re either a genius or a really charming liar.”

Spencer stumbles over his words, his face flushing a bit as he tries to recover. He looks away for a moment, his lips twitching like he’s not sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed. There’s a slight pause before he glances back at you, his eyes narrowed just a little, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re being serious or teasing him. The corners of his mouth pull into a half-smile, but it’s clear he’s still trying to make sense of the situation, clearly flustered but not in an uncomfortable way.

Around you, the office moves with phones ringing, agents chatting, soft shuffling of papers and footsteps. But through it all, the conversation between you and Spencer doesn’t really stop. It shifts and changes, slipping into new territory without either of you needing to steer it. He’s already picked up on how quick you are with a joke, how you tilt your head when you’re genuinely curious. And you’re noticing him too. The way his hands move when he’s explaining something, the way his whole face gets animated when he’s caught up in a thought. Somehow, talking to him feels natural, like you’ve been doing it forever.

“You have how many PhDs?!”

Spencer shifts in his seat, suddenly preoccupied with aligning the edge of a folder. “Three,” he says, quiet but clear.

You blink. “Three. As in... actual, real PhDs? Not like honorary ones they give celebrities sometimes?”

He gives a sheepish nod.

Your lips twitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever committed to anything long enough to earn three of anything.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, ducking his head like he’s trying to hide the way his cheeks go a little pink. He’s not quite sure what to do with your reaction, but there’s something about the way you say it that leaves him slightly off balance—in a way he doesn’t hate.

It’s easy, somehow. The way your conversation keeps going, without effort or awkwardness, like you’ve skipped over the small talk and landed somewhere comfortable. Spencer isn’t quite leaning in, but his shoulders have lost their stiffness, his eyes tracking yours with soft focus. He listens like it’s an art form, picking up on every nuance, every half-smile and curious glance. You catch bits of him in return—how he thinks before he speaks, how he seems both shy and excited when something genuinely interests him. There’s a rhythm forming between you, unspoken but steady, like you’re both tuning into the same frequency.

“You know magic?” you ask, eyebrows raised in open delight. “You have to show me a trick.”

Spencer hesitates, blinking once, twice, like he’s recalibrating. “O-okay,” he says, a little cautious, a little sheepish, as if revealing this part of himself is somehow more vulnerable than anything else he's shared. “Just—don’t laugh.”

You don’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried. You nod, eyes wide, suddenly aware of how close the two of you have drifted without noticing.

His fingers skim the air near your ear, smooth and sure, and your breath catches at the sudden closeness. The office falls away, not literally, but enough that the hum of conversation, the tapping of keys, the distant ring of a phone, all of it fades into a soft, irrelevant blur. It's just you and him.

And then—there it is. A flower in his hand where there hadn’t been one before. Then, without a word, he offers it to you.

Your eyes widen. Your lips part in surprise. You know it’s a trick. It has to be a trick. But for one suspended second, it feels like real magic. You take it carefully, fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. The stem is cool, the petals soft—real. Your brows pull together as you glance down at it, then back up at him. “Wait… this is actually real. How did you—?”

He just smiles, that small, knowing one that doesn’t give anything away. “Magician’s secret.”

And he keeps looking at you, like watching you hold that flower is the best part of the trick. Like you’re the magic he can’t explain.

The flower stays in your hand long after Spencer’s fingers leave it, soft petals warm from where his touch lingered. You glance at it again, half-expecting it to vanish like the illusion it seemed to be. But it’s real and the memory of how it got there keeps playing on a loop in your mind. The look in his eyes, the weight of his focus, the slight curl of his smile like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You’re definitely not imagining the way things have shifted.

Every glance between you now seems to last a second too long. Every brush of proximity, every slide of his arm as he reaches past you, the heat of him when you lean over the same file, feels electric. There's an unmistakable awareness pulsing in the space between you, something neither of you names but both of you feel.

Spencer is different now. Still the same stammering, brilliant, endearingly awkward man  but there's a spark under the surface. Like he knows what effect he’s having on you and is maybe, just maybe, starting to lean into it. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of expression on your face, like he’s mentally cataloguing the sound of your laugh, the way you bite your lip when you’re reading.

And you’re not exactly innocent in this either.

You ask questions you don’t need answers to, just to hear him speak. You tease him for fun, for the way it makes his ears turn red. You pass him things just so your fingers will touch.

It’s subtle the way it builds, slow, simmering, and sweet. But beneath all the half-smiles and sideways glances, there’s something else brewing. Something hungry. The kind of tension that coils low in your belly and makes you hyperaware of every little thing. The timbre of his voice, the slope of his neck, the way he licks his lips when he’s thinking.

You catch him looking at you more than once, his gaze slipping from your eyes to your mouth and back again. And each time, he looks away like he’s been caught but he’s not exactly apologetic about it.

Neither are you.

Because whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, you don’t want it to stop.

You're trying to focus. You're really, honestly trying. There’s a case file open in front of you, a half-finished note jotted in the margins, and a perfectly good pen in your hand, but none of it is getting through. Your body is warm all over, tingling with leftover tension from the moment Spencer pulled a flower from behind your ear. The petals had brushed your cheek like a kiss. He hadn’t touched you then, not really, but it still felt like he had. Like something had passed between you, unseen but tangible. Electric.

Despite it all, you both manage to get back to work. The pens, the papers, the case files, they’re all still there, demanding your attention. But you’re both distracted, even if you don’t openly acknowledge it. You look back at your notes, trying to make sense of the information in front of you, but your thoughts keep straying back to him, to that moment. And it’s the same for Spencer, you can tell by the occasional glance he throws your way, the brief flicker of his eyes meeting yours.

You push through it, focusing on the task at hand, but there’s an undeniable tension between you now. It’s subtle, but it’s there, building with every shared glance and every small gesture that feels just a little too charged. It’s as though the space between you both has narrowed without either of you realizing it.

It’s been a little while since the moment with Spencer, but things still feel different. The way he looks at you, the way you can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s changed between you. You’re walking down the hallway, file in hand, but your mind is somewhere else. You’re not sure where, really. Just caught up in the way things are now. How it feels like the air between you is a little heavier.

You’re not paying attention to where you’re walking.

You stumble forward, foot catching on the floor, and the momentum pulls you ahead before you can stop it. Your heart leaps. Gravity tips you into motion, too fast to recover. But then, just as the floor rushes up to meet you, he’s there. It’s as if he appeared out of thin air, like some force pulled him into place in the exact second you needed him.

Spencer.

He catches you like he was always meant to be there, like something beyond either of you decided he would arrive in the split second you needed him. One arm loops around your waist from behind, firm and unshakable, halting your fall and drawing you back into the warmth of him. His other hand grips your upper arm, anchoring you, steadying you, like he’s done this before in some forgotten dream.

Then, he moves. Slowly. Purposefully. He turns you in his arms until you’re facing him. The world blurs for a breath as he guides you, but the moment you settle against his chest, everything sharpens. Your chest brushes his, your breath tangling with his. You can feel the strength in him, the control he’s holding onto, the tension thrumming just beneath the surface. His hand slides lower, from your waist to your lower back, moulding you to him with a kind of certainty that makes your stomach flip.

The hand at your arm lingers. His fingers twitch slightly, like they’re reluctant to move on. Then they do. Slowly. Like he's testing the water, like he's giving you every chance to stop him. He traces up the line of your shoulder, so lightly you almost wonder if you imagined it. But you didn’t. Your skin tingles under the weight of his touch, nerves lighting up as his hand drifts across the curve of your collarbone.

When his palm finally cradles your cheek, it feels like the world stills. His hand is warm, fingers curling just slightly, thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone with a tenderness that feels almost impossible. He touches you like he’s afraid he’ll break something, but still needs to feel every part of you.  Your breath catches in your throat, not from the stumble, not from surprise, but from the sheer intensity of this moment. This touch. This nearness.

This is the kind of moment you wish had been your first. Not the clumsy mess of limbs and apologies. Not the heat of humiliation or the accidental touch that made your heart sink instead of soar. You wish it had been this. The quiet awe of being seen, the way he steadies you like it matters, the feel of his arms around you like they belong there. Held like you were always meant to find your way to him. Like letting you fall was never even a possibility.  Held like you were something he didn’t want to let go of. The closeness. The heat. The kind of moment that people write about, dream about, crave without even knowing what they’re craving.

Your eyes find his, and the moment shifts. Not soft. Not sweet. Heavy.

The tension that had simmered under the surface all day crests, slow and inevitable. It winds through you now, not subtle, not hidden, but full and real, like the charge before a summer storm. You’re wrapped in his scent, something warm and clean that pulls you in without trying. It clings to your skin and slips beneath your ribs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Your hands ache with the need to move, to reach for him, to follow the path his fingers traced and answer it with your own. Every inch of you feels pulled toward him, like your body is already making the decision your mind is still catching up to.

His gaze never leaves yours. There’s something in it that steals the breath from your lungs. Something hungry. Something tender. A kind of longing that makes your throat tighten. His thumb slides along your cheekbone, barely a touch, but your knees still threaten to give. You have to lean into him just to stay upright, and maybe that was the point all along.

Neither of you speaks. It would ruin the moment. There are no words big enough anyway. Just this: your bodies pressed together, the hallway holding its breath around you, the quiet hum of something that has been building and building and has finally found its place.

His forehead nearly brushes yours. You can feel his breath, the tension in his jaw, the slight tremble in the hand on your back that betrays the calm he tries to hold. Your own heartbeat pounds, steady and hard, loud enough to drown out the world. Your lips are so close you could lean in without thinking, could kiss him and fall and never look back.

You wonder if he’s thinking about it too. If he’s standing this still because if he moves, he’ll close the gap. Because he wants to. Because he almost can’t help it.

You don’t know how long you stand like that. Held. Gazing. Wanting. But it’s long enough for the rest of the world to fall away. Long enough for everything else to feel like static.

This is the moment you never thought you’d get. The one that feels like it was written for you.

The silence stretches, hanging between you, fragile and full. His hand is still on your cheek, and your heart is still racing, and you can’t quite believe this is real. You watch the way his lips part, the quiet flicker in his eyes like he’s trying to figure out how to hold onto this just a little longer.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice low and careful, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever this is between you.

You nod before you find the breath to answer. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m alright.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too soft, too quiet, but it makes something flicker in his eyes. His hand lingers just a moment longer, brushing once more against your cheek before he finally begins to pull away.

“Thank you,” you say, voice trembling.

The space between you shifts as he slowly lets go, but there’s a reluctance in it, a hesitance like neither of you truly wants to break apart. His fingers are the last to fall away, brushing your waist like they might change their mind at the last second.

Neither of you moves. Not right away. You’re still in it, whatever this is. The moment hangs between you, soft and charged, like it doesn’t want to end just yet.

Eventually, Spencer steps back. You follow suit. There’s no rush to the way you part, just a quiet understanding that you both have to move, even if neither of you wants to.

You make your way back to your desk, feeling every inch of space that grows between you. It doesn’t settle the way it used to. There’s something different now, something alive beneath the surface. Spencer sits across from you, same as always, but it doesn’t feel the same. Not even close.

You try to focus. You open the file you meant to bring with you, scan the lines, click your pen, jot something down. Your fingers go through the motions, but your thoughts are still there in that hallway. Still tangled in the way his hand moved so gently, so slowly. The way he looked at you like you were something worth catching. Worth holding onto.

Across from you, Spencer doesn’t speak. But every so often, you catch him glancing up. Not obvious, just quick flickers of his gaze, almost like he’s checking to see if you’re still feeling it too.

You are.

The hours pass. Meetings blur. Paperwork piles up. You answer questions. You nod at the right times. But your awareness never quite leaves him. It’s like there’s a hum beneath everything now. A frequency only the two of you can feel.

When someone speaks to him, his voice is just a little softer than usual. When you stand, he notices. When you sit, he shifts. Nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would pick up on, but it’s there. In every small moment. In the way your bodies move in relation to each other. In the looks that pass too quickly to be caught.

And you feel it. The way the tension doesn't fade. It stretches with the day, quietly building. There's a pull in the air between you, subtle but steady. A current. It winds through each breath, each glance, each pause that lasts a beat too long.

By the time the sun dips low enough to cast golden light across the desks, the air feels warmer. Thicker. Not uncomfortable. Just aware. Your chest is tight, but not in a bad way. It’s anticipation. Something waiting at the edge of all this stillness.

You don’t know what happens next.

But the workday is ending. And whatever this is between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

If anything, it’s only just begun.

You don’t know what happens next.

But the workday is ending. And whatever this is between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

If anything, it’s only just begun.

People start to move around you, gathering their things, saying quiet goodnights. Chairs roll back, computers power down. Someone laughs faintly down the hall. You hear it all like it’s happening underwater. Distant. Muffled. None of it really touches you.

You stay seated. So does he.

Neither of you seems in any particular rush to leave, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe you're both hoping the other will wait long enough to make this more than just a day filled with glances and charged silences. You tidy up slowly, stacking papers, capping your pen, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. Across from you, Spencer shifts his chair back just slightly, like he’s about to stand, then doesn’t.

It’s not choreographed. You don’t plan it. But somehow, you both stand at the same time.

That same quiet beat hits again, that tiny pause when your eyes meet. His bag hangs from one shoulder. Your fingers clutch your strap. The hum between you hasn’t gone anywhere.

You fall into step without speaking.

The office is quieter now. The buzz of fluorescent lights hums low overhead. The faint sound of someone typing carries from far off, but the main floor is mostly cleared out. Just a few stragglers wrapping up the last bits of their day.

You don’t speak as you walk. The silence doesn’t need filling.

When you reach the elevator, he presses the button with the same ease he does everything else, controlled, precise, but there’s a certain tightness in the set of his jaw. Like he’s holding back again. Like there’s something just under the surface he isn’t saying.

The doors slide open with a soft chime. You both step inside.

And just like that, you’re alone. The quiet feels louder now. The close walls, the faint metallic smell, the mirror-polished surfaces that reflect more than you want them to.

The doors close.

You glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The air shifts.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it happens at the exact same time, a silent agreement neither of you speaks aloud. One second you’re standing still, and the next your back is pressing against the wall of the elevator and his mouth is on yours.

It doesn’t feel planned. It doesn’t feel like either of you made a choice. It’s instinct. Reaction. The natural conclusion to everything that’s been building between you. His hands frame your face, not gentle but not rough, like he needs to be sure you’re real while he’s kissing you like he already knows exactly how. And you don’t hesitate. You’re already reaching for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer still, because distance doesn’t make sense anymore. Not when it feels like your body already knows his.

It’s not just desire. Not just chemistry. It’s something deeper. Something that settles into your chest like recognition. Like you’ve been looking for this without realizing it.

His hand drops to your waist, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. But you’re not going anywhere. Your hands slide higher, over the slope of his shoulders, into his hair, threading through the soft strands like you’ve done it a thousand times. Like you were always meant to.

You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him. It does. It all does. This doesn’t feel new, not really. It feels inevitable.

There’s a hum under your skin, like something golden and electric threading through you both, faint but steady. It’s not the mark. It’s something else. Something internal. Like your soul just leaned forward and said, finally.

His mouth slows against yours, just slightly. Enough for breath to return in shallow, uneven pulls. His forehead presses gently to yours, and for a second, neither of you moves. His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and grounding, like he’s trying to catch his breath and memorize you at the same time.

You don’t open your eyes. Not yet. You just feel. The weight of his hands. The heat in your chest. The way everything around you has faded into something quiet and golden.

When he kisses you again, it’s different. Softer. Not because the want is gone, but because now it’s threaded with something else. Curiosity. Wonder. That ache that says I could get lost in this if you let me.

Your hand slides back down to his chest, resting over his heartbeat, and you finally look up at him.

“Spencer,” you breathe, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

His eyes flicker open, gaze already on you. There’s nothing rushed in the way he looks at you. Nothing uncertain. Just that steady, focused kind of attention that makes it feel like you’re the only thing that exists.

“Can we…” You trail off, but he doesn’t press. He waits, his hand still resting warm and steady on your waist.

“Can we go to your place?”

There’s a pause, not hesitation, just a beat where everything between you goes still. Then he nods, slow and sure, like the answer was always going to be yes.

“Yes,” he says, and the word settles between you like a promise.

You don’t move right away. Neither does he. The yes still lingers between you, warm and certain, and your bodies stay close like they haven’t quite figured out how to separate yet.

Then your brows pull together, just slightly. There’s something off. A quiet that doesn’t feel right.

Your gaze shifts over his shoulder, past him, toward the panel on the wall.

“Did we…?” you start, and then you see it. All the lights on the buttons are dark.

Spencer glances back, following your eyes. “We didn’t press anything.”

You both stare at the panel for a second before the absurdity of it sinks in, and your lips twitch, the beginning of a laugh bubbling up in your chest.

He exhales a soft breath of disbelief, a crooked smile forming as he reaches over and presses the button. “Right. Small detail.”

The elevator hums to life at last, and your laughter lingers in the space between you, quiet and breathless.

But the moment doesn’t fade.

It just folds back in on itself, warm and wanting, as he turns back to you. You don’t waste the time. His hands find you again, yours reach for him, and this time when he kisses you, it’s with that same promise in it. That same yes.

You don’t remember the ride. Not really. Just flashes. His hand brushing yours in the car. The quiet tension sitting between you like it might combust. The shared glances that said everything words couldn’t.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to. You turn toward each other at the same time, like you were pulled by the same invisible thread. And then his hands are on you and yours are on him and it’s like the hallway all over again, only more. No more stopping yourselves. No more reason to.

He kisses you hard enough to make your knees buckle, and you stumble back into the wall behind you. You don’t care. You grip the front of his shirt and pull him closer, needing the weight of him, the heat. He presses into you with a low sound in his throat that you feel more than hear, something rough and quiet that makes your breath catch.

You’re not thinking anymore. Not really. Just feeling. Want. Heat. The ache of being this close and still not close enough.

Your jacket slips from your shoulders, his hands helping it off in a way that feels impatient and reverent all at once. He doesn’t throw it. He lets it fall, then his fingers are back on your hips, your waist, your jaw. Like he can’t choose where to touch you first. Like it’s all too much and still not enough.

His mouth moves to your neck, slow and searching, and your head tips back instinctively. One of your hands finds the back of his neck, the other drifts lower, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to find skin. Warm and tense and real. He exhales hard at the contact, his hips pressing into yours like he’s already forgetting what space is.

You manage to drag his shirt up, your hands clumsy with urgency, and he lifts his arms to help you pull it over his head. It catches for a second, tangled around his wrists, and you both laugh, just once, breathless and surprised, but then it’s gone and so is the pause. His mouth crashes back onto yours and your hands are everywhere again.

He walks you backward through the apartment, guided more by instinct than memory. You bump into a side table, the corner of a bookshelf, and he steadies you with one hand while the other stays pressed between your shoulder blades. You’re trying to get his belt undone, fumbling with the buckle, and he’s got your shirt halfway unbuttoned, his fingers brushing your skin with every movement.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your shirt is hanging open and his trousers are unfastened, and the air between you feels like it’s on fire.

You don’t fall into the bed. You sink, slowly, together, hands still exploring. He kisses you softer now, but it’s no less intense. It’s layered. Tender, hungry, searching. Every brush of his mouth feels like it means something. Like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

Your fingers thread into his hair again, tugging gently, and he groans against your lips like he’s been waiting for that sound from you. You part long enough for your clothes to come off piece by piece, tossed somewhere you’ll both forget about for now.

There’s no rhythm yet. No plan. Just heat and breath and the kind of touches that feel like they’ve been a long time coming. Like the path to this moment was always winding toward here.

He settles above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing along your ribs like he’s memorizing you. Your hand finds his face, thumb brushing his cheek, and his eyes close at the touch. Not because he’s overwhelmed. Because he’s home.

You don’t say it. You don’t have to. It’s there. In the way your bodies move. In the unspoken understanding that this is more than just lust. More than just timing. It’s whatever has been humming between you since the second your marks aligned, now unravelling in real time.

When he lowers his forehead to yours again, your noses brushing, your breath mingling, he whispers your name.

You whisper his back, and it sounds like a vow.

Then he kisses you again, and you let yourself fall.

He finishes removing your open shirt, his fingers sliding along the fabric until it’s pooled around your waist. The cool air hits your skin, and you shiver, but it’s not from cold. It’s from the heat of his gaze as he looks at you.

Then, with the same kind of awe that had coloured his voice earlier, he unclips your bra. It falls away, revealing your chest to him for the first time. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. But instead of shock, his eyes fill with something like wonder as they trace over the gold mark on your right breast. It’s a perfect mirror to the one on his palm, a shimmering constellation of flecks of gold that dance together in the dim light of his room.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to the mark. It’s not sensual, not yet. It’s almost reverent. Like he’s worshipping something sacred. His thumb traces the pattern, sending sparks of sensation along your nerves. You bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

You’ve been so self-conscious of this part of you, always hidden away, and now here he is, treating it like a treasure. His eyes never leave the mark as he kisses it again, and then again, like he can’t get enough.

It’s strange, but as he worships this piece of your skin that’s been a source of fear and embarrassment for so long, something shifts within you. You feel your self-consciousness slipping away, replaced with something new. Something like... power. Like you’re not just a person anymore, but something divine.

Your hand slides down his bare back, feeling the muscles shift and twitch beneath your palm. You trace the line of his spine, down to his hip, and you can feel his body tighten with need. You know he’s trying to be gentle, trying to take it slow, but the bond between you is a livewire, electric and demanding.

You arch up to meet him, your skin brushing his, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your mark. It’s like he can feel it too, the power pulsing between you, urging you closer. His kisses become more frantic, his touches less tentative.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. The need to feel him everywhere overwhelms you, and you both rip the rest of your clothes away with the same fervent intensity. It’s a symphony of desperation that fills the room, and you don’t care about the mess. You don’t care about anything except for the warm, bare flesh pressed against yours.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he doesn’t resist. He slots himself against you, his erection pressing into your heat, and you can’t help but rock upward, seeking more contact. Spencer’s eyes darken, and he lets out a shaky breath. His hand slides down to the juncture of your thighs, and you spread them wider in silent invitation.

When his fingers touch you, it’s like a spark catches fire. You arch off the bed with a gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth. His eyes never leave yours, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your cheeks flush with colour. He explores you gently at first, learning the shape of you, the way you respond to his touch. You’re soaking wet, and he groans at the slick heat of you, his thumb circling your clit with a pressure that’s just right.

You want to watch him, but the sensation is too much, and you drop your head back, eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the way your body responds to him, the way it’s been waiting for this. His mouth follows the line of your neck, kissing and nipping as he works you closer and closer to the edge. His other hand slides up, cupping your breast, thumb stroking over your soulmark. The feeling is indescribable—like he’s touching your very soul.

When he finally pushes two fingers inside you, you bite down on a moan. It’s perfect. He fills you just right, and you can feel yourself clench around him. He starts to move, slow and deliberate, and it’s all you can do not to scream.

You open your eyes to find Spencer watching you with an intensity that’s almost feral. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes dark with desire. His hand is a blur between your thighs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a skill that’s surprisingly gentle for someone who seems so lost in passion.

Every stroke of his fingers sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you can’t help but rock against him, silently begging for more. He reads you like a book as he adjusts his touch just enough to send you spiralling closer to the edge. You can feel your muscles tighten around his digits, the tension in your belly coiling like a spring about to snap.

Spencer’s gaze remains on your face, his eyes devouring every flicker of emotion that passes over your features. It’s like he’s peering into the very essence of your soul, and it’s a heady, exhilarating feeling. It’s as if he’s come face to face with the universe and found it in you. The intensity in his stare is almost too much to handle, but it’s also the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced.

And then he shifts down, needing to taste you.

His mouth follows the path his hand has set, kissing your stomach, your hips, and then finally, finally, he’s there. He looks up at you, question in his eyes, and you nod, desperate for him to keep going. So he does, his tongue swiping over your folds in a teasing lick before focusing on your clit.

You bite back a cry as he circles it with the perfect amount of pressure, his fingers still working inside you. It’s like he’s unlocking some secret part of you, something that’s been waiting just for him. You’ve never felt so open, so exposed. So wanted.

His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue a masterful dance that’s driving you insane. You can feel yourself getting closer, closer, until you’re not sure you can hold on anymore. And then he adds another finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp.

Your nails dig into the sheets, your hips rocking up to meet his mouth. He seems to understand your unspoken pleas, his tongue swirling around your clit in a pattern that’s making your vision swim. You’re so close, so, so close, and all you can do is whimper his name over and over.

The sounds you’re making are obscene, desperate and wanton, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, they only spur him on. His tongue flicks and laps, and you can feel the pressure building, building, until it’s a crescendo that’s going to shatter you into a million pieces.

And then he angles his fingers just right, rubbing against your g-spot, and it’s like a dam breaks. You cum with a scream, your body arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your eyes squeeze shut, stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clench around him, waves of ecstasy rolling over you.

Spencer’s mouth doesn’t leave you as you come down, his tongue gentle now, soothing. He kisses your thighs, your hips, his way of saying sorry and thank you all at once. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright with satisfaction, a smug little smile playing at his lips.

You lay there, panting, your body humming with aftershocks. It’s a strange sensation, like every nerve ending is vibrating in perfect harmony with your racing heart. You feel alive in a way you haven’t in a long time.

Spencer’s weight shifts, and you feel his body settle beside you. He’s looking at you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite place—it’s a mix of satisfaction and wonder. He reaches out, his hand hovering over your skin, as if afraid to break the spell.

But you don’t let the moment linger. You beat him to it, grabbing his arm to pull him back on top of you. Your kiss is fierce, demanding. It’s like your bodies are speaking a language that’s been forgotten, and you need to relearn it with every touch, every caress. His mouth crashes against yours, and you revel in the feeling of his warm, firm body pressed against you. The scent of him, the taste of him—it’s intoxicating.

Your hand slides down his back, then lower, cupping his ass and pulling him closer. You can feel his erection, hot and heavy against your thigh, and it sends a bolt of want straight to your core. You need him inside of you. To fill you up. To complete this connection that’s been building between you since the moment you met.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it with the same urgency he had used on you. He groans, his hips jerking against your palm. You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck, the gentle nibbles turning into kisses, turning into love bites. He’s lost in the sensation, his body responding to yours.

And then he’s moving, aligning himself with your entrance. You can feel the tip of him, pressing against you, and you lift your hips, silently begging for more. He pauses for a moment, his gaze searching yours, making sure you’re okay. You nod, and with one swift thrust, he’s inside you.

You both groan, the sensation of being filled so completely stealing your breath. He’s thick, and the stretch feels incredible. You tighten around him, and he stills, his eyes closing for a moment as he fights for control. You can feel him, all of him, and it’s like your body was made to fit around him.

When he starts to move, it’s slow and deliberate. He’s not taking this lightly. He’s not rushing. It’s like he’s savouring every inch of you, every gasp and shiver that runs through your body. He’s watching you, reading you, learning you like he’s memorizing a new language.

You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place, your ankles crossing at the base of his spine. You don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end. You want to live in the feeling of him inside you forever. His strokes are deep and sure, each one hitting that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

And through it all, you’re staring into each other’s eyes. It’s as if you’ve found a new way to speak—a silent language that’s more intimate than any words could ever be. You can see his love for you in those hazel depths, the way they darken with passion and burn with a fierce possessiveness that makes your heart race.

You hold on to him like you’ll be ripped away at any moment, like he’s the only anchor keeping you tethered to this world. Your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails leaving little half-moons in his skin, and you can feel the power of the bond pulsing between you like a heartbeat.

“Faster,” you moan, your voice barely recognizable. It’s a demand and a plea all at once, and Spencer seems to understand. His eyes never leave yours as he increases his rhythm, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm that has you crying out with every thrust. He’s not just taking you, he’s claiming you.

You can feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your belly. His hand slides between you, his thumb finding your clit and applying just the right amount of pressure. It’s like he knows exactly what you need before you do. Your hips buck up to meet him, your body begging for more.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolls you over so you’re straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you. The new angle sends a bolt of pleasure through you, and you gasp, your hands braced on his chest. He’s watching you with a fiery gaze, his chest heaving with every breath.

You take control, grinding down onto him with a primal need. The new angle has him hitting places that send sparks racing down your spine, and you can’t help but lean forward to take him even deeper. His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, he seems to enjoy the way your body moves, the way your breasts sway with every thrust.

Leaning down, you brace your hands on his chest. You start to set a brutal pace, riding him like you’re afraid it’ll end before you’ve had enough. Your hips move in a frenzied dance, each grind and bounce sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Spencer’s grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to keep up. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared in a grimace that’s part pleasure, part pain.

Suddenly, his hand slides up, his thumb brushing over your soulmark again. The contact sends a jolt of energy through you, and you throw your head back with a guttural moan. It’s like a switch has been flipped. The room seems to pulse around you, charged with more than just heat and hunger. It’s the bond, the soul-deep connection that’s been growing between you since the moment you found out about your soulmate status.

His other hand moves to play with your breasts, his thumbs circling the sensitive peaks. Each touch feels magnified, the soulmate bond acting as an amplifier for every sensation. The pleasure spirals through you, making your movements erratic as you ride him harder.

Spencer’s eyes never leave yours, even as the sweat gathers on his brow and his breathing turns ragged. His grip on your hip is firm but gentle, guiding you, urging you to take what you need. The way he watches you, with such fierce concentration and care, makes you feel cherished. It’s like he’s worshipping you, and you can’t get enough.

You lean forward, burying your nails into the taut flesh of his chest, and he gasps, the sudden sharpness of pain mixing with pleasure. You revel in the feel of his heart racing beneath your fingertips, the way his abs contract as he thrusts up into you. Your movements become more erratic, driven by a need so intense it’s almost painful. You’re so close, so very close, and you know he is too.

With each stroke, you feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his cock inside you. The friction is perfect, the angle exquisite. You can feel him everywhere, inside you, on you, all around you. It’s like you’re drowning in him, and you never want to come up for air.

And then, almost as if he knows you’re on the edge, his hand moves. His fingers tease over your clit, and your eyes fly open in surprise. The sensation is intense, a spark of pleasure that ignites your nerves.

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs, and you start to move again, your hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that’s all for him. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body on the edge of something massive. You’re so wet, so ready, and every stroke is pure agony in the best possible way.

He groans the second your body shifts, the new angle sending a jolt through him. His hands slip from where they had wandered, only to find their way back to your hips, gripping tighter this time like he’s trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. The view of you above him, flushed and open and moving with purpose, sparks something raw in him. Something primal. His breath stutters, eyes locked on where you take him in again and again, and he can’t look away. It’s not just the way you move. It’s the way you look doing it. Every nerve in his body lights up, hunger curling hot and deep in his gut as the pace you’ve set pushes him closer to the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, the words a rasp torn from his chest. It’s a whisper, but it feels like it echoes around the room. He can feel you tightening around him, and he knows you’re close. So close. His thumb traces lazy circles around your clit, and your hips jerk in response, your eyes fluttering shut. He loves the way you look when you’re lost in pleasure. It’s like watching the stars align.

“I’m... I’m... so close,” you groan, the words dragged from you with each movement of your body. Your voice is thick with need, and the sound of it sends a thrill through him. You’re riding him like you’re trying to outrace your own pleasure, and he can feel it building between you, a storm that’s about to break.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers, his voice a hoarse rumble that makes your skin prickle. His thumb presses harder against your clit, his hips jerking up to meet your downward strokes. The way he says it, the desperation in his voice, it’s like he’s begging you, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard.

You can feel it building, the pressure in your core reaching critical mass. Your eyes fly open to meet his, and you realize he’s watching you, his gaze intense, his pupils dilated with lust. “I want to feel you cum on my cock,” he says again, the words a command that sends a shiver down your spine. You can see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches with restrained need.

With a final, purposeful stroke of his thumb, you shatter. The world goes white, and you scream, the sound echoing off the walls. Your vision swims, and all you can feel is the white-hot pleasure ripping through you in waves, stealing your breath. Your body clenches around him, muscles tightening and releasing in a symphony of ecstasy.

The orgasm feels like it lasts forever, your skin a live wire of sensation. Each pulse of pleasure sends a new tremor through your body, making your muscles quiver and your toes curl.

But even as your climax crashes over you, Spencer’s not done. He’s holding on, his eyes begging for something more. “Please,” he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of not letting go. “Can I cum inside you?”

You nod, the word a breathless gasp that’s barely audible. It’s all the permission he needs. Spencer’s eyes clench shut as he starts to move again, his strokes becoming more urgent, more demanding. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten with every thrust.

And then it happens. He cums with a roar that fills the room, his release hot and thick inside you. It’s a claiming, a bonding, a promise of forever. You feel yourself contract around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from him. It’s a moment of pure unadulterated connection.

As your orgasm subsides, your body goes limp, and you collapse against his chest, breathless. Your heart is racing, your skin slick with sweat, your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax. Spencer’s arms wrap around you, his embrace strong and steady, as if he’s afraid to let go. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, in sync with yours, and it’s like your souls are dancing together in a rhythm that only you two know.

Your body is still pressed to his, skin damp, breath slowing as the last of the tremors fade. Neither of you moves. It’s not laziness, not really. It’s more that shifting feels like it might break something delicate that’s settled between you.

Spencer’s chest rises under your cheek, steady but uneven. One of his hands is on your back, palm spread wide, the other tucked gently around your shoulder. His thumb starts to move in slow, absent strokes, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

You sigh, soft and almost sleepy, though your mind is anything but quiet.

He hums in response. Not a word, just a sound that rumbles from deep in his chest. It vibrates through your cheek, soothing in a way you didn’t expect.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence feels easy. Not awkward. Not full of things unsaid. Just full.

“I think I forgot how to move,” you mumble into his skin.

Spencer lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh. “You don’t have to. We can stay like this.”

You tilt your head just enough to glance up at him. “Forever?”

He looks down at you with that little smile of his, the one that’s more genuine when he’s not thinking about it. “Or until we get hungry.”

You huff a soft laugh and let your eyes fall shut again, your fingers curling gently against his ribs.

There’s no rush. No pressure. Just the warmth of his body under yours, his hand on your back, and the quiet, shared understanding that whatever this is, it’s real.

Eventually, the rise and fall of your breathing starts to match his. The world doesn’t feel like it’s tilting anymore. Just warm and quiet, like everything’s settled in its place. You shift slightly, not to move away but just to get a better look at him, your chin resting lightly on his chest.

Spencer’s eyes are half-lidded but focused on you, soft in a way that makes your heart tug a little. His hand is still on your back, thumb brushing lazy lines over your spine. The kind of touch that feels like it’s always been there. Like it belongs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…” You trail off, searching for the right word.

He doesn’t press you to finish. Just watches you, patient and open.

“…content,” you say finally. “Like I can actually breathe.”

Spencer smiles, small but honest. “Yeah. Me too.”

You trace a slow, aimless circle with your finger against his chest. “I used to wonder what it’d be like. Finding my soulmate. I thought it would be terrifying. Or overwhelming. Some huge moment I wouldn’t know how to handle.”

“It was a little overwhelming,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You laugh, quiet and real. “Okay, yeah. It didn’t exactly start smooth.”

He lifts a hand and tucks some hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary. “I used to think I’d be too much. That maybe it wouldn’t happen. Or that if it did, the person on the other end wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

The softness of his voice hits you more than the words.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “That person would be an idiot.”

Spencer huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it catches on something more. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know it could.”

You let the moment settle between you, full and warm.

“I feel like I’ve known you longer than two days,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says. “It’s strange, but it’s not. You just… fit.”

You nuzzle into him, and he shifts slightly to make room, as if your body was meant to settle right there all along.

“I’m really happy it’s you,” you say.

His arms tighten around you, not possessive, just sure. “Me too.”

You lie there for another beat, your cheek pressed to his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing as it finally begins to settle.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, but not heavy. “I know we’ve only known each other two days. And most of that involved some level of either humiliation or aggressively avoiding eye contact... but I like this.”

You smile into his skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

Neither of you says anything else for a while. There’s no need. You’re wrapped in the kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled.

“I should probably get dressed,” you say eventually, not moving at all.

“You should definitely not get dressed,” Spencer replies, his voice dry.

You laugh, turning your face into his neck. “We can’t stay like this forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because eventually I’m going to need water. And food.”

He hums like he’s weighing the pros and cons. “Fine. But I’m still going to sulk about it.”

You finally push yourself upright with a sigh. “My legs forgot how to work.”

Spencer stretches beside you. “I’ll carry you to the kitchen if you want.”

You give him a look. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you carry me anywhere after how we met.”

His laugh is easy, warm. “In my defence, I was tripping over the laws of physics. Not my own two feet.”

“You fell directly into my boobs, Spencer.”

He groans and pulls a pillow over his face. “Please never say that again.”

You’re still grinning as you both get up and pull on enough clothes to be considered decent. The air feels different now, looser somehow. Like the two of you have finally caught up to whatever this thing between you is.

Spencer bumps your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten since lunch. I should probably feed you.”

“You say that like I’m a stray you found sniffing around your porch.”

“You asked to come over,” he points out, giving you a look.

“Yeah. Because I was trying to be polite about jumping your bones.”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “Stray behaviour.”

You stare at him.

“I have cereal,” he offers.

“That’s not food. That’s a cry for help.”

“I have three kinds of cereal.”

“You’re not making this better.”

“I also have microwaveable rice.”

“Do you have anything to go with the rice?”

A pause.

“…I have a drawer full of granola bars?”

You groan, leaning your forehead against the nearest cupboard. “I cannot believe I just had sex with a man who lives like a feral academic.”

“I’m very resourceful,” he says, clearly too proud of himself.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Spencer leans against the counter, smug. “I’ll take it.”

You shake your head, still smiling as you pull yourself up. “Guess I’ll have to take over your kitchen. For your own safety.”

“Please do. I’ve been meaning to clean out the fridge, but I’m afraid to open it.”

You pause, halfway to standing. “You’re joking, right?”

Another pause.

“…mostly.”

You both eat something that barely qualifies as a meal, pieced together from the scraps of Spencer’s fridge and the questionable remains of his pantry. It ends up being better than expected, mostly because you’re both too busy laughing to care.

You end up on the couch, not so much by decision as by natural drift, like gravity knows where you belong. The television flickers quietly, casting silver shadows over the room while an old film murmurs in the background. Neither of you picked it out. Spencer just pressed play on something and then handed you the remote like it was a peace offering. Or maybe a thank you.

His fingers trail slowly along your arm, light and absent like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You think maybe you wouldn’t have liked that before, the mindless closeness, the way he keeps reaching for you even when there’s no need. But with him, it just fits. Like the silence doesn’t need filling. Like the stillness between you is full of something instead of empty.

“I feel weirdly… settled,” you murmur, not quite sure why you’re whispering.

“Me too,” Spencer says, lips brushing your hair as he speaks.

The movie carries on, a slow-moving plot that neither of you fully follow. It’s just background now. A reason to stay exactly where you are. Not that either of you needs one. The blanket shifts slightly as he pulls it higher around you both, like that’s all he needs to protect. Just this one corner of the world, this one soft moment.

You don’t mean to say it. The words just slip out, tucked between a breath and the shift of his fingers against your skin.

“I used to hate my soulmark was.”

Spencer doesn’t flinch. He waits, just like he always does.

“It always felt like a joke,” you go on, your voice soft. “Like someone somewhere decided to brand me in the most humiliating spot possible. It was always this… looming thing. Something I had to guard. Something I couldn’t even talk about without it sounding like a punchline.”

Spencer doesn’t speak. His thumb presses a little firmer against your skin, grounding you.

“But now,” you continue, your voice catching just slightly, “it feels... different. Like it’s just a part of me. And you—you're just... you’re more than I could have ever imagined.”

His thumb stills for a moment, but his gaze never leaves yours. “I’m glad it’s not a joke to you anymore. I don’t want you to ever feel like that again.”

You smile, the warmth of it spreading from your chest. “I’m don't. Not anymore.”

His lips press against the top of your head, gentle and steady. He doesn’t rush it. He lets the moment stretch out between you both, filling it with everything unspoken. And you don’t need words now. Not when everything feels so right.

The movie on the screen is forgotten. Time slows down, and in its place, there’s only this: the rhythm of his breathing, the way his arm tightens around you, the sound of your heartbeats blending in the quiet space between you. This ,the two of you together, is enough.

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The faintest smile pulls at the corner of his lips, and you feel your own heart swell with a warmth you hadn’t expected to find. A tenderness, a trust, something deeper than you thought you’d ever feel in such a short time.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say softly, the words almost surprising you as they slip out. “About the future.”

He raises an eyebrow, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “What about it?”

“About how... how this feels like the start of something. Something real. And how, every day, I’m going to fall more for you. I know that now.” You hesitate for a moment, then add, “I could see us—well, I could see myself... building something with you.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, the depth of his gaze catching you off guard. “You’re not scared of that? Of all the things that come with it?”

You shake your head, a small smile curving your lips. “No. I think I’m ready for it. For whatever comes next with you.”

Spencer’s thumb traces slow circles against your arm, as though he’s still processing what you’ve said, but you can see the certainty in his eyes. “I think we’ll be good at it. At building whatever comes next,” he says, his voice low, but steady. “I want that too. More than I ever thought I would.”

You nestle closer, feeling the steady warmth of his embrace, a comfort that feels like it’s going to last. It’s not just about this moment, but everything that could come after. And for the first time, you realize that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“You know,” you say, the words almost playful as you lean against him. “I never thought I’d be sitting here with my soulmate. Definitely not this quickly.”

Spencer chuckles softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah, neither did I. But here we are.”

You pull the blanket up a little higher around you both, the room settling into a soft quiet. You know that no matter what happens, tomorrow will be just as good. Every day will be filled with moments like these, moments of connection, of laughter, of love growing quietly between you.

For once, you’re not afraid of the future. It feels like a promise, and all you have to do is keep going, together. You glance up at Spencer, and in his eyes, you see the same certainty you feel in your own chest.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” you whisper.

Spencer’s voice is full of quiet intensity as he responds, “I’ve spent my whole life imagining this. Imagining you. All the little things I didn’t even know I was waiting for. And now that you’re here... you’re more than I could have dreamed. You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

And, as the old movie plays on in the background, neither of you needs anything more than this moment, wrapped up together on the couch, knowing that the days ahead will only bring you closer. That each day, each smile, each touch, will only make you both fall further in love with each other. And for once, you know this is exactly how it’s meant to be.

[goorgeousz]

older | aaron hotchner

after hours au

older | aaron hotchner

after hours au

pairing: aaron hotchner x profiler!fem!reader

summary: the team uses their profile skills combined to figure out why you’re not interested in the cute agent just downstairs. you hate it. Hotch loves it.

content/tw: a little swearing.  reader is way too dramatic (she threatens to shoot morgan and then herself out of shame).

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I had so much fun writing this one. again, this idea came to me in a shower (my showers are not that long) (I just happen to shower a lot and i have my best ideas in it)

if you have any requests, suggestions or ideas (thought about in the shower or not), my requests are open <3

I’ll stop yapping (for now)

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

The bittersweet scent filled your nostrils before the sight of the steaming extra creamy cappuccino from your favorite coffee shop reached your eyes.

“What?” you squealed in surprise, stopping on your steps and spinning around to find Leo, one of the agents from the second floor “A cappuccino? My favorite! Leo, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing, really.” he dismissed, but puffing his chest either way “I remember you said it’s your favourite. And it happens to be on my way here.” it wasn’t, and you knew it.

“You’re the best!” you complimented, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek “Thank you so much, honey! And it has a little heart in it.” you cooed, and smiled when he blushed “You spoil me way too much!”

“Anything for you.” he flirted “If you need me, I’ll be… Well, you know where to find me.” you chuckled.

“I do. Thank you again!” he smiled and winked, heading to the elevators.

After waiting for a second and tasting the drink to make sure it was as delicious as always (it was), you got back on your track to the break room, only two steps away. You bumped into Emily, who watched the whole interaction with a lopsided grin.

“What?”

“Nothing…” she sing-songed “I just think it’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” Morgan asked, getting in the room just behind the two of you.

Spencer, Hotch and JJ were already there discussing a consulting case the team had been working on. It started with Spencer and Hotch, and then JJ and soon after the break room became a makeshift conference room, like it always did, truly.

“Kelsen just bought her a cappuccino from her favorite coffee place.” Emily announced, getting the attention from the rest. Spencer and Hotch just went back to the files, but JJ standed up and stepped close to you to see it from her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal. I bring you guys sweet treats all the time. This is called being nice.” you pointed, seating on one of the tables and sipping from your beverage.

JJ and Emily just exchanged an amused look. Morgan took the seat to your right “So you don’t see it?”

You frowned “See what?”

“The heavy flirting. The lingering glances.” Emily started.

The completely unnecessary visits to our floor just to stop by at your desk. The excessive gifts.” JJ continued, looking pointedly at the cup you were currently sipping from.

“Oh. That.” you sighed.

“So you admit knowing he’s flirting with you?”

“Yes.” you stared blankly at Emily “So what?”

“So what? This ‘will they won’t they’ is dragging for too long.” JJ pointed.

“Wait, what? This isn’t… There isn’t… It's just harmless flirting.”

“Harmless flirting? Is this even a thing?” Morgan stared at you skeptically.

“Yes. You flirt with someone knowing it’s never going to happen between you. Ever. We do it to each other all the time…”

“Ouch?”

“Besides,” you kept going, not acknowledging his interruption “He’s just playing nice. There’s no actual interest involved.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Spencer muttered from his place at the couch, his eyes glued to the interrogation transcription. He felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on him, and stared back.

“Spill it out, kid.” Morgan begged, sounding way too amused with it.

“He stopped me in the parking lot a few weeks ago.” he started, fixing his glasses and shifting in his position, slightly overwhelmed with the attention. “He asked for advice on… Well, you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” you whispered “And what did you tell him?”

Spencer shrugged “I didn’t know how to turn him down so I just started rambling facts and research regarding the scientific reasoning behind human relationship and the development of courtship. He eventually dropped it.” he gave everyone a closed-lips smile, seemingly proud of himself and amused.

“Wait, do you do this often? Ramble facts just so people leave you alone?” Hotch asked, glancing up from the tablet for the first time after you got in the break room. Spencer’s cheeks flushed in a deep red.

“Uh… No?”

Hotch surprisingly gave him a tight smile, but before anyone could get more into the revelation, JJ turned back to him, her eyebrows scrunched up together “Why didn’t you help him?”

Relief flooded through Spencer with the change of subject. He relaxed back into the couch, leaning back and crossing his fingers together like he always did when he was ready to discuss something he was certain about.

“I’ve seen her body language. She’s clearly not into him.”

“How so?” Morgan asked, doubfunded.

“Her eyes never linger on him, everytime he leaves the room it’s like he stops existing. Every time they talk she smiles and makes sure she listens, but her torso is almost every time leaning away from him, like she’s ready to go as soon as the conversation is over. It’s not like she’s uninterested, it’s like… she’s not even considering him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m positive she likes him and enjoys his company. And her smiles, her jokes and her laughs are real, just not romantically-interested ones.”

“When did you become an expert in relationships?” Derek squinted his eyes at him.

“This is basic body language knowledge. Knowing about all this says less about my expertise on the subject than not knowing says about your profiling skills…”

“Watch it, kid.”

“He’s getting way too good at these jokes” Emily muttered, nodding in disapproval but her eyes a glint of pride “But back to the real issue?”

“The four cases of first degree murder that happened in the last month in Las Vegas?” you asked, not-so-subtly trying to bring the attention back to the case.

You knew where this was going, and you didn’t like it one bit.

“Why aren’t you interested in him?” she asked, deciding not to acknowledge your observation.

“Hmm” you stuttered “Uh, I-I’m not going to get all personal with my boss in the room.” you declared, taking a long sip from your drink to keep from looking at Hotch. You had no idea why you said that, honestly. Obviously, you had no problem getting all personal in front of him. Or under him. Or on top of him. Or even splayed out at your dining table, face down as up getting eaten out by him.

And he was aware of it. So aware that he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling and giving away your secret. It’s not like a single smile would be enough to give away everything that happened that night, but all it took was a little reaction for them to start picking up on you – they were profilers, after all. Hotch only decided he was safe enough from his own frivolity when he felt the taste of the blood from how hard he bit on.

“Oh, cut it. That’s hardly the reason.” JJ stated, crossing her arms.

“Wait, can we focus on the fact that there must be something incredibly wrong for her to be so uncharacteristically shy about this subject?” Emily pointed, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at you.

“I just… Don’t like being the centre of attention.” you tried, and it was probably the first time those words came out of your mouth.

“Ha! Busted!” Emily laughed, banging her palm against the table in excitement and pointed at you, accusingly “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told us.” 

“Do you have any dirt on him? Like something so disgusting that you can’t even think about…” Derek tried, his smirk growing up at each word.

“No! Not at all!” you exclaimed, started to get pissed off.

“He’s hot, you can’t deny it.”

“He is.”

“He’s nice. Are you the kind of girl who always ends up running away from the guys who are ‘too nice’?” Emily groaned.

“No, I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s hot, he’s nice…” JJ listed, once again ignoring your statements. You huffed in annoyment. “He’s tall, he’s responsible, he’s your age, he’s… Wait.” she stopped mid sentence, her face contorting in a smug smirk that almost made you hide under the desk.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your lungs started to burn along with your cheeks.

JJ had her gaze locked onto yours from across the room, and it’s like she was reading every thought you ever had “We listed many things, many reasons to why you might not be attracted to him. You didn’t bat an eye to any of them… Until I said he’s your age. That’s the problem, right? You don’t like guys your age.”

The thought of banging your head against the table repeatedly until it split open didn’t sound that bad.

There were a thousand ways this could get worse.

“And judging by the fact that she didn’t want this to be discussed in front of Hotch, I’m assuming she’s into older guys.” Emily stated, exchanging fist bumps with JJ and Morgan.

“Don’t tell me you have a little crush on bossman over there. Or is it Rossi? Just tell me this: is Strauss also your type, yes or no?” 

Oh dear god.

You fucking knew it.

There were a thousand other ways this could've gotten worse. And that’s one of them.

“Morgan..” Hotch scolded, immediately interrupted by you.

“I have a gun, you motherfu…”

“Enough!” Hotch raised his voice, standing up. “Threatening to use your gun on a coworker could get your license removed.” he raised one eyebrow at you.

“Fine. I’ll kill myself then.” you dramatized, hiding your head under your folded arms over the table.

“This isn’t, in no way, shape or form, any better. Morgan, cut it out.” you heard him scold. “I have a meeting with the director now. Later I’ll meet you all, and the rest of the team, in the conference room. To discuss the case.” He added, eyeing everyone as if to dare them to go against his commands.

Said ‘all’ muttered some kind of agreement, to which you just groaned something unintelligible.

If you’d raised your head a few instant sooner, you would’ve caught the way Hotch’s lips turned into a discreet smirk just before he left the room. Way too pleased with himself. So damn pleased his mind had no space for worries and guilt.

taglist

@winyourheartemma

@midnghtprentiss

@s0urw00lf

@camihotchner

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[luwritesstuff]

Breaking Point

Spencer Reid x reader

notes: angst/arguing followed by fluff/comfort, gn!reader, no use of y/n

wc: 884

Every relationship had their weakness, the one thing that tested how strong two people really were together. You and Spencer found out months into dating that your relationship's pressure point was exhaustion. It hit you both after two back to back cases across the country in one week, a friend’s wedding on Saturday, and a dinner with your parents on Sunday. By the next week, the two of you were stretched thin.

For you, the exhaustion made you irritable. Things you usually had patience for were getting under your skin and turning you into, quite frankly, an asshole. Spencer somehow had the most patience in the world and this only pissed you off more. Why wasn't he annoyed that your neighbors kept taking up two parking spots? Why was he so calm when you lost power for 12 hours?

As much as you ranted, Spencer listened. He made it a point to be a good boyfriend even on your worst days. This didn't mean that the exhaustion didn't get to him too. Spencer’s lack of sleep brought out his insecurities. The more irritable you got, the more worried Spencer became that he was the one annoying you.

On a normal week, you had more control over your emotions. You were thoughtful about how you spoke to Spencer and you were able to let the small stuff roll off your back. But this week wasn't a normal week and you couldn't stop the anger that kept slipping out of you around every corner. Spencer’s solution was to give you space, but deep down, you didn't want to be alone. Not even on your worst day did you want Spencer not to be curled up on your couch with you.

And how could Spencer say no to you? He wasn't evil, if you asked him to stay, he'd stay. Even if you had a permanent scowl on your face and didn't offer any conversation.

“Spencer!” You groaned, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. “Why do you keep putting your wet towel on top of mine? There's another hook behind the door and every time I go to use my towel, it's wet!” You brought the towel out to Spencer and threw it onto the couch. Before he could finish his apology, you were continuing, “It just drives me crazy, honey. It makes me cold getting out of the shower and-”

“If you hate having me around so much, then why am I even here?” Spencer cut you off, raising his voice in a way you'd never heard directed at you before. Anyone who didn't know Spencer well would see his words as anger, but you knew Spencer well and you could feel the hurt and insecurity seeping out through his voice.

You both froze, staring at each other in silence while you replayed his words in your head. After a beat, your shoulders sagged and you moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. “Shit,” you sighed and grabbed the towel to start folding it, “I'm being mean, I'm sorry. I do want you here,” you promised and looked over to find Spencer staring at his lap.

“It's fine if you don't, just… tell me that. I don't want to keep pissing you off and making things worse,” his voice was calmer now and your heart ached. Spencer, the light of your life, felt unappreciated and unloved, because of you.

You reached out to take both of Spencer’s hands into your own and gave them a squeeze. “Hey, I want you here. I love you,” you emphasized, “having you here helps and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it. This week was just… you know how it was. And my parents just get under my skin, but I shouldn't have taken that out on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Spencer couldn't hold any anger towards you if he tried and the thought made you want to cry. Your Spencer, that you were cold and bitter to, still held your hands tightly and pulled you to his chest after your apology.

“I'm sorry I put my wet towel on top of yours. I know you like having a warm towel after your shower,” he said softly and kissed the top of your head, “and I'm sorry I raised my voice at you.”

You sniffled and shook your head against Spencer’s chest. “No, don't apologize for that. You should've raised your voice at me sooner, I was being a brat,” your voice was muffled by Spencer’s shirt but he took every word in, rubbing your back as you spoke.

After you'd both calmed down, Spencer took you to bed where you both slept a solid three hours. You woke up feeling lighter than you had all week and Spencer felt relieved to have you back to your usual self. “There you are, my beautiful love,” he whispered and brushed your hair from your face.

“You're one of a kind, Spence. Let's not overdo ourselves like that anymore. Next weekend, we’re taking both days off and we’re not seeing anyone but each other,” you promised and rolled over until you were straddling Spencer’s hips. His thumbs traced shapes into your hips and he agreed eagerly by pulling you down into a kiss.

[waywardxrhea]

Heart's Desire - Spencer Reid

part 2 | part 3

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!fem!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 9.58k

When working a serial killer case in Tennessee, you become the bait for a violent unsub whose victims all match your description. When going after the man you collapse and are rushed to the hospital for medical treatment.

a/n: so yes, this is a Reader one shot, but it is super niche so...whoops? this honestly was just a super self-indulgent fic for me to write because i can't say i have ever seen the heart condition i had presented in the media and i really wanted to explore how Spencer may interact with it, so here we are! this is my first time writing for the criminal minds fandom, so shout out to my bestie who helped me out with coming up with case details and smaller plot points that have been incorporated into this little one shot!

content: fluff (oh how i adore the fluff in this one!), multilingual Reader, secret relationship, implied smut (if you squint lol), insecure Reader, Reader fits the victimology, graphic description of canon level violence, Reader is bait for the unsub, protective Spencer, mentions of jealous and possessive Spencer, language, medical emergencies, small medical inaccuracies (no AED on the scene - i had to do it for the drama don't judge), crying Spencer.

(not my gif), CM dividers by @firefly-graphics , EKG dividers by me

“Good morning, beautiful,” you heard Spencer’s sleep ridden voice mumble from behind you as you began to stir awake with the sun that was filtering in through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom. The two of you had just gotten back from a case the day before and you were utterly exhausted. All you wanted to do was sleep in, and although he had bought blackout curtains for this exact reason, the sun still somehow managed to slip through, which you cursed the manufacturer for every time…

You flipped around in his arms to face him and sent a sleepy smile at him before mumbling, “Bonjour mon amour.” 

“Oh, so it’s a French morning?” Spencer asked with a quiet chuckle as he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I was debating between that and Italian, but… French usually gets us to where I would love to spend this free day with you,” you replied with a smirk before leaning up to kiss him.

After a few slow and loving kisses, Spencer pulled away for a brief moment to rest his forehead on yours and say, “You know, since we just got back from a case out of state that took so long to solve, the odds of the team getting called back out are significantly lower than if-”

And then your phones started ringing. 

“What were you saying about the odds being low?” you muttered with a sigh as you turned back over in the bed and grabbed your phone off of the nightstand. You heard the automated voice on the other side tell you that there was a case the BAU was requested to work and that your presence was requested as soon as possible. 

As you sighed and closed your eyes briefly while you tried to sink back into the pillow, Spencer noted, “Well I did say the odds were low, not zero…” You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your lips at the comment as you laughed and lightly hit him in the bare chest with a throw pillow. 

“‘Never tell me the odds,’” you told him as you reluctantly began getting out of bed, sitting up on the edge and stretching to wake up your tired muscles. 

Spencer positioned himself to where his legs were on either side of you and wrapped his arms around your torso before kissing your neck and mumbling, “No matter how many times you quote Han Solo at me, it’s not gonna stop me from telling you the odds of things, you know that right?”

“I know, I know…” you told him with a giggle as you toyed with his hands that were clasped in front of your stomach. “How far apart do we have to leave again so they aren’t suspicious?” 

“Well, your apartment is about a thirty minute commute from the office while mine is twenty depending on traffic, so you'll leave ten minutes after me,” he reminded you as you both began to get up and untangle yourselves from each other. “I have an extra go-bag packed for you in the closet as well as a few outfits so you aren’t wearing the same clothes you came home in yesterday.”

“You’re the best, Spence,” you told him quietly as you both made your way into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

As you jumped into the shower to take advantage of your extra ten minutes, you thought about your relationship with Spencer. You two had started dating about a year after you joined the BAU and out of fear of getting in trouble, like two teenagers you hid the relationship from your teammates. Your transfer from Homeland Security was prompted when your interrogation and hostage negotiation tactics landed you on the BAU’s radar, and you very quickly became fast friends with the whole team. So with the guise of being your usual friendly self, it truthfully hadn’t been too hard to hide the relationship from your friends. And while Spencer was hesitant about hiding a relationship from a group of people like the BAU team, your fear of being let go as the “more inferior” member out of the two of you was what convinced him to keep it a secret. It also prompted him to lecture you on your clear inferiority complex, but that was neither here nor there. 

“I’ll see you there, drive safe,” Spencer told you before kissing your cheek as you wrapped yourself in your towel to dry off while finishing your routine. 

“You too,” you replied, giving him a peck on the lips before he began walking out of the restroom and apartment to head to headquarters. 

When you got to HQ, you yawned as you made a beeline for the kitchenette for some much needed caffeine. When you got inside, you cordially told Spencer and Derek, “Good morning you two,” as you poured your coffee, creamer, and sugar into the mug you always had on your desk. It was your parting gift from your Homeland team that was in the shape of the sun and what prompted your nickname from Derek. 

He laughed as he watched you and Spencer prepare your coffees, telling you, “You know, Sunshine, I think with how much creamer you put in that, you may have Pretty Boy beat on sugar consumption.”

“Ha ha very funny,” you told him with a playful roll of your eyes as you turned to walk into the bullpen. 

As the three of you ambled into the area, Hotch emerged from his office and announced, “Sorry to call you all in so soon after getting back from a case, but this one is something we aren’t taking lightly and needs to be stopped because the unsub is escalating quickly.” So, after a quick briefing on what he knew of the case, Hotch told you all to be prepared for wheels up in thirty. 

When the plane landed in Tennessee later that afternoon and you stood up from your perch, you stumbled a bit when you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest. “You okay, kid?” David asked you with concern in his eyes after seeing the brief moment of panic flit across your features. 

“Yeah, fine, just feeling a bit off after that flight, I guess,” you replied, taking a deep breath and straightening up which seemed to do the trick as your heart began beating in a regular rhythm once more. 

“You know, I wouldn’t say I blame you if you were a bit anxious,” he told you as you both exited the jet and started making your way to the black SUVs awaiting your arrival. “It isn’t every day we get cases as violent as this one, especially when the victims…”

“All look like me?” you supplied quietly when he trailed off at the end of his sentence. It was true that when you began going over the pertinent files on the flight that all of the unsub’s victims shared many of your physical features, and while that did alarm you, you knew that your team would have your back during this case no matter what. You placed a small smile on your lips as you told him, “I’ll rest easier when this guy’s behind bars.”

“That’s the spirit,” he told you with a warm smile as you loaded into the SUV, your bag at your feet and your case file in your lap as you continued to read over what all the unsub had been up to in the last couple of months. 

After you all got to the local police precinct and got settled in and assigned tasks, you made your way to their break room for another cup of coffee, only to be followed in by Spencer a few moments later. As you both made your drinks, you casually turned so you were leaning on the counter and watching over the office as Spencer asked, “Are you okay?”

“You know, Dave asked me the same thing, I’m starting to think you guys are more worried about me than I am,” you told him, your lips covered by your cup in case anyone you couldn't see was watching. 

“I always worry about you,” Spencer told you softly as he stirred his sugary drink. 

“And I, you, but for now we need to work on getting this guy in cuffs, and it won’t happen if either of us get distracted,” you said with a sort of finality in your tone, determined to make sure you conveyed a sense of confidence or else you too may fall victim to worrying about yourself instead of working the case. 

As you walked out to the desk where you were allowed to set up, Penelope ran past you, almost toppling you over as she shouted, “Hotch, I found out how he’s luring the victims!” 

“How?” your unit chief asked as she made his company. The team had barely been here a couple hours and the locals' work was already being combed through and missing clues were being found. 

“Dating apps! On every victim’s phone was a dating app and she had planned a date with a man from there. None of the men’s accounts were the same and none of them had common pictures, but the unsub always used the same lines when chatting the women up!” she told him in a rush as she showed him pages she had printed out while doing her dive into the womens' phones. 

Spencer emerged from the break room with his coffee in hand, saying, “Well, based on that knowledge we can assume that dating apps have a significant meaning to him.” 

From her place nearby, JJ spoke up, saying, “Every victim had her left ring finger severed off, maybe his wife cheated on him using one?”

As Derek walked into the room with David hot on his heels, he added, “And turns out they also had their ovaries taken out by the unsub.”

“As well as their cervix glued shut with industrial sealant before their genitals were mutilated,” David supplied, his head shaking as he handed Hotch the ME reports. 

A scoff huffed out of your chest before you mused, “So he feels slighted by his ex wife and has decided that in order to pacify that anger he does what he wishes he could to her to the victims…” 

“Do we know if any of the victims was the ex wife?” Derek asked. 

“Nope, all the victims are single women who have been on dating apps for quite some time and none of them have an active or otherwise marriage license under their name,” Penelope replied. 

“Good work everyone, let’s get to work finding this guy,” Hotch said. “Find out all you can, I want to give this brief before nightfall.”

“Yes sir,” you all replied before once again splitting off into your assigned tasks. 

Right as the sun began to set that evening, Hotch called everyone together and the team began giving the locals the brief on the unsub. Hotch of course began the brief, informing the locals, “The unsub is a caucasian male in his mid thirties to early forties who we believe to have a medical background in surgery and likely just went through a rough divorce." 

You were the next to speak, announcing, “We believe he was cheated on by his ex wife, which is what triggered the break and the murders. The victims all share common features which we assume are also shared by the ex wife.” As you said this, you clicked the remote in your hand and on the board behind you popped up the faces of the victims. 

With the slightest tremor in his voice, Spencer was the next to piggyback, saying, “The victims have all been found with mutilated genitals as well as their left ring finger cut off. The unsub also took the time to use industrial glue to seal the victim’s cervix shut and to cut out her ovaries.”

Derek was next to speak, adding to Spencer’s statement, “The cause of death in all the victims was prolonged blood loss. This tells us that he's performing these rituals while the victim is still alive.”

“He’s tech savvy, enough so that he is able to create difficult to trace profiles on dating apps on which he seduces victims before murdering them,” Penelope said sadly. 

JJ was next, telling the team, “The only evidence that he’s left behind are the bodies in secluded dump locations and as of right now we do not know where the victims are being killed.”

David was the last to speak, rounding out the brief with, “All of this combined leads us to believe that he is a very calculated and dangerous individual who needs to be found before he strikes again.” When he was done, Hotch dismissed everyone to begin their search with this new information. 

“Hey, chief?” came a voice from the front of the office a few minutes later. Both the local police chief and Hotch looked up at the young man expectantly before he replied, “There’s been another victim…”

“He’s escalating again…” Hotch mumbled as he ran a hand over his chin. “There was a lot less time between victims. We need to work faster.”

“Yes sir,” everyone replied before attempting to double down on their work. 

As they all began working, the gears in your mind began to spin, and when you finally formulated a plan, you approached Hotch and said, “Sir, I think I may have an idea on how to catch him.”

“How?”

“We do a sting. Penelope makes a dating profile for me on one of those apps and we use me as bait,” you told him, never breaking eye contact to convey that you were serious about the idea. “If we can get someone inside then we get our guy as well as possible evidence for half a dozen murders.”

Hotch sighed before saying your name warily. “You know how risky that is.”

“And that risk is something I’m willing to take in order to stop this guy. If we don’t do this then there may be another victim tomorrow, maybe two,” you said. Squaring your shoulders, you added, “I agreed to take this job in order to help people. I fit the victimology. This is how I can help.”

A few moments of silence passed as Hotch seemed to weigh his options before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, “Fine. I’ll think through the details. I want everyone well rested tonight before we start planning tomorrow. You and Garcia share a room at the hotel so she can start making that profile for you.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a small smile and a nod before heading off to find Penelope so you two could head to the hotel and begin. 

“So, are you on one of these apps normally?” Penelope asked as the two of you sat beside each other on one of the hotel beds, laptop and phones in hand to create this fake profile for yourself. 

“Me? No, I don’t trust them for this exact reason,” you replied, shuddering as you thought about the poor women who thought they were simply going to meet a new man but paid with their lives and dignity. 

“Oh, I see,” Penelope said before instructing you to find a specific type of photo in your camera roll that the unsub may find attractive. “Are you dating at all?”

“Oh, uh, not really,” you said, trying to pace your words so they didn’t seem panicky. “This job takes up a lot of my time and all, so it would be hard to find time for a relationship between cases.”

“You have an excellent point, but you can’t let something like that hold you back! You deserve all the happiness in the world!” she told you cheerfully as she continued typing away at the laptop. “What are your interests?”

Smiling inwardly at how the subject turned from your dating life you told her, “Reading, rom coms, coffee, patisseries, art, the occasional drink.” As you thought for a moment, you added, “Ooh, make sure you put ‘not looking for anything serious.’ I think that’s something that may trigger the unsub into choosing my profile.”

“Smart!” she replied before selecting that option on the profile. “We should do this more often! Maybe when this is all said and done we can make you a real one and I can just do a background check of the person before you go on a date!”

You laughed lightly as you told her, “Let’s make sure I survive this case first then we’ll go from there.”

The next morning came and went as the team tried to track the guy to no avail, so right before lunch, Hotch gathered everyone around and announced, “Okay, this unsub is proving hard to find by other methods, so we’ve decided to pull a sting. We can’t just sit around waiting for our surprisingly extensive list of divorced surgeons to make a move.” He motioned to you and Penelope and said, “These two worked on creating a fake dating profile that the unsub may fall for. The plan is to get him alone and our resident interrogator will pull a confession out of him.”

“Wait, what?” Spencer asked immediately, his eyes wide. “Is it a good idea to send her in when we know the unsub is escalating?”

“It’s the only lead we can get right now,” Hotch told him. “If we don’t do this tonight, then we may risk another woman dying at his hands.”

“Yeah, and it may be her,” Derek said sharply, the idea of sending you into the belly of the beast not sitting right with him either. 

“Not if we’re all on our A-games when it goes down,” David said in an attempt to calm the younger men down. “If you’re so concerned, we can send you into wherever he asks to meet her so we can have eyes on her the entire time." He chuckled before adding, "Derek, not you Spencer, no offense but you do tend to stick out like a sore thumb in certain environments."

“But-” Spencer tried, but was cut off by Hotch. 

“No buts, we’re doing this. Tonight. Garcia, activate the profile.”

“Yes sir,” she replied quietly before opening up her phone and clicking a few buttons. “It’s done.”

“Good.” He turned to you and said your name to get your attention. “Just make sure you reply to any account that may fit the profile. Garcia will run a trace on it to see when it was created since we knew he makes a new account for every victim.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, nodding your head as you pulled out your phone and got to work. While you scrolled through the app and took a seat in one of the secluded offices to eat your lunch, you were startled by another presence entering the room without knocking. “Geez Spence, you scared me!” you scolded him, clutching your chest in a vain attempt to slow your racing heart. 

“And you’re scaring me,” he told you as he shuttered the blinds to prevent any passersby from seeing the two of you in there together. As you sat your phone down on the table, he covered your hand with his and asked sincerely, “Are you okay with this plan?”

You nodded. “It was my idea. We need to get this guy before another innocent woman dies.”

Echoing Derek, he asked, “And what if that turns out to be you?”

You scoffed humorously before deadpanning, “And you really think you’d let that happen?” After he floundered with his words for a few seconds, you kissed him gently before saying, “I trust that if anything goes sideways, you’ll be there to save me. You always are. I just need you to trust me and my judgment on this one. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just-” he tried, but you cut him off with another kiss. 

“Just trust me, love,” you told him once you pulled away again. 

After you said this, your phone pinged with a notification that caught your attention. You picked it up and saw that there was a new message in your dating app’s inbox. “‘Hey beautiful, you look like you are in need of some company. How about you meet me at Monroe’s tonight and we see where this goes,’” Spencer read with disdain in his voice. He cringed before saying, “Please say that’s not what I sounded like flirting with you…”

You laughed, telling him, “No, the poetry you quoted at me was much more romantic than that line.” You placed one more quick kiss to his lips before telling him, “I’m gonna have Penny run this profile and we’ll see if it could be our guy.”

Turns out there was a high chance of it being your guy, seeing as the profile was created just hours before and yours was the only account that he interacted with. So after a chat with Hotch about the plan to get this guy to confess, you got dressed in a little black number and silver heels, finishing your look with the most effortful hair and makeup you had done in a while. When you emerged into the precinct, you saw that Spencer was the only one in the immediate area. “Where is everyone?” you asked. 

“Getting the gear ready and briefing the police. I got the distinct honor of greeting you,” he told you with a warm smile as he drank in your appearance. His eyes darted around the room to ensure the two of you were alone before he wrapped you in his arms and kissed the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Tu es magnifique.”

“Merci beaucoup,” you replied, feeling a heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks at his words. No matter how long you and Spencer had been together, whenever he flirted with you, especially in any of the different languages you spoke, you still got flustered. 

When Spencer’s arms quickly untangled themselves from your embrace, you rightly assumed that the team was emerging into the offices once more. Hotch called out your name before asking, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied with a nod, smoothing out your dress before joining the team near the door. 

On the way to the bar in the taxi you were assigned to take, Hotch went over the plan once more, detailing to you that Derek was already at the bar to keep an eye on you in case things went sideways, that you are to attempt to get any sort of confession out of the unsub, and if you could get information on where the killings were happening that would be even better. You had a plan in mind to attempt to get inside his head and get him to confess without even realizing it, so as you walked into the bar, you feigned confidence as you walked up and sat on a barstool to wait for the unsub to approach you. 

Derek sat across the room behind you and to your left, near the door, and his soothing voice came through the in-ear you had, saying, “All right, Sunshine, if things go sideways you just say the word and I’m all over this guy.”

“Just trust me,” you told him quietly as you took your first drink from the water glass that the bartender handed you with your drink. 

“I believe I’m supposed to be meeting you here?” came a voice from beside you a few minutes later. 

You turned toward the voice and smiled in greeting. He did fit the profile, strikingly actually. You noticed a tan line on his left ring finger and how his hands were slightly cracked and dry, perhaps from surgical scrubbing at his job. You offered out your hand for him to kiss as well as your name before telling him, “I believe so. And you’re already nearly half a drink behind, so why don’t you catch up, handsome?”

“I think we can make that arrangement,” he said after kissing your knuckles.

"That was smooth, remind me why you're single again?" JJ asked with a quiet laugh through the in-ear.

You kept your facial expression in response to the comment neutral as the unsub ordered his drink from the bartender. When the two of you began talking, the team kept their ends of the coms silent as you worked to get what information you needed from the unsub. 

During the conversation, you almost dragged out what you wanted from him, but he always skirted around it. You knew he was your man though, that was plain as day when he spoke about his ex wife who he told you moved off to California to be with the man she cheated on him with. During the conversation, Penelope informed you quietly that she had found record of the woman as well as IDing the man sitting across from you as Doctor Samuel Costner, who specialized in abdominal surgery.

After another paced drink from you and a couple more for him, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, his hands splaying out over the tops of your thighs as he asked, “How about I take you back to my place and show you a good time?”

Bingo. His place. One of the things the team couldn’t figure out was where the unsub lived, otherwise it would have been much easier to locate him and the possible murder site. With this information in mind, you leaned back into his embrace and told him, “I like the sound of that.”

The silence from the team was broken as Spencer’s voice asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“As long as we tail them it should be fine,” you heard JJ tell him. 

“We have his name now though, can’t we just have Garcia dig into where he lives and go from there?” Spencer countered.

“And go in with what suspicion? We need evidence that he’s killing there in order to step onto the property,” JJ replied.

“But this is a controlled scene, if she gets in the car with him, we can’t control what happens in there. What if we lose the truck on the backroads? This is too risky, I’m-”

“Reid, sit down and trust her,” you heard Hotch scold him. “What we need is a location and she’s getting us exactly that. Now sit back and let her work or else I’m pulling you from this case.”

“Yes sir…” Spencer eventually said. 

“Remember the signal,” Derek mumbled as you and the man made your way out of the bar and to his truck. 

A nearly thirty minute drive took you to a farm that had vast amounts of pastures and trails hidden within the woods as well as a large picturesque barn that looked just like they all did in the movies. “So this is where you live huh? It’s beautiful…” you breathed as you looked around, trying to take in any specific details you may need to relay to the team in case they weren’t able to tail you. 

He nodded as he pulled up in front of the barn, putting his hand on your thigh as he said, “Family owned and operated since the 1800s. And while I don’t do much of the labor around here because of work, I am still the proud owner. Maybe you could be too one day.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked in your most alluring voice as you slightly widened the space between your thighs, the gesture making you feel filthy, but if this was how you caught the unsub then so be it. 

The kisses that he gave you started off innocently enough, but soon turned aggressive and you cringed inwardly at the fact that you knew the team was listening to everything from their end of the coms. You didn't even want to think about what was going through Spencer's mind - the man had a reputation of being jealous and possessive sometimes when you two went out and guys flirted with you.

Before you knew it, the unsub was coming over to your side of the truck and opening the door. He pulled you into his arms and asked, “How about we go for a roll in the hay?” You giggled innocently before agreeing, subtly eyeing the black SUVs that had begun to creep onto the outskirts of the property line with their headlights out. They followed you. Good.

So, as he took you deeper into the barn and to an area that was lined with tarps that had seen better days, your eyes began scrutinizing every little thing that could be evidence that he had killed those women here. And you found it as you eyed a corner of another tarp that seemed to have dried blood on it. 

Right as you were about to sneak in your code word to the team to signal you had what you needed, you heard Spencer’s distinct voice shouting, “FBI, hands where I can see them!”

“Shit!” the man shouted before jumping off of you and darting away, the large knife you had somehow not noticed before dropping to the ground as he sprinted off. 

“We’ve got a rabbit!” you shouted, tossing off your heels and beginning to run after him. “I’m taking the back exit, someone go around the side!”

“On it!” JJ called as she began running around the other side of the barn to cut him off. 

When you ran out of the door you saw him leave out of, you were met with a wooden fence that he had jammed in the few moments you were distracted. Not wanting to waste any time, you opted to climb the fence, jumping over and landing awkwardly on your feet. When you did, you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest before starting to beat rapidly. As you stood up, you began to get light headed and it felt like cotton filled your ears as you faintly heard a commotion around the corner of the barn. Heat seemed to fill every part of your body and your vision started to tunnel as you gasped for air, stumbling around to try and steady yourself on the side of the barn before your body gave in and collapsed. 

“Stay down!” JJ sternly told the man as she pinned him to the ground and cuffed him. “Samuel Costner, you’re under arrest for the murder of six women.” 

As JJ recited his rights and escorted him to one of the police cruisers that had emerged on the scene, Spencer looked around and asked where you were. “Didn’t she say she was going out the back?” Derek asked. “I didn’t see her come back around…” 

Panic filled Spencer’s body immediately and he began quickly making his way around the barn with Derek hot on his heels. What if Costner got to you in desperation before JJ arrested him? What if you were bleeding out behind the barn? He had to get to you quickly. 

When he rounded the corner and saw you collapsed on the ground, he shouted your name before sprinting over and feeling for a pulse. After a few seconds and some quick math, he said, “Her heart rate is 238 and she feels clammy… She’s not bleeding that I can see, but she’s hardly breathing. Derek!”

“On it!” he shouted, pulling out his walkie to dispatch an ambulance to the location. “They said it’ll take about twenty minutes to get here.”

“She might not have twenty minutes!” Spencer snapped as he watched your now frail body and how you were losing color quickly. With a strength that Derek didn’t know he had, Spencer lifted you into his arms and began carrying you to one of the SUVs, telling him, “Get one of the officers to give us an escort, we’re taking her!”

“Oh, got it!” Derek stuttered out before barking orders at an officer and getting into the driver’s seat of the SUV. 

“What’s going on?” JJ asked as she quickly jumped into the passenger seat while Spencer got you and himself into the back seat. 

They took off at a rapid speed, Derek intending on cutting the ride to the hospital in half at least as he pushed the pedal into the floor as far as it would go. 

“I don’t know, her heart is racing though, and we found her collapsed,” Spencer told her, his own breath beginning to come in rapidly as he began to panic. 

“Spence, look at me,” JJ told him gently which prompted him to look up at her. “We’re gonna figure it out. She’ll be okay. What do we know?”

As he ran his thumb over your jaw as a way of soothing himself, Spencer rattled off to JJ, “Well, obviously she was in a state of stress during the sting, but even a panic attack wouldn’t cause her heart to beat this fast, panic attacks top out at about 200 beats per minute. She’s usually good at controlling her anxiety anyway, especially under pressure like this… He couldn’t have drugged her at the bar because she got all her drinks directly from the bartender and she was cognizant of what she was doing and saying the whole time. As far as I know, at her last doctor’s appointment she was given a clean bill of health…”

“Well, not being drugged is good, we can work with that,” JJ reassured him. She checked the map on her phone and said, “We’re almost there, just hang in there.”

When you arrived at the hospital, Spencer carried you in and placed you on the stretcher that was waiting at the triage door. “What happened?” a nurse asked as a doctor walked up while the team began placing EKG leads all over your chest. 

“We’re FBI. We were working a case and she was chasing down a perp. I didn’t see her come back from where she said she was going and I found her like this,” Spencer replied as he began following them while they pushed you into a room, JJ and Derek hot on his heels. 

“Any significant medical history?” she asked as they began plugging the wires into machines which immediately began blaring with alarms. 

As Spencer began rattling off your medical history, two of the nurses escorted JJ and Derek into the hall to clear some space for the medical team. After two nurses got IVs started in your left arm, another came running in with some syringes, vials of medication, and a cart. As they began preparing the medication, the doctor looked toward Spencer and told him, “We’re about to give her a medication that’s going to stop her heart.”

“What?!” he shouted, his eyes wide. 

Calmly the doctor continued, saying, “It’s got a super short half-life so it’ll only be for a few moments and then her heart should go back into a normal rhythm. It’s a very routine drug. She may feel sore afterward but that is to be expected.”

And so a pair of nurses worked together to quickly administer the medication. When it hit your system, sure enough, for a few moments he watched the monitor as your heart stopped and Spencer could practically feel his own stop too. The tension in his shoulders eased up slightly as your heart returned to a normal 88 beats per minute, but then alarms started blaring again within seconds as the EKG suddenly looked like a toddler was scribbling on the monitor. Spencer knew that rhythm from a book he read one time and knew that it was deadly if not treated quickly. In a blind rage, he shouted at the doctor, “You said that medication would help! Look what happened! I want a different doctor on her case right now and-”

“Get him out of here! Geneva, get the defibrillation pads on her and deliver 200 joules. If that doesn’t work start CPR!” the doctor called before calling more orders to the rest of the team, two of which began trying to escort Spencer from the room. 

“You can’t just-!” he shouted in frustration before he felt a hand on his shoulder that squeezed gently. 

“Let them work,” came Derek’s voice from behind him. 

When Spencer wrestled himself out of the nurses’ hold and watched them go back into the room, closing the door that now had a blue light above it, both JJ and Derek saw the dangerous look in his eyes. JJ though was the one brave enough to ask, “What the hell was that about Spence? You can’t just yell at the doctor like that! He was trying to help!”

“Him trying to help sent her into v-fib and now her heart isn’t working!” he retaliated, running a hand through his messy hair. He tried to hide the tears in his eyes as he turned away and stalked off down the hall, unsure of what to do with himself at the moment. 

“Spence!” JJ called after him, about to follow him, but was stopped when a gentle hand grabbed her forearm. 

“Let him go,” said David as he too watched Spencer’s retreating form. 

JJ sighed in frustration and said, “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him! Why would he yell at them? Yeah, I’m worried too, but that was a whole other level. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him that mad.”

“Just think about it from his perspective,” David told her vaguely before encouraging the two of them to meet the rest of the team in the waiting room. 

Once the pair of them parted ways, David sighed and took off in the direction he saw Spencer going. When he found him a few hallways over staring out a window into nothingness, David cleared his throat and asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“From the time I found her with her heart beating that fast, it’s been twenty-eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds give maybe three minutes from the moment she took off after Costner. It’s been two minutes and forty-eight seconds since that doctor sent her into v-fib and effectively made her heart useless as a pump,” Spencer mumbled.

“That’s not what I meant, kid,” David told him, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. He leaned his back against the window and said, “I know love when I see it.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer said, his back straightening as it clicked in his mind what he was saying. 

Now David chuckled as he said, “Don’t lie to me, kid. I see the way you two look at each other. The way you joke around together. You’re relaxed around her.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And between you and me, I’ve seen you two sneak off together when you thought no one was looking.”

Spencer cringed at the last bit, but couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips at the thought of you. “We’ve been together for just over a year,” he said softly, the smile growing wider as he remembered your anniversary a few weeks prior. That smile quickly faltered though when he remembered what was happening in that hospital room a few halls down. 

“She’s going to pull through,” David said gently, his hand landing on Spencer’s back, giving him a gentle pat. 

When he said that, Spencer’s phone started ringing with a call from Hotch, who told him, “She’s stable and resting, they gave her a sedative so she doesn’t overwork herself again. The rest of us need to finish up at the scene. I trust you can get your paperwork done on the jet later. Call with updates, please.”

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied, a tinge of hope in his voice at the words. 

“Well?” David asked expectantly when Spencer hung up.

“She’s stable!” he told him, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he exhaled deeply. 

“Then go to her!” David said, a smile on his face. 

“I-I will!” Spencer said, turning to take off toward the room he left you in. Before he could leave the older gentleman’s presence though, he asked, “David?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell Hotch.”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” he replied with a nod before he answered his cell, presumably with his own call from their unit chief.

The wait for you to wake up took longer than Spencer would have liked, and by then they already had to move you out of the emergency department and to a cardiac monitoring floor to make room for more emergencies. When your eyes finally fluttered open in the early hours of the morning, you cringed at the bright light coming from the window before orienting yourself to your surroundings. You were in a hospital room that much was clear, and beside you was Spencer, with one hand in yours and the other holding up what looked like a map that you assumed was a medication insert. Only Spencer would be reading up on whatever medications they may have given you for whatever you ended up in here for…

“Spence?” you whispered to get his attention. When his hazel eyes flicked away from the pamphlet and met yours, you could see how they instantly flooded with tears as a smile made its way onto his face. As he gently threw his arms around you, you asked, “What happened?”

“When you ran after the unsub you collapsed and your heart was beating extremely fast. I got you into the SUV and Derek drove you here to get treated,” he replied, his voice muffled by your hair. You could hear this disdain in this voice as he added, “They gave you this medication that stopped your heart and was supposed to put you back into a normal rhythm, but it ended up making things worse. You went into an even deadlier heart rhythm and they had to shock you. No CPR thankfully, but the nurses said that if that first shock didn’t get you back they would have had to…” He pulled you impossibly closer as he whispered, “I was so scared. I thought I lost you…”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you attempted to comfort him by rubbing soothing circles into his back. That was a lot to take in, but you hated seeing Spencer so upset and that was your biggest concern at the moment. 

You cleared your throat, but before you could ask what was on your mind, there was a knock at the door and two people came in: a nurse and a doctor of cardiology. The doctor sent you a warm smile and said, “It’s good to see you awake Miss, you gave the ED team a real scare last night!” 

“It was the doctor down there that caused such a fuss…” Spencer muttered, which earned a squeeze of your hand that warned him to be cordial. 

“Yes, that’s actually what I came up here to talk to you two about, er, you Miss.” He glanced down to your hands and didn’t notice a ring, so he asked, “And what’s your relation may I ask? Are you okay with him being here for this?”

“He’s my boyfriend and yes he’s allowed to be here. If I don’t remember something that big brain in there will,” you said, a quiet laugh leaving your lips. 

“Okay, great!” the doctor said as he clapped his hands together. “So, when you came in, you were in what we call SVT which they treated with a medication called adenosine since you were unresponsive. It’s a fairly routine drug for emergent SVT conversion. When they gave it to you though, it threw your heart into V-fib, which essentially caused your heart muscles to quiver instead of contract. In my years of experience, I’ve only ever seen one condition that would cause that medication to make your heart react like that.” He motioned for the nurse to hand the two of you a piece of paper as he continued, “What I think may be going on is called Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. It’s a condition in which the conduction system in your heart misfires and sends you into SVT. Luckily enough, it’s easily treated with a heart ablation surgery, but you will have to go through the steps of a formal diagnosis before going through with that as this is just a guess. Do you have any questions for me?”

You looked at the doctor for a moment, your eyes wide as you shook your head no, unsure why you did it, but in your state of shock you didn’t know what else to do. You were sure whatever research Spencer does on the condition would answer any of your later questions anyway. Through the ringing in your ears, you of course heard Spencer’s muffled voice asking the doctor as many questions as he could think of after reading through the education packet, but you paid no attention as you thought of the implications this might have on your job and life as a whole…

What felt like only a few moments passed in the fog of noise and chaos in your brain before you were gently pulled back to reality by Spencer’s soothing voice as he called out your name to get your attention. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked when your eyes finally met with his concerned ones. 

“Too much… I don’t wanna think about it right now…” you whispered, a tear slipping from your eye as an array of emotions blasted through your body. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back, not pushing the topic further for the moment. 

Wanting a change in subject, you cleared your throat and focused on work, asking, “Did we get him? The unsub?”

As Spencer pulled away and tried to discreetly wipe a tear from his cheek, he laughed incredulously before saying, “All thanks to you.”

“Good. At least he’s put away now,” you said, relaxing as much as you could into the stiff hospital bed. 

Spencer looked at you and shook his head in disbelief as he said, “Only you could be told your heart stopped practically twice and that you may need surgery to fix it, and you’re still more concerned about if we caught the unsub or not.” 

“What can I say, I was passionate about putting that one away,” you said, forcing a small smile on your lips. 

Spencer, for the first time in a while, was at a loss of words for what else to say on the subject, so instead he simply whispered, “I love you,” before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. 

The two of you quickly broke away from each other when you heard a squeal and something hitting the floor behind Spencer. When you both looked over to identify the sound, you saw your team standing in the room holding various gifts as well as your go-bag and some palatable food for breakfast. “You two! I- We- You-!” Penelope stuttered out as her eyes darted from your face to Spencer’s and back. She quickly crouched down and picked up what turned out to be a pack of makeup removing wipes before asking, “When did this happen?!”

“My man!” Derek said with a sly smile on his face as he went over to clap Spencer on the back.

“I- We can explain!” Spencer said, a bit of desperation in his voice as he watched Hotch place his get well balloon down on the table before walking out of the room. 

Spencer took one look at the returning terrified look on your face before starting to stand up to go after Hotch, but stopped when David placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his movement. “I’ll deal with it in a minute, kid. You stay with her.”

After a few moments of tense silence, you managed to say, “Surprise?” as Spencer once again resumed holding your hand. 

JJ laughed quietly as she sat down on the couch in the room, asking, “Like Garcia said, when did this happen?”

“Just over a year ago,” Spencer replied, squeezing your hand as his smile once again appeared. 

“A year?!” Penelope and JJ asked at the same time, their eyes wide in shock. 

David laughed and shook his head before asking, “And how did anyone else not notice?”

“In my defense, I thought it was an unspoken rule not to profile each other,” JJ mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“It’s not profiling if it’s obvious,” David said with a chuckle. He leaned over and placed a kiss to the top of your head before telling you, “Rest up and get to feeling better, you scared us all.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, huffing out a laugh as you watched him exit the room followed soon after by the rest of the team who gave you their well wishes too. “Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag now…” you whispered, pulling your blanket closer to your body as your anxiety began to creep in. 

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” Spencer reassured you, his eyes flicking up to the heart monitor and noticing that your rate was beginning to climb. He squeezed your hand as he said, “Right now we just need to focus on figuring out if you have that condition the cardiologist mentioned. Dave is talking with Hotch and I’ll talk with him soon too, okay?” 

He gently lifted your chin and mumbled, “Deep breaths, sweetheart…” You simply nodded in response as you closed your eyes and tried to breathe in time with him to calm your racing heart and mind. 

After a few moments, Spencer reached over you and grabbed the pack of makeup wipes and took one out, starting to bring it to your face, which prompted you to ask, “What’re you doing, Spence?”

“I’m helping you take your makeup off,” he replied simply as he began to gently run the wipe over your jawline. “I know you hate when you get acne from your makeup when we're busy with cases…”

“I can do it, love, I’m sure you’ve been up all night and you need rest too,” you told him, gently grabbing his wrist to stop his movement. 

“I don’t mind,” he told you with a small smile on his lips. “This gives me an excuse to admire your beautiful features…”

You could feel yourself blushing as you mumbled, “You’ve had my features memorized intimately since around two months into our relationship.”

“And I’ll never tire of your beauty,” he told you as he coaxed your hand off of his wrist and began gently working the makeup off your face. 

“Je t’aime, Doctor Reid. You always know how to make me feel better,” you whispered a few minutes later when the last makeup wipe was discarded. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on your lips once more. 

When you were cleared to discharge the next morning, the rest of the BAU had already flown back home. Hotch offered to send the jet back to get the two of you, but knowing that they could be called out on a case, Spencer declined, also citing to him, “People with unstable heart disease and arrhythmias have the risk of deadly episodes while in the air due to the pressure changes within the cabin as well as the lower oxygen levels and higher risk of dehydration, not to mention the added stress both physically and emotionally.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re just renting a car to get back?” Hotch asked, and the pair of you could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose as he asked this. 

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied shortly. “If anything comes up feel free to call. We’ll both get our paperwork done before coming back to the office.”

“Thank you,” he said simply before hanging up. 

Since he hadn’t wanted to leave your side, Spencer hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Hotch about your relationship, and over the phone it was hard to tell what the annoyance in his tone was over… As you began to think about those implications, Spencer glanced over at you before taking your hand in his and saying, “You’re working yourself up again…”

“I’m just scared is all…” you mumbled as the pair of you followed the rental car agent to the car you would be taking back to Virginia. 

Once you were both in the car after Spencer inspected it for cleanliness, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, reiterating to you, “We’re going to figure it out. David said he thinks Hotch will come around, and if you’re worried about your heart, we’ve already got your appointment scheduled for when we get back home. Whatever happens we’ll take it on together like we always do.”

“Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes once more. You felt like you had done more than enough crying in the past few days, even though there had been more than one occasion when Spencer had rattled off some facts about crying being a great form of stress relief. 

Walking into headquarters a few days later, you tugged at your shirt uncomfortably as you and Spencer stepped into the elevator together. You had been to the doctor the day before and they had attached you to a 24-hour heart monitor that they would use to aid in your diagnosis. You’d be lying if you said all the wires didn’t cause you to be filled with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. 

Taking note of your shifting, Spencer asked quietly, “Would you like to wear my jacket?”

“And give Hotch another reason to let me go?” you rebutted, your voice breaking at the end. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Spencer reassured you as the doors to the elevator opened and you two walked out and toward the BAU offices. 

It definitely felt that way though when the first thing you heard when emerging into the bullpen was Hotch calling both of your last names and saying, “You two, my office.”

Feeling like two teenagers caught in the act, when Spencer closed the door behind him, he immediately started rambling. “Hotch, please I can explain, we-”

“I don’t need an explanation, I need you to sign these forms,” your unit chief said, handing the both of you a packet of papers that you began reading even though the papers shook with the tremors in your hands. 

“If you just give me a second to-” Spencer tried again as he took the packet but didn’t so much as glance at it. 

“Sign the papers,” Hotch said, ignoring Spencer’s pleas for him to listen. 

“But-”

“Spence, read it,” you said a few moments later after you had read the summary of the form on the front page of the packet. 

At your words, Spencer finally looked down at the packet in his hands and within moments had it read, his mouth opening a little in shock as he asked Hotch, “Wait…you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad. I’m mad that you two would keep such a secret from us, not only because I thought we functioned as a family here, but also because of how much your relationship played a role in that Tennessee case," Hotch told him sternly. "Seeing as even I never noticed before now, and up until that case, it has never interfered with your work, I came up with some forms that should appease the higher-ups if for some reason this relationship were to get out to other teams.”

“So, if we sign these forms then we’re both allowed to stay on the team as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work?” Spencer asked, slightly breathlessly. 

“Correct,” Hotch replied, the corners of his mouth almost tugging up into a smile. “We can’t afford to lose either one of you from this team.”

“Well, that’s a relief…” you mumbled as you grabbed a pen out of the cup sitting on his desk and signed the paper in the appropriate places. 

“No more secrets, okay?” Hotch asked sternly as he eyed the two of you, pointing his own pen at each of you in turn. 

“No more secrets,” you both agreed, giggles flying out of both of your mouths as you looked at each other after saying the same phrase. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Derek asked with a chuckle as the two of you emerged from the office once everything was filed away. 

“Once we get her heart situation figured out because I know she’ll want to go to Europe for the honeymoon,” Spencer replied as he pulled you close and placed a kiss on your forehead. The statement made your heart leap in your chest and you began to think of excuses to tell the cardiologist about what caused that reading on the monitor. 

So, with your job at the BAU still secure, you took a seat at your desk across from Spencer’s and sipped at the decaf coffee JJ had bought for the kitchenette, completely grateful for the team, but even more so for Spencer. You weren’t sure how you would navigate this crazy and unpredictable life without him.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Y/n: see how Garcia brought the shots back to the table?

Prentiss: very thoughtful.

JJ: very demure.

Morgan: what the fuck—

*hotch arrives*

Garcia: see how Hotch was late?

Prentiss: not very mindful.

Reid: not demure.

[guiltyasreid]

guilty as sin? l spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings/tags: not really smut, mild cannon violence, theres a make out session ig, bau!reader, guns, word count: 772 a/n: i gen think this is what happens to me when I watch cm, I cannot help thinking about him when I listen to this song. lmk what you think :))

It all happened too fast. The day was going smoothly, usual paper work that made you stare into oblivion and dream of a better life, then you were out on a case. You couldn't remember how you and Spencer were standing in front of the unsub who had his gun trailed on Spencer. He wasn't wearing a vest. You were. Why wasn't he wearing a vest?

His finger twitched at the trigger, you didn't hesitate to step in front of Spencer. You didn't let the next shot fire as you tackled the unsub to the floor, the gun clattering away from them. The struggle was short as the tackle made him hit his head on the steps behind him. He was knocked out cold.

You couldn't breathe, your head was bleeding from knocking it against the wall.

Spencer was apparently calling your name out causing you to blink. You were sat on the back of an ambulance. The unsub had already been taken away, they were just cleaning up the scene now.

He clicked his fingers in front of your face causing you to blink again. "Why did you do that? You could've gotten seriously hurt."

Maybe it was because you had thumped your head, his words weren't registering. You watched his pink lips move, his arms were slightly bulging against his shirt, his long hair was swiped back. He looked as though he'd just fallen out of your deepest fantasies.

He called our your name again. You blinked again. "You weren't wearing a vest." You replied. "If you were shot you could've died, I've only got some bruised ribs."

"A shot from that range could've gone through your vest, it could've been fatal for you. What if the bullet was a little higher?..." He continued speaking, it was drowned out by your thoughts of how would his lips feel pressed upon yours, or his hands touching any part of you. It was like your dreams were coming true when his hands fell on your thighs to lean towards your face.

"You can't do that again..." his voice drowned out again. All you could think of was how his hands were causing your entire body to freeze up.

They covered the entire whith of your thighs, they were calloused, and even though your trousers you could feel the heat emiting from his body. He was nearly inches from your face. You could feel his breath.

Suddenly, he leaned in kissing your lips, humming against them. Your entire body twitched, your hands going up to his hair, his hands slid their way further up your thighs, maneuvering towards your hips.

Your legs opened upcausing him to take a step forward, you moaned as he squeezed your hip. This prompted him to deepen the kiss, a hand going up to the nape of your neck. Holding you as if you were going to stop this moment.

You tugged on his curls causing him to let out a groan, as if he wanted to become one with you, his entire body was pressed up against you, the kiss was passionate and quick, as if you couldn't get enough of eachother.

He moved for your lips, towards your neck, your name slipping out his mouth, a kiss to under your jaw that made you shiver. He spoke your name again this time with more grit. Kissing a trail further down.

Your name was spoken again.

You blinked as Spencer gritted his teeth at your behaviour. His hands were still on your thighs. "Are you listening?"

"I am, sorry." You shook your head trying to get out of your own thoughts. "It won't happen again, I was just trying to protect you." You gave him a breathy chuckle. He patted your knee leaning back and standing up.

"As much as I don't want you to, I would've done the same thing in your position." He gave you a small smile. "Thank you."

"Anytime." You smiled back, he gave you another smile before walking away. You leaned against the ambulance and sighed, watching him talking to Hotch. His ran a hand through his hair. Your eyes softened, running your eyes over his entire figure.

"I'm not sure how pretty boy doesn't notice." Your head snapped towards Derek who was snickering at your love-sick face. You rolled your eyes. "You look at him like you're going to jump his bones."

"I do not." You scoffed back, jumping off the ambulance, handing back the blanket to the EMT.

"I saw your face when he touched yo-" You shoved Derek who just started laughing harder as you walked away.

[mdanon027]

Back in his arms | Spencer Reid x FemaleReader

Back in his arms | Spencer Reid x FemaleReader

Masterlist

Summary | Three times Spencer Spencer Reid seeks for physical affection (Inspired by some of the Prompts from the list seeking out physical affection by @creativepromptsforwriting )

Word Count | 3095.

Warnings | I don’t think there’s any warning, if you found something triggering, please let me know.

Side Note: I don’t own any of Criminal Minds characters, words, or narrative. This is only a reinterpretation and fiction based on the Criminal Minds Universe they continue to develop. Also no repost is allowed. If you ever see this on another website, please let me know.

1. acting like they're cold to have an excuse to cuddle or share clothes or blankets

After a long case, the team was exhausted. The flight back to Quantico will take at least 8 hours, so they decided to travel back immediately after they ended the work. 

The flight was at night time. Close to the winter season, the weather is changing. So what better opportunity to get close to the person he was enchanted with, than get warm while getting close on the big couch of the plane? 

“Why are you so cold?” JJ asked Y/N.

“I really don't know, probably the warm weather before getting to the plane and the air conditioner here it's giving me chills.” She said while warming her arms.

“Did you know the average temperature in planes is about 22 to 24 degrees? That's because while we are flying the temperature outside is about -60 degrees…” He started to talk, until she interrupted him.

“So… I should be grateful?” She asked him while getting on the seats.

“They leave the temperature that way to have the average one on land, it is supposed to make you comfortable.” He said while passing her his own sweater.

“I was planning on saying no to your sweater, but I'm going to say yes because I'm really cold.” She told him while putting the sweater on.

They took their seats, and the flight began.

“Go Pretty Boy, it's the perfect time for a snuggle.” Said Derek passing by with a coffee, giving him a smirk.

“I don't know what you mean.” He decided to play it cool. 

“Don't play dumb.” Rossi told him from his seat.

“What are you talking about?” He knew perfectly what they were talking about, but he knew that if he admitted it, the teasing would have no end. 

“Leave him alone, if Reid doesnt what to make another move, then he won't.” Hotch said.

“Another move?” He asks now, curious.

“I mean, giving up your sweater even when you never ever take it off on a daily basis? For me it was a move.” Now Hotch was profiling him. 

“You are joining them?” He couldn't believe that the man was joining the fun.

“It's not that I'm joining, but if you want to make a move, you should start doing something.” Ended Hotch getting back to his report while smiling. 

After two hours of flight, everyone already had a quick dinner and some of them were almost ready to fall asleep. But Y/N was still cold, so he finally decided to use his knowledge to his advantage. 

“You may not say anything, but I can see you are getting colder, we can share the blanket.” He said while looking at her while she trembled.

“I think it’s a great idea.” She stood up from her seat and got close to him on the couch.

Spencer makes a space for her, and covers her up with the blanket.

“High stress levels can cause flu-like symptoms, such as fever, cold, nausea, and body aches. There's a high possibility you are about to get sick.” He said while looking down at her.

“Probably. This case was a mess, thankfully we resolved it.” She said while shivering.

“Layering clothes to get warm could prevent the colds. But right now, the clothes are limited, I can give you a hug, if you want to.” He said while feeling his face getting warm. He took the chance to have her in his arms. At that moment he could hear some laughs from the seats, apparently the interaction wasn’t as private as he thought.  He looked around to see his teammates giving him thumps ups while Emily said “Nice one!”.

He wasn’t sure on how to act properly on how to start a romantic “relationship ”. The few times he had experienced, were either brief and the closest he had, ended up in a tragedy. 

Thankfully he was learning to live with it, with a new hope of finding someone to spend his life with. But he was wheeling to take a try.

2. fixing the other's hairstyle to let their hands run through their partner's hair

He was an expert talking for audiences. He usually did not get nervous about it, after conferences, seminars or even giving classes at college, it was easy peasy. 

But it was the first time Y/N was going to talk to an audience giving a class of her expertise. 

She was good at talking to the press when needed, or even to groups to calm the masses in times of fear. But it was different to try to explain situations to people in dangerous situations than teaching young people how to act as a mediator in dangerous situations. 

She knew how to react, but one thing was doing it and another different to explain it.

Rossi invited Hotch and Y/N to give a lecture on how to act on situations that involve firearms and detonation objects. The team knew she was one of the best ones in that field, with no mistake shots, amazing disarmament skills and extraordinary knowledge on bombs (just like Derek teached  her on her Academy days).

They spend several late nights together (sometimes with the other members joining) practicing her lecture. It had anything and everything that could possibly happen, and she was ready for any possible question. 

All the team was there to support her. 

“I’m nervous.” Y/N said while fixing her hair looking through the window reflection.

“Garcia is inside getting ready with your slides. Take a deep breath, you're going to do great.” Hotch told her.

“Yeah, you practiced a lot and if anything happens, you just need to talk about the heroic job you do every day.” Said Rossi, while getting close to the door of the exhibition room. “Hotch and I are going to start, and then you will proceed.”

“A brief introduction and you will continue.” Said Hotch, entering the room.

“You will be doing fine! If anything happens, we are going to be inside, just look for us if you get really nervous.” Said Emily, while Derek and JJ get inside the room.

“You are going to do just fine, just like we practice, remember it's more a talk than a class. They want to know how it's going to be in their future work field.” Spencer told her while opening the door for her.

“You are right, in that room we are the only ones that know how things actually work.” She took a deep breath.

“Let me fix the final details from your hair.” Spencer told her before Rossi and Hotch started to talk. “All done. You can do it. If you get nervous, just look for me and start talking to me.” He winked, while getting to his seat.

Rossi and Hotch started the talk with certain facts and background about de BAU, and proceeded to let Y/N start explaining.

At one point of the lecture she got so passionate about it, that she started to pass her fingers through her hair thanks to the constant hair interrupting her view. While brushing it, she didn’t notice it was beginning to get disheveled. For sure her attendants didn’t care about it, they were deep into the information the expert was giving them for their future work field.

By the end of the lecture, the students were ecstatic with the knowledge they received, even asking for her contact info for future references related to their courses, some of them asking their professor if they could invite Y/N again in the future. 

Rossi was right to invite her.

The first one to arrive was Spencer.

“Let me fix your hair.” He said while brushing his fingers through her hair.

“Again?” She said surprised.

“It's kind of untidy over here.” He continued,

“Was like this all the time?” She said with little worry in her voice.

“For about more than half of your presentation.” He answered.

“Really? Why didn't you tell me something?” She asked him.

“That could be distracting for you.”He finished fixing her hair. “All done!”

“You could make me a sign.” Y/N told him.

“You didn't even look at us, and your hair gets that way when you start to talk really excited about the things that fascinates you, it always blocks your vision and you start to adjust your hair.” Spencer commented on that fact.

“Why haven't you ever told me that?” Now she was curious.

“Because you look cute that way.” He answered her. “Now come here, let me congratulate you.” He proceeds to give her a hugh, she is back into his arms. “You did marvelous over there! A natural instructor.”

“Thanks for helping me rehearse over 20 times.” She couldn't express how grateful she was with him.

“Actually, it was 34 times.” All he could hear was her laugh. “Not that I was counting.” He was in fact counting. She just smiled looking up at him.

The next one to approach was the team.

“Come here.” Penelope said while hugging her really tight. “You did amazing, my friend!.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! The presentation was amazing, really to the point and with the details that needed to be exposed.” Said Emily while joining the hug.

“Of course Y/LN.” Said Hotch while giving her a smile. 

“You were outstanding, I made a good decision to bring you with me today.” Said Rossi. “Whenever you want to come back and give another class, we can arrange you a spot.”

“And not forgetting that I teached you the basics back in your days.” Said Derek giving her a big hug. 

“You should give a class together.” Said JJ, getting close to congratulate her dear friend.

“Thank you, every single one of you for helping me get prepared for this.” Y/N with a big smile on her face. “Especially Spencer, thanks for listening to my lecture 34 times.” She said while giving him a hug.

“This deserves a celebration! Dinner at my house tonight!” Said Rossi from behind.

Everyone started to walk away, to finally celebrate another accomplishment that one of their teammates got.

3. reaching out with their hand without saying anything, wanting the other one to grab it

Spencer knew the basics of dancing. Really the basics, it took him time, but Derek and Penelope helped him during their free times. 

You may ask, why?

Rossi was doing his annual Christmas Celebration, only with the BAU team. It wasn’t a big deal of a party, but for sure a ball in small proportions. An attempt of dancing was another opportunity to be close (at least even more close than what they already are) to Y/N, and he was taking a chance. The team kept teasing him, but later he realized they were just trying to help him to get with her, and he was willing to take their support.

“Pretty Boy, it’s time.” Said Derek.

“I don’t know, we only took a few lessons.” Said Spencer unsure.

“Believe me, you will want to hold her close for a while.” Said Penelope.

“What do you mean?”

“You will know soon.” Ended Derek.

From afar, he could see Y/N and Emily talking, they were really into the conversation while JJ and Will made comments, they were really into it.

The music started to sound in the background and Rossi, as the extra person he was, made an invitation so they could start to dance while the turntable was in the works of preparation. 

Derek and Penelope were the ones who opened the dance floor, following behind Hotch and Beth, and JJ with Will.

Hotch gave him a look and a nod pointing to Y/N’s table. It was time.

He built up courage, got closer to the table and reached his hand so she could take it. Without hesitation, she took it. He started to walk to the dance floor.

He held her close. Was like a dream. And they started to dance.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” She said to him, in a low voice.

“You don’t know a lot of things about me.” Spencer told her.

“Well, I know a lot about you, but this one specifically wasn’t in my radar.” She ended.

They kept slow dancing for several songs, making small conversations between some comfortable silence moments. It wasn’t weird, they could almost talk through their eyes.

Until she decided to talk again.

“I’m probably leaving.” She said really low and slow.

“What do you mean? You can’t leave.” He wasn't expecting this type of news.

“It’s only for a time.” She wasn't looking at him.

“Why?” He was confused, wasn’t she happy with the team?

“Emily recommended me to the Interpol for a special training. Apparently one of the asistans from the lecture I gave, it’s interested in me teaching their team on explosive objects. Derek also sent a letter, endorsing my knowledge in the topic.” She finished.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” He really wanted to know, they were supposed to be close.

“I didn’t knew. They just told me this morning. I’m still thinking about it. Hotch and Rossi already knew, and are encouraging me to take it. But first I wanted to ask you, what did you think about ir.” Oh, that was it.

“Is my opinion that important?” Maybe they were more than close friends. 

“You are the closest friend I have, in my personal and professional life. Most of the time, you are my teammate.” She spoke. 

The next few songs were danced in silence, she kept her head close to his body listening to his heartbeat. What could he tell her? It was a great chance for her. He wasn't going to stop her professional growth.

“You should take it.” He finally spoke his mind.

“Really?” She finally looked at him.

“You are amazing at doing your work. It would be a waste of your talent not taking this opportunity.” It was the truth. 

“But it's a long time, and I'm going to be away from home and alone, and without you.” It sounded like she wouldn't take the chance of being far away trying new things.

“It's only two months, even though I’m not a big fan of technology, we can video call each other whenever you want. You already know I have a non average sleep schedule or even we can message all day.” 

He promised, now they were close, he took one more chance to hold her back in his arms as close as possible for the time they had before her departure.

+1 turning their cheek to get the other one to give them a peck

After being gone for more than two months, thanks to the fact that she was required for a special task outside the country (by Emily's and Derek's recommendation), she was finally back with the team.

He was waiting, with her favorite coffee, pastry and a flower plushie (he knew she was allergic to them, or at least the ones of this season). 

They talked every single day since she was gone. He knew all the things she did overseas. But he wanted to know about them again, even if he repeated them in his thoughts every time after they ended talking, he needed  to see her face in real life while talking and to get lost in her eyes. 

He couldn’t explain how he felt about her. She was more than a colleague, more than a teammate, more than a friend and he believed more than her soulmate. 

During this time afar, he realized what truly was to care for a person, even when they were not physically together. It was the same feeling he had for his mother, there was no day he didn’t speak to her, and the same thing happened with Y/N. 

While growing up, he was used to either getting ignored or being made fun of.

But she always listened to every single fact he had to say, when he talked fast about something he is passionate about, or only listened and talked to him about his thoughts.

For sure he was in love with her.

She arrived at the office, while everyone was there to welcome her back. She passed by a line of hugs and warm words. She was missed in the team.

After all the greetings,she started to look for him, she was wearing one of his sweaters he lent her for the trip, and proceeded to give him a hug. He had never received a hug as tight as the one he was experiencing. 

“I missed you so much, Spencer.” She said with an almost inaudible voice while burying her face in his sweater while catching his scent.

“I missed you even more.” He told her, while topping her head.

“Even if we talked every single day I was gone?” She looked directly into his eyes.

“It’s not the same, a screen can’t take a chance than talking to your pretty face.” He was smiling.

“Oh, Spencer.” She whispered close to his cheek ready to give him a peck, she was the only one allowed to do it.

It was now or never.

He turned around.

It was a small peck. And he looked delighted.

“I'm so sorry Spencer.” She said, astonished. While looking at him with those beautiful startled eyes.

“I'm not.” He said back, getting another peck from her. This time she was also smiling, but stayed silent. “If you want me to stop, please tell me something,”

She shut him down with a proper kiss. 

“The kid finally did it.” Rossi muttered to Hotch.

“He took his time.” He said while smiling. Everyone knew they eventually ended up together.

From the other side of the room, their teammates were giggling at the young ones.

“Well, it’s sad I have to break it to you, but we have a case. To the round table.” Said Hotch from his office, getting close to Spencer while giving him a palm to his back.

“Oh, come on Hotch, let the love birds have a little more time.” Said Derek getting close to Spencer and giving a small side hug to the both of them.

“Come on, we have work to do.” Spencer said, giving her a last small kiss, and started to hold her hand while starting walking. “You are never ever leaving my side, ok?”

“Ok.” She couldn't believe it. She was amazed with what just happened. 

There was no better welcome back.

Back in his arms. 

Autor’s Note: Hello Again! As I told you before, I'm in my Criminal Minds Era, so this is the second time Im writting about this!I wanted to post if before my +10 hours flight to my Holiday Vacation! Its probably the last thing I'm writting/posting this year related to an original work. I was feeling inspired this days. I hope you like it!

If any of the authors I read ever read this, to let you know I always go as anon (thanks that this is my side blog) and I always sign as -MD💜 or -MDanon027💜 (@mdanon027). Thanks for the inspiration!

Also, please be honest if you like it or nah. Any comment will help for future personal writing skills. And if you see any misspelling, I’m sorry, I already reread it several times, and English it’s not my first language. Please don’t mind on telling me to correct anything.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

First Name Basis

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> You and Hotch have never been on First Name Basis, but as the years go on, thing begin to change.

Disclaimer: Mentions and descriptions of blood, bombs, life being in danger, slight spoilers for S4-Ep3 (Minimal Loss - Reader takes Emily's place) (But that isn't the whole fic). BAU found-family fluff, romantic fluff, soft fluff, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You were on a first name basis with everyone. Everyone save from Hotch. 

Of course, he would introduce you with your first name when it came to meeting police departments or official personnel but to anyone else, specifically yourself, he always used your last name. 

And you did the same with him. Like the rest of them. 

It was always “Sir,” or “Hotch,”. 

Never Aaron. 

However, this all changed after a case in Colorado. 

Yourself and Reid had gone undercover as Child Protection Agents. And it wasn’t long until things went wrong. An unknown police raid meant everyone was taken underground. And a media segment revealed that someone was FBI. 

Between yourself and Spencer, you took the rapt. You weren’t willing to watch him get shot and die. 

On the other side of the planted bug, the team could hear everything. 

And it was killing Hotch.

And Rossi could see it. 

They all could. 

His own mind was fighting against listening because he had to, and not because you were being beaten. 

A small grunt left you as you were thrown into something, and then a crash came. A mirror most likely. More grunts and one scream before…nothing. 

It was the first time in a long time his emotions had started pushing to the surface. 

Every day, he had to become an emotionless yet empathetic profiler. But at that moment…he didn’t know what he was. He was a profiler, a friend, a…he didn’t know what he was. 

“Y/n…”

His voice was barely audible. A hair above a whisper. 

But Rossi saw it. 

Even if Aaron didn’t know it yet, Rossi knew. 

Then you spoke. 

“I can take it.”

There were more sounds of fighting before another. 

“I can take it.”

“She’s antagonising him!” Derek shouted. 

“No, she’s not.”

“She’s talking to us.” Hotch told them both. “She’s telling us not to come in.”

And he didn’t. 

It was killing him not to do so, but he didn’t. 

But the moment he got a chance, writing the time of “3 am” on the takeaway box, he wouldn’t be turning back. 

When he finally saw you, a wave of relief washed over him. And the same happened for you, too. 

Once you both caught clear sight of one another, you ran towards him. 

He could see the dried blood on your face, partly washed away. And your eye was bruised. And your arms were cut up, most likely from the mirror that had broken. 

But you were alive. 

Finally reaching him, you hugged him. And he hugged you. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, “I will be. Where’s Morgan and Reid?”

“They’re inside-”

The place blew up. 

Hotch covered you a little, both of you feeling the aftershock of the bomb. The hand you kept on his shoulder pulled him down a little with you. But after you made sure the other was alive, you both turned back to the building. And you started walking closer to it. 

“Morgan! Reid!”

They stood up. 

“Oh, thank god.”

Making your way up the stairs, you met a coughing Morgan and Reid before Reid finally stood tall and you hugged him. 

After that case, everything seemingly went back to normal. 

Until another case came, only a few months later. 

A bomb had been planted in a building. And, when tracking the Unsub into another one, yourself and Hotch had found yourselves stuck. 

The Unsub held a trigger, and by the looks of it, he was wearing one. 

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your stomach. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“So, what happens next? You blow yourself up? What happened to “getting all the glory”? That’s what you said, isn’t it? In your message. It was all about the glory.”

Yourself and Hotch took another step forward, but then he unzipped his jacket. 

“Another step and I take my finger off the trigger.” He warned. 

Neither of you moved, but your gaze did switch. 

The bomb the Unsub was wearing wasn’t one you recognised. It wasn’t his type. 

By the time SWAT and Bomb Disposal met you at the top of the building, it wasn’t long before he just…gave up. 

“He took hostages from the last site.”

“But we found them all.” 

Hotch nodded in agreement. “I still want to do a sweep just in case.”

“I’ll come with you.”

By the time you both reached the fourth floor, you still couldn’t shake the feeling. 

And just as Hotch reached a small storage unit, it clicked. 

“It was a fake.”

“What?”

“The bomb, around his chest. It’s a fake.”

“Why fake a bomb and then give yourself up?”

Then it clicked with the both of you. 

“How many agents are in this building?”

“Enough to keep this case in the news for the next fifty years.”

“We need to clear the building now.”

By the time you both reached the floor, calling for every agent to clear the building, someone came and found Hotch. 

“We found his briefcase. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Walking over, both yourself and Aaron peered inside. There were plans, memos, and enough cash to give him a whole new life in any country he could possibly want. 

“Get all of this processed as soon as you can.”

And Hotch walked away. 

But you stayed. 

However, the longer you stayed, the bigger that gnawing feeling in your stomach grew again. 

And once you finally lifted a pile of cash, you saw it. 

A watch with a timer. 

“Morgan! Clear the area, now!”

People started running but when you did so, Hotch was still in his place. 

“Aaron!”

Grabbing his arm on your way past, you both started running. And whether it was luck, or fate or…whatever it was. Yourself and Aaron managed to clear the site fast enough so as to not die from the explosion. 

You both were propelled forward, and landed, rolling onto the ground. And for a few moments, were stunned from the blast. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, managing to catch your breath. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“I think so.”

Once you were able to open your eyes, you sat back on your heels and took a look at Hotch. He was sitting in a similar position to you, except he was bleeding. 

You pushed yourself closer to him, “Jesus, Hotch. You’re bleeding.”

Once you touched it, he seemed to feel it and tried to move his head away from your hand, but you pulled him back. 

“Don’t move.”

Through your wire, you called for a medic. 

“Y/l/n, I’m fine.”

“Hotch, you’re bleeding. You’re not fine.”

“So are you.”

You shook your head and turned away for a moment, pulling out your pocket knife and cutting the torn piece of your t-shirt. 

“Wait.”

Hotch took the cloth from your hands before tearing it into two and handing you a piece back, but keeping one for himself. 

Just as you pressed the cloth to his head, he did the same for your cut. There wasn’t much blood coming from your head, so once he knew that had slowed at least, he dabbed at the wound on your arm before tying the piece tight around your arm. 

Once the medics finally reached you both, you told them what injuries Hotch had and might have. 

“Check her over, too. She’s got a cut on her head. She could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

The medic had helped you up from the floor and when they did so, you felt a little dizzy. 

Hotch didn’t even have to say anything. 

“Shut up.”

Thankfully, the next time either of you talked on a first name basis was when on a short vacation. 

Considering the fact that no-one of the team was due to go on holiday or drive out of state for at least three more days, Penelope Garcia took it upon herself to plan a small getaway for the entire team that meant even if they got called back (as you all usually would), you would have, at least, a break away. 

So, on a random Friday morning, you all drove to the beach. 

And it was fun, to say the least. 

By the time you arrived, you parked next to Will’s car. Both himself and JJ were getting Henry ready along with the beach bags and diaper bags. From what you could tell, everyone else was already on the beach. 

“Need some help?”

JJ nodded. “That would be great.”

“Hi, Henry. Is this his first trip to the beach?”

JJ smiled and nodded. “It is.”

“We did try and take him a few weeks ago but then he got a fever.” Will told you. 

“Well, it’ll all be worth it.”

Will handed you a couple of the bags whilst he carried the rest and JJ carried Henry, along with her beach bag, onto the beach. 

The minute you spotted Morgan flirting with a group of women a few feet from the water, you spotted Jack playing in the sand with Emily and Penelope. Spencer was trying to avoid the sun and Hotch was finishing setting up the area with a couple of windbreakers and chairs, with Rossi. 

And once you, JJ and Will arrived; the two dads continued setting up with the addition of sun parasols. 

It wasn’t long before Jack had come running up to get his dad and yourself to join him. JJ handed you Henry for a moment whilst she dug through the diaper bag to find the fruit pouches she had brought with her. 

From behind you, Aaron set up another parasol giving both yourself and Henry shade.

“I’ve put Henry’s fruit pouches in the cooler. Ready to go?”

Lifting her son from your arms, JJ carried Henry down to the water whilst Will grabbed his camera. And yourself and Aaron joined Jack, Emily and Penelope. 

By the end of the day, you had all swam in the water, built sandcastles, sunbathed, read and even been chased by Morgan when he realised yourself. Reid and Hotch had been hustling him in a game of football. 

And at some point after all of that, you must have fallen asleep because you woke up to someone lightly shaking your shoulder. 

“Y/n, hey, y/n…”

As you slowly came around, you realised it was Hotch. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.” 

It was odd. 

His voice was soft. It was rare, if slightly unbelievable, that Hotch showed this side of him. The one he had for Jack. The one he had for those he held close to his heart. 

“The others went for some food, they should be back soon. Garcia said she knew your order. Pizza with fries and a side of pickles.”

“That’s my girl.” You said with a sleepy smile. 

“Pickles? With Pizza? Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

Then he laughed. “Okay, I won’t.”

You smiled at his laughter. And then you thought. In all the years you knew him, you couldn’t think of a time where you had heard him laugh. Sure, you’d seen him smile a little over the years. But before The Beach…you had never heard him laugh. 

And it was like music to your ears. 

Unknown, at first, but then very quickly became your favourite song. 

By the time the others got back, Jack was excited you were awake and ran over to you, jumping towards you and you fell back with him in your arms. 

Aaron laughed again, “Jack, let Y/n breathe.”

“Penelope got you pickles.”

“Extra pickles.” She said as she handed you the pizza box and takeaway tub with fries and pickles. 

“Have I ever told you you’re a saint?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“Well you are a Saint, Penelope Garcia.”

“She has to be, for buying you pickles with pizza.” Morgan added. 

The rest of the evening passed with stories, smiles and even more laughter. 

It was also after that day you noticed when Hotch called you by your name. It hadn’t clicked with you right away, when he woke you up. But when you fell asleep in the round table room after more than 30 hours of work, you noticed it more. 

Usually, whenever you fell asleep when case hours ran over, you would be jolted awake by someone (typically Hotch) calling your last name. 

But since The Beach, you were woken up with a soft touch to your arm, shaking you lightly, before he said your first name. 

“Go home, get some rest.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

You grumbled, sitting up. “By the time I get home, I’ll be on my way back.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine. But you can use the sofa in my office. It’s better than your desk.”

“Thanks, Hotch.”

However, a few months later, something else changed. 

A case had been brought into the roundtable room, and everyone was there. Except for you. 

“Not like Y/l/n to be late.” Rossi said, pulling out his chair. 

“Try her again.” Hotch told Garcia. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Maybe she’s just catching up on sleep.” JJ offered. 

“Why would she be catching up on sleep? We all landed back here two nights ago.”

“Is she dating?” Morgan asked. 

Hotch looked up. 

“No, but her neighbours are.” JJ told them. 

“Ooh, that’s gotta be tough.” Prentiss said. “Back in college, I had a roommate the same. Many sleepless nights. That was when I bought my first pair of noise cancelling headphones.”

Garcia called you three more times. 

“We’ll continue with the case,” Hotch told everyone. “We can catch her up when she wakes up.”

Except two hours later, you still hadn’t picked up. 

And then Hotch got a phone call.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to find Y/n,” Hotch told Rossi as he passed him. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“A good idea.”

“I’ll come with you.”

After thirty minutes, and eventually passing the turn for your apartment complex, Rossi spoke up. 

“Her apartment-”

“I know, but she won’t be there.”

“Then where is she?”

“She has a second home.”

Rossi didn’t say anything but he couldn’t help but notice that Aaron knew the way, without having to put anything into the GPS. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Hotch sighed a little. Part of him didn’t want to, because he didn’t know if you would want anyone to know. But he’d gone this long without telling Rossi. 

“There was a crash this morning. Don’t worry, she wasn’t hurt. But one of her friends was. They’re okay, too. They’re being kept in the hospital for a few days but were more worried about Y/n’s reaction.” 

“How did she react?”

“She didn’t.”

“Well, that’s not good.”

Pulling up outside of your home, Aaron stepped out and rushed towards the door, finding the spare key and letting himself in. The doorbell camera would have let you know they were there. 

And then he called your name.

Rossi took in the structure and the decoration of your home. He didn’t know you owned a property outside of your apartment, but by the looks of it, you spent more time outside of work here than you did at your apartment. 

There were photos of yourself with your friends, as well as the team. It was tidy, and the place smelt of blueberries and cinnamon. 

Turning around the bottom of the stairs, Aaron took them two at a time before reaching the top and when he did, Rossi could see him standing on the landing, as well as stall when you called back. 

“Aaron?”

Coming from out of your room, you walked down the hall and Rossi watched as Aaron’s demeanour changed. In the car, he had been tense. In fact, he had been tense since you hadn’t walked into the office. 

But standing at the top of the stairs, hearing your voice as well as seeing you, he relaxed. 

And his voice became softer. 

“Hey,”

You walked towards him and he hugged you instantly. 

“How did you find me?”

“The hospital called. The nurse said Abby was worried about you. Are you okay?”

Aaron moved back a little to examine your face. You had been crying. Your eyes were a little puffy and your cheeks were tear-stained. 

With his thumb, he wiped away the streaks and you melted into his touch for a second. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

You nodded, “I just…it scared me, you know?”

Aaron nodded. “What do you need?”

“A hug?”

A light smile graced his lips for a moment. “I can do that.”

And he embraced you, tightly. Securely. 

Rossi smiled for a moment before quietly walking away to snoop through your house. And by the time you both walked downstairs, you hand in Aaron’s, Rossi was in the kitchen. 

“Next time Penelope tries to arrange a dinner party, we’re holding it here.”

“So long as you cook.”

“But I don’t see any-”

You and Aaron gave each other a knowing look before you moved and opened up two cabinet doors. It contained three different spice racks, a selection of dry herbs and all standard ingredients to make any one of Rossi’s signature sauces. 

He’d given you enough recipes over the years (not that you didn’t have to work to get them – there had been so many coffee runs) that you made sure you always had the main ingredients needed, and you could always pick up fresh ones on your way home. 

“You’re not the best snooper.”

“I’m a profiler. Not a detective.”

“You’re still an FBI Agent.” Aaron added, backing you up. 

“So, sue me.”

After that case, nothing else changed. 

Both yourself and Aaron remained on a first name basis. Especially considering that two years later, you and Aaron started to share the same last name. 

[hotchscoffeecup]

through love and loss

~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~

pairing: hotch/reader

rating: t

word count: 9.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?

“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.

“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.

“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”

“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”

His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”

“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”

“Humor me, will ya?”

Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.

“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”

You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.

“Can you do that?”

You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.

“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.

You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.

“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”

You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.

Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.

“I promise.”

His hand goes limp in yours.

The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.

“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”

There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.

“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.

The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.

Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.

“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.

“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”

Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.

“She suffered a blow to the head—”

Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.

White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.

Someone’s calling your name.

“He told me he loved me.”

And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.

•

“I can walk you inside.”

“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from

digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

“Just?” he hedges.

You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.

God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.

The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?

The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.

Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.

There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.

“What are you doing out here?”

You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”

You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.

When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.

His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”

Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”

Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”

A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”

“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”

Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”

Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”

•

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.

A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.

A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”

“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.

“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”

She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”

You inhale slowly and swallow.

You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.

Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.

“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.

When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”

“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sweetie?”

You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.

You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”

As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.

Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.

•

Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.

It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.

You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?

Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.

As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.

Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.

“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.

“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.

He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”

“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.

A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”

Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.

“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”

“Mm, not Reid.”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”

“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”

Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?

You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”

“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”

“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.

There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.

You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”

•

You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.

The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.

Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.

He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.

When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.

“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”

Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“How long, what?”

“How long do the dreams last?”

Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”

Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”

A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.

“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.

Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”

“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”

“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.

“Of course I can.”

You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.

He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.

He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.

You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.

He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.

•

The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.

The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.

You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.

For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.

You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.

He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.

He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.

You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.

You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.

Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.

“Another cup? Really?”

You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.

“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.

“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.

Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”

You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”

“Since?” he presses.

You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.

“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.

“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.

You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I’m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”

At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.

Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.

•

When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.

Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.

Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.

You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”

He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”

“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.

“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.

For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.

“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.

You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”

You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.

“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”

He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.

You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.

“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”

That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”

He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.

“So, what?”

He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”

“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.

“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”

You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”

“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”

“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”

He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.

“Thank you, Spence.”

•

Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.

You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.

Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.

You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.

Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.

Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.

If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.

God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?

You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.

You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.

His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a

moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.

“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.

Hotch nods, “Please.”

You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”

A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”

There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.

You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.

“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.

Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”

It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.

After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.

“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.

Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”

You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

•

*Two years later

“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.

“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.

“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”

You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”

The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.

“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”

A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.

There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.

“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.

“Just about,” you say.

Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small legs hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.

You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.

A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.

You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.

“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”

You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.

“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.

And that’s an encouraging thought.

[badathumanemotions]

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Friction (Part 1)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Catergory: Smut CW: Enemies to Lovers, Petty Arguments, Fighting, Mean Break Up With Ex, Girl's Night, Background/Foreground Case, Usual Criminal Minds Warnings, Fake Dating, Smut, Sex Up Against The Wall, Oral, Dom/ Sub Undertones, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. WC: 25,106 [Total Count 52,733] Part Two (AN: I got carried away with this one. It was too long for one post so I had to split it. I know it's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you don't mind. Not Proof Read) From the moment you joined the BAU, you and Spencer Reid had been at odds.

At first, you thought it was just an adjustment period. Everyone had warned you about his quirks—his brilliance, his social awkwardness, his resistance to change. It wasn’t personal, they assured you. He just needed time.

And you had no problem with that. You had seen how he interacted with the rest of the team, how he softened once he settled into a rhythm with someone. You figured it would be the same with you.

But it wasn’t.

Time passed, but Spencer didn’t warm up to you. If anything, he seemed to grow colder.

At first, it was subtle. You’d say something, and he’d respond in clipped, uninterested tones, like he couldn’t be bothered to engage. You’d offer a theory, and he’d shoot it down with a rapid-fire recitation of statistics before moving on without a second thought. It wasn’t just that he was socially awkward—it was that he was dismissive.

And then, as the weeks went on, it became something more.

You noticed the way his jaw would tense when you spoke, the way he interrupted you more than he did anyone else. His corrections became sharper, more pointed, like he was trying to undermine you. And when you gave him back the same energy, he only doubled down.

It made no sense.

You had been nothing but friendly to him in the beginning, even a little in awe of him. You liked him—or at least, you had wanted to. You had made an effort, asking him about his interests, trying to engage him in conversation. You wanted to be his friend.

And yet, from the start, Spencer had been intent on keeping you at arm’s length.

It irritated you more than it should have. Maybe it was because you had seen glimpses of the way he could be—laughing with JJ, bantering with Morgan, engaging in quiet conversations with Emily. He wasn’t incapable of warmth. He wasn’t incapable of connection.

So why was it so impossible with you?

You didn’t understand it.

It was one of your first weeks on the team. The case had wrapped up early, and back at Quantico, the team—minus Hotch and Gideon—had been lingering in the bullpen, half-working, half-making conversation.

“You know what sounds good?” Morgan had said, stretching in his chair. “A drink. A real drink. None of this coffee and jet pretzel diet we’ve been on for four days.”

JJ hummed in agreement. “Ooh, yeah. Emily?”

“I’m in,” Emily had said immediately, swivelling in her chair. “Reid?”

Spencer had hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

It wasn’t his usual scene, but the team had been encouraging him to get out more, and he figured one night wouldn’t hurt.

Then, almost without thinking, he glanced in your direction.

You were focused on something at your desk, jotting something down in a file, oblivious to the conversation happening around you. He knew you hadn’t heard Morgan’s suggestion.

And before he could think better of it, the idea formed.

Ask her to come too.

It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. It was a casual invitation, nothing more. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t even hesitate.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was you.

Spencer shifted in his seat, pushing his hair behind his ear as he tried to work up the nerve to get your attention. His fingers tapped anxiously against his desk.

He ran through the words in his head. Something simple.

Hey, we’re going for drinks. You should come.

He swallowed hard. No, too eager.

The team is going out tonight. You’re coming, right?

Better. Casual. Not like he cared whether you came or not.

Spencer inhaled, finally ready to speak—

“Hey!”

Your name rang out across the room, bright and familiar.

Spencer’s mouth snapped shut.

You looked up, your face breaking into an easy smile as a man approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, walking toward you with the kind of confidence that suggested he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted warmly as he reached you, and then, without hesitation, you introduced him to the team.

Spencer barely heard the words, but they echoed in his head regardless.

My boyfriend.

The realization had hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know what he had been expecting—didn’t even know why he had been gathering the nerve to ask you to come out with them. But he knew, with startling clarity, that whatever fleeting thought had been in his head had been stupid.

Of course, you had a boyfriend.

Of course, you weren’t interested.

And from that moment on, Spencer had kept his distance.

Now, nearly a year later, you and Spencer Reid were still locked in a cold war of snide remarks, tense silence, and a mutual refusal to back down.

The team had learned to tolerate it, brushing past your constant clashes like background noise. Morgan smirked whenever you two were forced to sit together, JJ raised an eyebrow when one of you cut the other off in a briefing. Emily, ever entertained, had once called it weirdly impressive, the way you could turn even the most mundane conversation into a battlefield. Even Hotch had raised an eyebrow once, as if puzzled by how two otherwise competent agents turned every conversation into a sparring match.

And maybe it was.

Because for all the ways Spencer frustrated you, for all the ways you swore you hated him—there was something about your dynamic that you couldn’t ignore.

Something that made you fight back, instead of letting it go.

Something that made it matter.

And that was what irritated you the most.

Like the case in Detroit.

The house was eerily quiet. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting sharp slashes of light across the living room floor. It was the third crime scene in a week, and you were already exhausted.

Three women. All strangled. No signs of forced entry. No struggle. The only thing missing was their jewellery.

You and Spencer had been sent to the latest victim’s house to comb through the scene one more time. Just the two of you.

Fantastic.

“I don’t think the unsub is a stranger,” you said, scanning the room. “There’s no sign of forced entry. He’s either charming his way in or she already knows him.”

Spencer, crouched near the coffee table, didn’t even look up. “That’s not necessarily true. He could be posing as a maintenance worker or a delivery person. It’s common for serial offenders to gain access under false pretenses.”

You exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to stay patient. “That’s possible. But if he were posing as a worker, wouldn’t the victims have mentioned expecting someone? None of them had appointments scheduled, no maintenance requests, nothing out of the ordinary on their call logs.” You gestured around. “And there’s no sign of a rush. No hesitation. He didn’t need to convince them. They let him in without question.”

Spencer finally stood, crossing his arms. “It’s still an assumption. People let in strangers all the time.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “So, you’re saying three women, in completely separate parts of the city, all just happened to let the same random guy inside?”

Spencer let out a sharp breath through his nose—the closest thing to a scoff you’d ever heard from him. “You’re conflating correlation with causation. Just because the method was the same doesn’t mean the victims knew him.”

You crossed your arms. “And you’re assuming you know everything just because you read a couple dozen studies on serial offenders with no forced entry.”

His eyes narrowed. “A couple dozen? Try over a hundred.”

You huffed a humourless laugh. “Wow. That explains so much.”

He tilted his head, gaze sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “It means, Dr. Reid, that maybe you should try thinking like a person instead of a goddamn textbook for once.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. A tiny crack in the mask. Then it was gone, and his voice was back to its usual, infuriatingly calm tone. “And maybe you should try thinking with logic instead of gut feelings.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming.

God, he was insufferable.

It wasn’t just that he disagreed with you—it was the way he dismissed you. Like you were foolish for even suggesting a different perspective. Like your experience, your instincts, meant nothing next to his IQ and encyclopedic knowledge of criminal behaviour.

“Fine,” you said, stepping back. “You think I’m wrong? Prove it.”

Spencer blinked, clearly thrown by the challenge. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you’re so sure I’m wrong, prove it. Give me one solid piece of evidence that definitively rules out a personal connection.”

He hesitated.

Just for a second. But you caught it.

And that hesitation? That tiny, almost imperceptible pause?

It was a win.

Because for all his facts, all his stats, he couldn’t definitively prove you wrong. Not yet.

But instead of admitting that, he just clenched his jaw and turned away. “We should get back to the station,” he muttered, already moving toward the door.

You let him go, but the smug satisfaction in your chest was short-lived.

Because as much as you hated to admit it, as much as you wanted to believe that this was just a rivalry, just workplace tension, there was something else beneath the surface.

Something that made your heart race a little too fast whenever he challenged you.

Something that made it hard to ignore the way his eyes darkened when he was frustrated, or the way his voice got quieter when he was trying to prove a point.

Something that you both refused to acknowledge.

Because it was easier to fight.

Easier to pretend that this was just a clash of personalities and not something deeper.

So, as always, you buried it down, shoved it behind sharp words and colder stares.

And if Spencer Reid was doing the same? Well. That wasn’t your problem.

Monday came with the usual post-case lull, the team settling back into routine at the bullpen. The scent of Garcia’s latest flavoured coffee wafted through the air as she perched on your desk, legs swinging.

“You never told me how date night went,” she chirped, tapping at her keyboard with one hand while stirring sugar into her mug with the other.

You barely looked up from your paperwork. “Huh?”

“With the boyfriend,” she prompted, stretching out the word. “You two went out Friday, right? Fancy dinner? Wine? Come on, give me details, woman.”

There was a beat too long before you responded, your pen hesitating against the page. “Oh. Yeah. It was... fine.”

Garcia’s brows lifted at the lacklustre answer. “Fine? You usually get all dreamy-eyed when you talk about him.”

You forced a smile. “I guess I’m just tired. Case drained me.”

She didn’t push, but she noticed.

By Tuesday, the change in your demeanour had spread through the team like a quiet ripple in a pond. There was still no mention of your boyfriend. No lighthearted comments about your life outside of work. The usual sparks of your personality felt dimmed, and no one could deny the shift.

The day was long, and by the time you were all back in the bullpen, trying to catch up on case details, Morgan stretched his arms over his head with a loud groan.

“Man,” he muttered, “I can barely remember the last time I went to bed before midnight.” He dropped back into his chair and looked around. “Anybody else feel like they need a little work-life balance?”

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled. “For sure. We work in shifts, but we never really sleep at the same time.” She paused, glancing at you, and then back at Morgan. “I think we could all use a little more balance.”

JJ nodded in agreement, giving a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I hear you. We all need to find a way to make the job fit into our lives, not the other way around. That’s something I’d like to find in a relationship.”

You froze at her words, your fingers momentarily stilling on the case file in front of you. The word relationship hung in the air, and you could feel your walls instinctively rise. You hadn’t mentioned your boyfriend in weeks—not even to the girls, and now the topic of relationships felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Yeah, sure," you muttered, giving a tight smile as you kept your eyes on the case. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

JJ caught the tightness in your tone, and she exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Emily. But they didn’t press you. Not yet.

By Wednesday, the rhythm of the bullpen had returned to its usual hum, but there was a subtle shift in the air. You were still going through the motions, keeping your focus on the case, but something about your presence was different. It wasn’t obvious, not to Spencer anyway. To him, it was the same as it always had been—just another day of your usual jabs and back-and-forth.

“Did you get those files for me, or do I have to send a reminder?” Spencer’s voice cut through the quiet, his usual tone of detached sarcasm filling the air as he stood next to your desk.

You didn’t even look up, your pen still scratching across the paper. “You’ll have to send a reminder, because clearly I don’t work on your schedule,” you said, your words sharp as ever.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Right, because we all know how important your time is.”

You met his gaze for a brief second, then rolled your eyes, going back to the case file. “I’m glad you remember,” you muttered.

Spencer gave a small sneer, and shook his head. “Guess I’ll just wait, then.”

Your response was quick, as expected, and just as biting. You didn’t miss a beat. Everything about your interaction with him seemed normal to him, no different from the usual back-and-forth. You responded in the same sarcastic manner, throwing out your usual jabs.

But the team had started noticing. It wasn’t that you were acting differently around Spencer, but that there was something off about you overall. A quiet distance that you had put between yourself and the others, even when you were still doing your job.

Garcia was the first to pick up on it. After your usual banter with Spencer, she dropped by your desk, leaning against it casually.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. She didn’t push, but she could see that something was different. You were still going through the motions, still interacting with Spencer like everything was fine, but there was an emptiness to your energy.

You didn’t meet her gaze right away, keeping your focus on your work. “Yeah, just tired,” you muttered, pushing a stack of papers around.

Garcia wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press it. “Uh-huh. You’re always tired,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “But I haven’t heard you mention your boyfriend in a while.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t that you hadn’t noticed the silence about him—it was just that hearing Garcia bring it up made it painfully real. You forced a tight smile, a fake one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. We’re fine,” you said, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt.

Garcia gave you a knowing look, but didn’t push any further. Not yet. She could see it in your eyes—you weren’t fine, and she knew the silence wasn’t a coincidence.

Meanwhile, Morgan and Emily exchanged a glance across the bullpen. They were both catching onto the shift, seeing how your energy had dimmed. It wasn’t a massive change, but it was there. You weren’t the same. They could tell something was off.

But to Spencer, everything was still as it had been.

By Thursday, the subtle changes in your behaviour had settled into a noticeable pattern. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion from the week or the simple fact that you didn’t have it in you to keep up appearances anymore, but your usual efforts to deflect and keep things light were slipping. It wasn’t just Garcia who had picked up on the shift—Emily and JJ had started to notice, too.

You weren’t avoiding people, not exactly. You still engaged in conversations, still laughed when the moment called for it, still contributed to the team dynamic like always. But there were cracks in the performance. Little things, like the way you hesitated before answering when someone asked about your plans for the weekend. The way your phone stayed face-down on your desk, as if you were avoiding something—or someone.

It was nearing the end of the day when JJ stretched in her chair and sighed. “I feel like this week has been a month long,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“You and me both,” Emily muttered. “We need a reset before the next case.” She looked over at you and JJ. “Drinks?”

JJ hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Emily turned to you next, eyebrows raised.

You considered it. The idea of being out with them, surrounded by the normalcy of your team, was tempting. But you also knew that too much proximity to them meant a higher risk of them prying, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet.

Before you could answer, Garcia’s voice cut in from across the room. “Ooh, actually, I was thinking—we haven’t had a proper girls’ night in forever. We should do one this weekend.”

Emily perked up at that. “That’s a good idea.”

JJ nodded in agreement before looking at you expectantly.

You hesitated. If there was ever a time they were going to corner you about what was going on, it would be then.

But you were also tired. Tired of holding it all in, tired of pretending like nothing had changed when everything had.

“…Yeah,” you finally said. “That sounds good.”

“Perfect,” Garcia beamed. “Saturday it is.”

You forced a small smile in return, but the weight in your chest remained. You had a feeling this weekend was going to be harder than you were ready for.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with them—you did. Garcia, Emily, and JJ were some of the best people you knew. But you also knew they had been watching you all week, waiting for the right moment to ask the questions you weren’t ready to answer.

And tonight? Tonight was the perfect setup for it.

Garcia’s apartment was warm and inviting, lit by a mix of fairy lights and flickering candles. The scent of vanilla and something floral lingered in the air, blending with the buttery smell of popcorn on the coffee table. The couch was crowded with throw pillows, and an impressive spread of snacks covered the table—chips, chocolate, and a cheese board that was far too fancy for a casual girls’ night.

Emily flopped onto the couch, popping a grape into her mouth. “You know, Pen, normal people don’t make charcuterie boards for a casual hang out.”

Garcia huffed, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “First of all, I don’t surround myself with ‘normal’ people. Second, I’ll have you know that a well-balanced snack selection is crucial to the experience.”

JJ laughed as she curled up on the other side of the couch, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not complaining. This is way better than the sad bag of popcorn I would’ve made at home.”

You gave a small smile, settling into the cushions with your own drink in hand. It was nice—being here, being with them. The easy conversation, the laughter, the warmth of it all.

For the first hour, everything felt normal.

Garcia kept the energy light, regaling you with a dramatic retelling of some office gossip she had overheard, complete with hand gestures and exaggerated gasps. Emily and JJ threw in their own commentary, and for a while, it was easy to pretend that this was just like any other night.

But you weren’t oblivious.

You caught the way JJ glanced at you when she thought you wouldn’t notice, the way Emily’s usual sarcasm softened just a little, the way Garcia kept the conversation moving, giving you space to settle in.

They weren’t going to push. Not right away.

Still, you knew it was coming.

It started subtly. A shift in the conversation, the way the air in the room seemed to change.

JJ leaned back against the couch, swirling her wine in her glass. “It’s nice,” she mused, “just us girls. It’s been a while since we did something like this.”

Garcia nodded, nudging you playfully. “Yeah, sweetness, you’ve been kinda… MIA lately.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “It’s just been a busy few weeks,” you said, keeping your tone light.

Emily gave you a look. Not pushing, not prying—just… waiting.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the rim of your glass. The words felt heavy, tangled in your throat. You had spent weeks keeping this locked up, pretending like everything was fine.

But they weren’t going to let you keep pretending.

So you said it.

“We broke up.”

The words felt strange, final in a way they hadn’t before. Like saying them out loud made them more real.

There was a beat of silence before JJ reached over, squeezing your hand. “I’m sorry.”

Garcia’s face crumpled in sympathy, and Emily didn’t say anything, just watching you carefully, waiting to see if you’d say more.

You swallowed hard, forcing a small shrug. “It was… coming for a while. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Garcia scooted closer, resting a hand on your knee. “Was it… bad?”

You hesitated. “Not in the way you’d think. But he had this way of making me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like no matter what I did, I was always… falling short.”

JJ frowned. “That’s not love.”

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “I know that. I do. But when you’re in it, when it’s happening… it doesn’t feel like that. It just feels like trying harder. Like maybe if I was a little less sensitive, a little less difficult, a little more—” You broke off, shaking your head.

Emily’s voice was quiet but firm. “More what?”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “He used to say I was too much. That I was exhausting to deal with.” Your voice wavered slightly, and you forced a breath through your nose. “He made me feel like I had to tone myself down all the time. Like I had to be easier to handle.”

Garcia’s grip on your knee tightened. “That is—" She sucked in a breath. "That is absolute garbage.”

JJ’s eyes were shining, and she reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are not too much,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Emily leaned forward, her gaze steady. “You know that, right?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to.”

Garcia made a wounded noise and pulled you into a hug, wrapping you up so tightly you could barely breathe—but you didn’t mind. You clung to her, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears.

“It wasn’t just that,” you admitted after a long moment, your voice muffled against Garcia’s shoulder. “It was the way he’d say things that just… got to me. Like he knew exactly where to hit, even when he wasn’t trying to be mean.”

JJ rubbed your back gently. “What did he say?”

You swallowed hard. “One time, during a fight, I told him I was tired of feeling like I was never enough for him. And he just… looked at me and said, ‘I don’t think you even know how to be easy to love.’”

The room went silent.

Garcia pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands. “That is not true,” she said fiercely. “Not even a little bit.”

JJ’s eyes were wet. “That is a horrible thing to say to someone.”

Emily shook her head, her jaw tight. “That’s not about you. That’s about him.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “I think the worst part is… I believed him.”

Garcia let out a wounded noise, and before you knew it, JJ was pulling you into another hug, Emily shifting closer, a solid, steady presence at your side.

“You are not hard to love,” JJ whispered. “You are kind, and funny, and strong, and you care so much. Anyone who made you feel like you weren’t enough didn’t deserve you.”

Emily rested a hand on your knee. “You never had to make yourself smaller for him. And you don’t have to make yourself smaller for anyone else, either.”

Garcia sniffled, squeezing your shoulders. “And if anyone ever makes you feel that way again, we will make them regret it.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head.

It still hurt. It would probably hurt for a while. But sitting here, wrapped in their warmth, their unwavering support—you didn’t feel quite so broken anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Monday came too soon.

The sun hadn't even come up yet when your phone rang. The sound cut through the stillness, waking you up and the second you saw Hotch’s name on the screen, you knew it was urgent.

By the time you arrived at Quantico, the rest of the team was already trickling into the bullpen, some looking more awake than others. Spencer had his satchel slung over one shoulder, a book tucked under one arm. Emily cradled a travel mug of coffee like it was a lifeline, and Gideon stood near Hotch, arms crossed, already in work mode.

You adjusted the strap of your go-bag, exhaling slowly as you made your way towards them. The weight in your chest—the one you hadn’t fully acknowledged until the other night—felt a little lighter now.

Girls’ night had been good for you. It had been painful, but it had been necessary. JJ, Emily, and Garcia had given you space to lay it all out, to speak the words you had been holding in for too long. And in return, they had given you their warmth, their support, their unshakable certainty that you were worth more than what your ex had made you believe.

You weren’t magically healed—far from it. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t carrying it alone.

Unfortunately, self-reflection had to wait. Work never stopped.    The briefing room was heavy with tension, the kind that settled deep in your chest. The urgent call had come in barely an hour ago, pulling you all in earlier than usual with little time to process anything beyond getting here as fast as possible. Now, with the jet waiting, Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression grim.

“We’ve got a spree killer in Louisville, Kentucky,” he said, his tone clipped. “Eight confirmed victims in the last thirty-six hours. The attacks have been spread out across the city—parking lots, convenience stores, even at traffic stops. No clear connection between the victims so far.”

JJ scanned the file in front of her. “Louisville PD is stretched thin. They’re struggling to keep up, and local news is already running with it. People are panicking.”

Emily leaned forward, tapping a finger against one of the locations on the map. “Spree killers usually burn out quickly, but this guy isn’t stopping. If anything, he’s escalating.”

Gideon nodded. “Which means either he’s building toward something or he’s completely out of control.”

You flipped through the reports, searching for a pattern. “He’s not staying in one area for long. No indication that he’s targeting specific people.”

“That’s what we need to figure out before he strikes again,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in twenty.”

By the time you touched down in Louisville, the city was already on edge. The latest victim had been killed barely an hour before your plane landed, and with no clear pattern to the attacks, it felt like you were already two steps behind.

The team split up immediately—Hotch and Gideon heading to the precinct to coordinate with Louisville PD, while the rest of you started canvassing the crime scenes. The killer had struck all over the city, never hitting the same kind of location twice. A gas station, a strip mall parking lot, a quiet suburban street. No connection between the victims. No clear timeline. Just chaos.

And the longer it took to find something solid, the worse it got.

Day one was spent chasing ghosts. Every lead fizzled out before you could get anywhere, every theory dismantled as soon as you thought you were onto something. Tensions in the precinct were high, exhaustion creeping into the edges of every conversation.

By day two, the frustration had settled into your bones.

“Nothing about this makes sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temples as you stared down at the whiteboard. “He’s not following a spree killer’s usual pattern. There’s no emotional trigger we can see, no connection between the locations—he’s just killing at random.”

Spencer, who had been pouring over geographic profiling data at the table, scoffed under his breath. “That’s what we’ve been saying for the last twenty-four hours.”

You shot him a sharp look. “I’m aware, Reid.”

The way he rolled his eyes set something off in you. Normally, you’d just snap back with something just as sharp, but with the exhaustion pressing in, patience was a luxury you didn’t have.

“Would you like to contribute something actually useful, or are you just going to sit there and be an ass?”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “I am contributing. Maybe if you actually paid attention instead of complaining—”

“Okay,” Emily cut in, stepping between the two of you before it could escalate. “Let’s all take a breath, yeah?”

Your jaw was tight, fingers digging into the back of a chair as you forced yourself to look away from Spencer’s infuriating face. You could feel him doing the same.

It wasn’t just the case getting to you. It was him. It was always him.

And you were starting to get really sick of it.

Three days in Louisville, and the case was going nowhere. The spree killer was still out there, and you were all running on fumes, chasing leads that kept slipping through your fingers.

You stared at the whiteboard, scanning through the scattered crime scenes and victim profiles, trying to make sense of something that refused to fit together.

“This isn’t working,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We need a new angle.”

Spencer, hunched over the geographic profile, barely glanced up. “That’s been obvious since yesterday.”

Your patience was already razor-thin, and his tone was the last thing you needed. “Wow, thanks for the insight, Reid. Maybe next time, say something useful instead of just being a condescending ass.”

Spencer sighed, finally looking at you. “I’m saying we’ve been through these patterns already. Multiple times.”

“And? You want to just sit here and wait for the guy to strike again?”

“No, but maybe you could stop acting like you’re the only one frustrated!” His voice sharpened. “We’re all exhausted, we all want answers, but snapping at me isn’t going to magically make one appear.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back. “I don’t expect you to magically solve it, genius or not.”

He scoffed. “Right, because you’d rather argue with me than actually get anywhere.”

“You are impossible to talk to.”

“Likewise.”

The tension between you was suffocating, neither of you willing to back down. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, your whole body wound tight.

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God, you’re just—” His voice was tight with frustration as he muttered, “You’re exhausting to deal with.”

It hit like a punch to the ribs.

For a moment, you just stood there, thrown off balance. The fight inside you flickered, then went out completely.

Spencer expected another snap back, another glare, another biting remark. Instead, all he got was silence.

You swallowed, your throat tight, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. But it wasn’t enough. Spencer saw it—the way something in your eyes dimmed, the way your grip on the edge of the table tightened just a fraction before you let go.

The weight in his stomach dropped.

This wasn’t like before.

The arguments, the back-and-forth, the push and pull—there was always an edge of exhilaration to it, something sharp but controlled. But this? This didn’t feel right. There was no rush, no victory, no satisfaction.

It just felt wrong.

You took a slow breath, keeping your voice steady. “Excuse me,” you said quietly.

Then you turned and walked out.

Not storming off. Not slamming doors. Just… leaving.

Spencer sat back, gripping his pen a little too tightly, his jaw clenched.

The silence left in your wake was heavy.

JJ let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. Emily was already pushing herself up to follow you.

Spencer stared at the table, trying to convince himself he didn’t care.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Emily found you in one of the empty offices, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows along the walls. You sat in the chair closest to the window, arms crossed, staring blankly at the parking lot outside. The door creaked slightly as she leaned against the frame, but you didn’t look up.

She knocked lightly, just once. “Figured you’d be in here.”

You huffed, a weak attempt at a laugh. “Yeah, well. Needed a minute.”

Emily stepped inside, closing the door halfway but not shutting it completely. She wasn’t cornering you in, just giving you space. “I get it.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Emily knew better than to push. She leaned against the desk, hands bracing the edge, watching you carefully without making it feel like she was studying you.

You wanted to brush it off, to tell her you were fine. But the words felt too heavy, too hollow, and Emily wasn’t the kind of person you could lie to so easily.

She spoke first. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

But the words were already pushing at the edges of your teeth, restless and aching. Emily just nodded, like she knew you’d say more when you were ready.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your sleeve. “It shouldn’t have gotten to me.”

Emily tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. But it did.”

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, pressing your fingers into your temples. “It wasn’t the same as before, but it still—” You stopped, jaw tightening, shaking your head as if that would loosen the feeling lodged in your chest. “I don’t know. It still hit.”

Emily studied you for a moment before speaking, her voice quieter but sure. “Sometimes it doesn’t have to be the same to hurt the same.”

That shouldn’t have made your throat tighten, but it did. Your ex’s words had been cruel, calculated. Spencer’s had been careless, tossed out in frustration. But they had landed in the same place, re-opening something you hadn’t realized was still raw.

You inhaled sharply, blinking hard as you turned your gaze back to the window. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “I should’ve just snapped back like usual. I don’t know why I—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words, trying to make sense of your own reaction.

Emily didn’t fill the silence for you. She let you sit in it, in the weight of it, before she finally said, “Because sometimes, it’s not just about the words.”

That hit too close. You swallowed. “I don’t even think he realized what he said.”

“He didn’t,” Emily agreed. “But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The confirmation made your chest ache. You could deal with Spencer being an ass. You could deal with the usual biting remarks, the way you two pushed and pulled at each other like it was second nature. But this was different. And maybe that was the worst part—he hadn’t even known what he’d done.

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just—God, I hate feeling like this.”

Emily’s mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t pity either. “I know.”

Another moment of silence, but this time, it felt a little easier to breathe. Emily wasn’t pushing you to move past it, wasn’t telling you to toughen up or act like it didn’t matter. She was just here. A steady presence in the middle of a storm you hadn’t expected.

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks.”

Emily nodded. “Anytime.”

After a moment, you straightened in your chair and rubbed a hand over your face. “I think I just need a little time.”

Emily studied you for a beat before nodding. “Okay. I’ll let the team know you’re taking a minute.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile. She didn’t press for more, didn’t tell you to shake it off or come back before you were ready. She just squeezed your shoulder lightly before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat there for a long time, staring out at the parking lot without really seeing it. The argument played on a loop in your head, over and over, like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt.

It did.

Spencer’s words echoed, rattling around in the space between memory and old wounds, landing exactly where they shouldn’t have. You had taken hits before—verbal, emotional, professional. You had always given as good as you got, pushing back, meeting force with force.

But this?

This had made you fold in on yourself before you could stop it.

That’s what gnawed at you. Not just the hurt, but how easy it had been to slip back into it.

Eventually, you exhaled sharply and pushed yourself up. Hiding wouldn’t change anything.

When you stepped back into the main workspace, you caught the way the team registered your return.

Emily glanced your way but didn’t say anything, just subtly shifting to give you a spot near the table. Gideon and Hotch barely looked up from the geographic profile, their focus locked in on the case. JJ offered a quick, understanding smile before turning back to her notes.

And then there was Spencer.

You felt his gaze before you saw it.

He was watching you—not in the usual sharp, assessing way, but with something else flickering behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place.

You ignored it.

You sat, pulled the case files toward you, and focused.

It didn’t take long before Spencer tried to bait you.

“So, are you actually going to contribute this time, or just—”

JJ turned a page in her notebook with a little more force than necessary, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

He was still waiting for your usual sharp retort.

But you didn’t bite. You didn’t even look up.

Spencer hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before shifting in his seat. “Because if you’re done sulking, we could use a second opinion on this.”

JJ tapped her pen against her notes—light, rhythmic, controlled. The kind of thing someone might do to keep themselves from interrupting.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and kept reading.

His brows knit together, irritation flashing across his face. That was usually all it took—a little push, a sharp edge, and you’d shove back just as hard. The rhythm was predictable, expected.

But you gave him nothing.

Something about your lack of response made him sit up a little straighter. He tried again later, dropping a pointed remark about one of your old theories, the kind of thing that would normally spark another round of arguing between you.

JJ cut in before you could even think about answering. “We should figure out how this changes our approach.” Her tone was casual, effortless—redirecting before anything could spiral.

All you did was give a clipped, neutral answer before moving on.

It wasn’t normal.

And Spencer felt it immediately.

The back-and-forth between you had always been sharp, but undeniably electric. It was how the two of you worked—pushing, challenging, throwing words like weapons but never really cutting too deep. It was infuriating, and yet…

Yet, without it, something felt off.

At first, he told himself it was fine.

You were being more professional. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant less wasted time, fewer distractions.

So why did the space between words feel so hollow?

By mid-afternoon, he felt it more keenly. He found himself waiting for something—for you to roll your eyes at him, for you to cut into one of his statistics with some half-formed anecdote, for you to press into a point just to see if you could make him slip.

But you didn’t.

You weren’t mad at him—not in the way he was used to. There was no sharp edge in your tone, no fire behind your eyes when you spoke to him. You were just… distant. Like you had already decided he wasn’t worth the energy.

The realization sat uneasily in his chest.

It wasn’t just that you weren’t arguing.

It was that, for the first time, he was starting to understand just how much he had come to rely on it.

And worse—just how much he missed it.

He tried again.

“Your profile from yesterday doesn’t hold up,” he pointed out, knowing full well that wasn’t true. It was a weak, low-hanging argument, the kind of thing you would normally jump on without hesitation.

JJ’s pen stilled for just a second before she wrote something down, her expression unreadable.

You barely spared Spencer a glance. “Noted.”

And that was it.

No scathing rebuttal. No pointed counterattack. Just two syllables and nothing more.

Spencer felt his stomach twist.

He should have been relieved. He should have been glad to be free of the back-and-forth, the constant tug-of-war.

Instead, it felt like missing a step on the stairs—like something fundamental had shifted beneath him.

He had spent almost a year convincing himself that you were nothing but a thorn in his side, an unnecessary complication. That your arguments were exhausting, that you were too much to deal with.

But now, without that sharp edge of friction, without the tug-of-war of words and challenges—without you pushing back—

It wasn’t the relief he had expected.

It was unsettling.

It was hollow.

And he didn’t like it.

But instead of sitting with that realization, instead of acknowledging it, Spencer pushed it aside.

He told himself it was temporary.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But deep down, in a part of his mind he wasn’t ready to examine, the truth settled in like a weight in his chest.

He missed it.

The case hadn’t broken yet, and frustration was starting to settle over the team like a heavy fog. The profile was solid, but nothing new had come up to push them forward. Eventually, Hotch checked his watch, then let out a slow breath before looking up at the team.

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he said. “Get some rest while you can.”

There wasn’t much discussion after that—just the quiet shuffle of files being stacked, chairs scraping against the floor as everyone gathered their things. The exhaustion was evident in all of them, not just from the case but from the weight of the day itself.

Spencer barely glanced up when you left with Emily and JJ, keeping his focus on the files in front of him. He had tried multiple times throughout the day to provoke you, to get a reaction, but you had remained distant, detached. It wasn’t what he was used to. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go between you.

And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, everyone was running on empty. Goodnights were murmured in the hallway before doors closed one by one, leaving the corridor quiet.

JJ lingered.

She had been watching Spencer all day, watching how he had pushed and pushed without realizing just how deep he had cut. And now, standing outside his door, she wondered if this was even a conversation worth having.

She sighed and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Spencer blinked at her, clearly surprised. “JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a beat, then stepped aside.

The room was neat—predictably so. His go-bag was partially unzipped on the dresser, a few books stacked beside it. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, dim glow over the space.

JJ took a breath, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If this is about earlier—”

“It is.”

His expression tightened. “I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset with me. I didn’t do anything different.”

JJ leaned against the desk, choosing her words carefully. “Spence… did you even notice how off she was today?”

Spencer frowned. “She was upset. I got that. But she was already upset before I said anything, so I don’t see how this is my fault.”

JJ exhaled slowly. “I never said it was your fault. I’m saying you made it worse.”

Spencer folded his arms, clearly bracing himself. “How?”

JJ hesitated. She really didn’t want to be the one to tell him this. It wasn’t her place, and she hated the thought of betraying your trust. But Spencer was stubborn, and without the full picture, he wasn’t going to understand.

She tried one more time to get him there on his own. “Spence, think about what you said to her today.”

“I was just trying to keep things normal,” he insisted. “She’s always throwing things at me, always pushing. I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t think it was any different than usual.”

JJ studied him for a long moment. He really didn’t get it.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She and her boyfriend broke up.”

Spencer blinked. “Okay?”

JJ clenched her jaw. “Recently.”

There was a flicker of something in Spencer’s expression—maybe surprise, maybe something else—but it passed quickly. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t,” JJ said, voice quiet but firm. “But the rest of us did.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but JJ wasn’t done. “She didn’t just break up with him, Spencer. It was messy. It was bad.”

She hesitated. Once she said it, there was no taking it back. But Spencer wasn’t getting it, and if she didn’t lay it out for him, he never would.

JJ took a slow breath and met his gaze. “Do you know what he said to her? The exact words?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He didn’t answer.

JJ held his gaze. “He told her she was exhausting to deal with.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the wind out of him.

JJ let the silence stretch, letting him sit with it.

His jaw tightened, fingers curling at his sides. “I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice quieter than before.

“I know,” JJ said, her own voice softer now. “But now you do.”

Spencer sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his mind clearly working through it in real time. JJ could see the moment the realization settled in, could see the way his breath went just a little shallower.

“She’s always thrown things at me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We argue all the time. I didn’t think—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I was trying to keep things normal.”

JJ’s expression softened. “Maybe she didn’t need normal today.”

Spencer looked down, hands clasped together. His fingers twitched, restless.

JJ sighed. “Look, I know you didn’t mean it. I know you weren’t trying to hurt her.” She paused. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

Silence stretched between them again.

JJ stepped toward the door. “Just… think about it, Spence.”

She left him sitting there, alone with the weight of what he had done.

Spencer sat on the edge of the stiff hotel mattress, staring at the carpet as if it held the answer to everything that had gone wrong today.

He hadn’t meant what he said.

You’re exhausting to deal with.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t even true. It was just the first thing that had left his mouth, a careless response thrown out in frustration, the way someone might swat at an insect buzzing too close. And yet, it had landed with an impact he hadn’t expected, hadn’t anticipated.

He knew he had upset you. He wasn’t oblivious. But he had assumed—wrongly, as it turned out—that it would pass, that you would snap back at him, that the sharp-edged dynamic you two had built over the past year would continue as it always had. But instead, you had stopped. Just shut down entirely. And that was what confused him the most.

You didn’t do that.

Until now.

And then JJ had pulled him aside, her expression wavering between exasperation and reluctant sympathy.

"Do you know what he said to her?"

"He told her she was exhausting to deal with."

The words had lodged themselves into his brain like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, and yet, the more he sat here, the more it sank in, settling into place in a way that made him feel almost sick. He didn’t know. He should have known. Everyone else had figured it out, after all. But he had been too caught up in his own frustrations, too caught up in you, to see it.

Spencer inhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His mind was spinning, and no amount of logic, no statistical breakdown, could make sense of what was happening inside him.

It wasn’t irritation. It wasn’t exasperation.

It was never any of those things.

Because the truth was, you were gorgeous when you were fired up.

He thought of it now, and the image came so easily, so vividly, that it sent a fresh wave of something unnameable crashing over him. The way your eyes gleamed with challenge, how you lifted your chin ever so slightly when you stood your ground. How, in the heat of an argument, you would step closer, and closer, and closer, until he could feel the warmth of you in the space between them, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He had told himself it was adrenaline. That it was simply the thrill of the debate. But if that were true, why did he feel that same pull in moments of quiet?

Because he noticed you. Always. He noticed the way you walked into a room, how his eyes would flicker toward you before he could even stop himself. He noticed the way you took your coffee, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused, the way your lips pressed together when you were trying to suppress a reaction.

And worse—worse—was the way he needed you to notice him.

How if your attention was on someone else for too long, irritation curled in his chest before he even understood why. How he would find himself throwing out a fact, a statistic, an argument—anything—to drag your focus back to him.

And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the hotel room, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He couldn’t twist it into something else, something easier, something safer.

It was never about frustration.

It was never about annoyance.

It was never about proving a point.

He had fallen for you.

The next morning, the team gathered in the local police station, running through every last detail of the case.

They were close. They all knew it. But close wasn’t good enough.

Spencer sat at the edge of the table, hands folded, watching as the others debated their next move. He should have been adding to the conversation, throwing out statistics, challenging theories—but his mind kept drifting.

To you.

You weren’t avoiding him, not exactly. But you hadn’t spoken to him directly since yesterday. No sharp remarks, no challenging looks. And for the first time in months, Spencer had no idea where he stood with you.

Should he apologize? Would that even help? Maybe he should just acknowledge the breakup, offer his condolences, or—no, that didn’t feel right either. JJ had told him that in confidence. He wasn’t even supposed to know.

He didn’t know what to say, and the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to figure out.

So he said nothing.

He just kept glancing over at you, tracking your movements from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge if you were okay. You looked… normal. You were focused, leaning over the map spread across the table with Emily, lips slightly parted in concentration as you traced a path with your finger. No hesitation, no faltering. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought nothing had changed.

Except it had.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

"Alright," Hotch’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation. "Let’s go over everything again. We’re missing something."

The table quieted as everyone focused in. They had been circling the same theories, re-examining the same evidence, and yet the unsub was still out there. It wasn’t enough to understand how he operated—they needed to know where he would strike next.

Spencer forced his thoughts into order, pushing away everything unrelated to the case. "The geographical profile suggests he’s moving in a pattern, but the locations aren’t random. Each site is within a specific radius of the last, but the distances vary slightly."

Morgan nodded. "Which means he’s picking locations based on something else. He’s comfortable in these areas. Familiar with them."

"But he’s not returning to the same place," Emily added. "He’s not risking going back to where he’s already been."

"Maybe not physically," you said, tilting your head slightly, "but what if he’s revisiting them in another way?"

Spencer glanced at you, waiting.

You tapped your fingers against the table, thinking out loud. "His attacks have been escalating, and he isn’t sticking to a cooling-off period anymore. If he’s a spree killer, that means he’s running out of time—he knows he can’t keep this up forever. But his locations aren’t random. He’s picking spots with security cameras, but ones that don’t give a clear line of sight to him. He isn’t avoiding surveillance—he’s using it."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s keeping an eye on potential targets—checking security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreaming footage—then that means there’s a digital footprint."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s been scouting locations through security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreams, then that means there’s a digital footprint."

"Can you check for any unusual access to local surveillance systems?" Hotch asked.

"My dear, I thought you’d never ask." Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her monitors flickering as she sifted through data. "Let’s see… ah-ha! Someone’s been remotely accessing surveillance feeds at irregular intervals over the past few weeks, and a lot of them line up with where he’s already struck."

Morgan leaned forward. "Can you trace where he’s accessing them from?"

Garcia’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "I can try, but he’s been careful—using different networks, bouncing signals. But…" She trailed off, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Then she gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Oh, you arrogant little—gotcha!"

"Garcia?" Hotch prompted.

"He accessed a security feed less than an hour ago from an internet café downtown. And guess what? He didn’t even bother masking his location properly this time. I’ve got an address, sending it now!"

Hotch didn’t hesitate. "We’ll split up. Morgan, Prentiss, Reid—you’re heading to the internet café. The rest of us will head to the location of the security feed he accessed. Move out." Everyone was in motion within seconds, adrenaline cutting through any lingering fatigue. There was no telling how much time they had before the unsub struck again—but if they were fast enough, this could be the break they needed.

Morgan pushed open the glass door of the internet café, stepping inside first, with Reid and Prentiss close behind. The scent of burnt coffee and stale air filled the space, the hum of outdated computers blending with the occasional click of a keyboard. The lighting was dim, casting a dull yellow glow over the handful of patrons scattered throughout the small room. Most were hunched over their screens, headphones in, lost in whatever they were doing. A few sat with their arms crossed, scrolling lazily.

Prentiss took a slow, surveying glance around the space. “Not exactly a high-tech setup,” she muttered under her breath.

Morgan tapped his earpiece. “Garcia, tell me you’ve got something.”

“I wish, hot stuff, but this place is a technological ghost town,” Garcia replied, frustration creeping into her normally chipper voice. “No security cameras, no membership logins, and judging by the routers I’m picking up, this café is basically running on dial-up speeds. There’s no digital footprint I can track back to him. He picked a place designed to stay off the grid.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.”

Reid stepped forward, scanning the room with meticulous detail. He wasn’t just looking at the patrons—he was analyzing them. Body language spoke louder than words, and if the unsub had been here recently, someone in this space should be reacting to it. Anxious glances, fidgeting hands, tense shoulders—signs of discomfort, of someone trying to bury a memory of something that unsettled them.

But as he moved through the café, his frown deepened.

“No one looks nervous,” he said finally, voice quieter, thoughtful. “No one’s agitated or distracted. If he was here recently, he likely didn’t draw attention to himself. He didn’t rush out. He finished what he was doing and left on his own terms.”

Morgan glanced at the empty stations, his jaw clenching. “So he’s already gone.”

Prentiss approached the counter and flashed her badge at the disinterested employee leaning against it. “FBI. We need to know if there’s any way to see who used which computer in the last hour.”

The man barely looked up from his magazine. “People pay in cash, sit wherever’s open. No reservations, no check-ins. They log in as guests, and once they leave, that’s it. No records.”

Reid’s fingers twitched at his side. The unsub had been here. Sat at one of these computers. Chosen this place specifically. But he was already gone, and they had nothing to track him with.

Morgan hit his earpiece again. “Hotch, we came up empty. He’s gone.”

A beat of silence. Then Hotch’s voice, steady and sharp. “Understood. Get to the next location. We’ll regroup there.”

Morgan’s frustration was evident in the hard set of his jaw, but he didn’t waste another second. “Let’s go.”

Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid stepped out of the SUV into the midday sun, the heat pressing against them as they scanned the busy city square. The crowd was dense—office workers on lunch breaks, tourists snapping pictures, street vendors calling out their deals. It was the perfect place for a spree killer to strike. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Too many people, too many obstacles.

Before stepping into the mass of bodies, the three of them discreetly stripped off their FBI vests and tucked them into their bags. The unsub couldn’t know they were there. If he got spooked too soon, he could vanish into the crowd—or worse, start firing.

Hotch’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “Stay sharp. We don’t know what he looks like, but he’s here for a reason.”

Gideon’s voice followed. “He’s not just wandering—he moves with purpose. Watch for someone scanning the crowd, someone looking for opportunity.”

From the other side of the square, you adjusted your stance, eyes sweeping over the mass of people. JJ stood nearby, appearing casual but doing the same—observing, waiting. Neither of you could afford to look like you were searching for a killer.

The team spread out, moving through the crowd as naturally as possible. Morgan weaved through street vendors, blending in as another pedestrian. Prentiss adjusted her posture, walking with purpose in the wave of foot traffic. Reid moved slower, his gaze analytical, picking apart every movement, every expression.

Minutes passed. Observations fed through the comms. “Man in a blue hoodie, but he’s just waiting for someone.” “Woman near the fountain keeps checking over her shoulder—just on a call.” Nothing solid.

Then, Reid saw him.

A man, mid-30s, walking against the flow of foot traffic. He wasn’t heading toward a food stand or looking for a place to sit. He wasn’t engaged with the environment—he was watching it. His gaze moved from person to person, lingering too long on individuals who had stepped away from the main crowd. Isolated people. Easy targets.

Reid’s stomach twisted.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured. “Moving east through the square. Black T-shirt, dark jeans. He’s watching people, not engaging. He’s not lost—he’s hunting.”

Hotch’s response was immediate. “Do not approach alone. Everyone converge.”

But the mass of people were too tightly packed.

From your position, you could see the problem immediately—there was no easy way to get to him. The city square was packed with bodies moving in all directions, some stopping to talk, others oblivious to the tension unfolding around them. If any of you ran outright, it could tip the unsub off. But if you didn’t move fast enough…

Prentiss pushed forward, murmuring, “Move, excuse me,” as she wedged past pedestrians. Morgan took a different approach, using his size to nudge through gaps. You manoeuvred in the opposite direction, trying to cut off the unsub’s escape route without drawing attention.

Then—

The unsub stopped.

His head tilted, scanning.

He knew.

Reid saw it first—the shift in posture, the tension in his shoulders. A second later, his hand moved, reaching into his waistband.

“Gun!” Reid shouted.

The square exploded into chaos.

Screams rang out. A stampede of bodies surged in every direction—people shoving past each other, knocking over chairs, sending tables crashing to the pavement. Vendors ducked behind their carts, tourists abandoned their bags, running blind in the panic.

You pushed forward, fighting against the wave of bodies. JJ did the same, one hand raised to flash her badge, but no one was looking—everyone was running.

Morgan broke through first.

The unsub’s gun cleared his waistband—he was going to shoot—

Morgan lunged.

The impact sent both men crashing to the pavement. The gun skidded across the ground, lost in the rush of feet. The unsub snarled, thrashing under Morgan, throwing wild elbows, twisting hard.

Prentiss dove in, grabbing his wrist as he reached for something else.

“No, you don’t,” she gritted out, shoving his arm down.

You finally reached them, helping Morgan keep the unsub pinned as he bucked wildly, nearly dislodging them both. Reid snatched the discarded gun, securing it, while JJ moved to control the thinning crowd.

The unsub thrashed once more before finally going slack, panting hard, his fingers clenched into shaking fists.

Hotch and Gideon arrived seconds later, weapons still drawn but lowered.

“Secure?” Hotch asked.

Morgan, breathing heavy, nodded. “Yeah. He’s done.”

Prentiss snapped the cuffs onto the unsub’s wrists, voice firm. “You’re under arrest.”

The tension didn’t ease right away—sirens wailed in the distance, and people were still running, voices frantic—but the worst of it was over.

They had him.

An hour later, back at the station, the energy had shifted.

The unsub was in custody, locked away in interrogation, and the team was wrapping up.

Morgan sat at the table, rolling his shoulder where he’d taken a hit during the fight. Prentiss dropped into a chair, exhaling as she pulled off her boots. Reid stood near the whiteboard, absently running over the information they’d mapped out.

Gideon leaned against the doorway, watching as the adrenaline finally started to fade.

Hotch surveyed the team. “Good work today.”

JJ, still coordinating with the press, gave a tired thumbs-up from her spot on the phone.

Garcia’s voice filtered through the speaker. “Please tell me you’re all intact, because watching that play out through traffic cams nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Morgan smirked. “We’re good, baby girl.”

Prentiss stretched, shaking her head. “One hell of a takedown.”

Hotch checked his watch. “Jet’s waiting. Wheels up in twenty.”

With that, the team packed up their case files, exhaustion settling in. The weight of the chase was lifting.

Another case closed. Another killer off the streets.

The team boarded the jet, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as they settled in. The rush of the day had passed, but something else lingered—something you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftermath of the case or if it was him.

Spencer had barely spoken since they left the station, but he was there—close enough to notice, too far to say anything. You were hyper-aware of him in a way that hadn’t faded with the tension of the job. Every movement, every glance that lasted just a second too long before darting away, kept you on edge.

Across the cabin, Morgan stretched, groaning slightly as he leaned back in his seat. "I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink after today."

Emily smirked. "Pretty sure that’s non-negotiable at this point."

JJ chuckled as she pulled her hair from its tight ponytail. "The question is: quiet drink or bad decisions drink?"

Morgan shot her a look. "What’s the fun in quiet?"

Emily shook her head. "Translation: We’re gonna regret this in the morning."

Laughter rippled through the space, the weight of the day lifting just enough. The idea of unwinding, even for a few hours, was tempting. A normal night out. Something separate from cases and killers.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Would he go?

Would you want him to?

Spencer hadn’t said anything, hadn’t joined in the conversation. But he was listening. You could feel it—how his presence never really left your periphery, how he seemed to shift slightly when Morgan mentioned the bar.

You weren’t sure if the hesitation you felt was about him or about yourself. Because if he went, if you went… then what?

Back at the BAU, the team moved through the office with the easy rhythm of routine. Files were dropped off, final reports checked over, and goodbyes exchanged with the late-night staff. The case was officially over.

You lingered near your desk, your thoughts still tangled. The bar. Spencer. The way he’d been watching you on the jet, the way neither of you had said a word to each other. You didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know what you wanted it to mean.

Emily was sorting through some paperwork at her desk when you walked up. She glanced up as you stopped beside her.

“What’s up?” she asked.

You hesitated. “I don’t know if I should go tonight.”

Emily’s expression shifted slightly. “Because of Spencer?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know if I want to be around him right now.”

Emily set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly why you should come.”

You frowned. “Emily—”

“Look,” she cut in, keeping her voice casual. “You’ve been stuck in your own head about this all day. Skipping out isn’t going to change anything.”

You crossed your arms, not totally convinced.

She gave you a knowing look. “Come out, have a drink, take a break from thinking about it. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to. But don’t sit at home just because he’s going to be there.”

You thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. Maybe getting out for a while was what you needed.

After a beat, you sighed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Emily grinned. “Good. Let’s go before they leave without us.”

The bar was alive with energy, a steady pulse of music humming through the air as the team settled into their usual post-case routine—drinks, conversation, and letting go of the weight of the job for just a few hours. The booth they’d claimed in the corner was already cluttered with half-empty glasses, a testament to how easily they were falling into the night.

Garcia was in the middle of an animated story, hands gesturing wildly as she recounted something that had happened in the tech lab earlier that week. JJ was leaning into the table, laughing, while Prentiss smirked behind her glass. Morgan, already a drink in, was hanging onto every word with an amused grin.

Spencer was quieter, sipping his drink as he listened to the conversations, though his attention wasn’t fully on them. It kept flickering toward you.

You weren’t looking at him. Or, at least, you were doing a very good job of pretending not to. But he noticed the way you seemed hyperaware of his presence, how your fingers curled around your glass a little too tightly whenever he shifted in his seat.

Something was different between you two tonight. And you both knew it.

Garcia suddenly clapped her hands together, pulling everyone's attention. “Alright, my loves, this has been fun, but the dance floor is calling.”

Morgan smirked. “You lead the way, baby girl.”

“As if there was ever a question,” she said, grabbing his hand before her gaze zeroed in on you. “And you. No backing out. You’re coming.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? I didn’t—”

“Nope,” she cut in, already reaching for you. “We’re celebrating. And I refuse to let you sit in this booth all night pretending you don’t want to shake what your momma gave you.”

JJ laughed, nudging you as she stood up. “She’s not going to let you say no.”

Prentiss raised her glass. “Might as well accept your fate.”

You exhaled in surrender, setting your drink down. “Fine, fine.”

“That's the spirit!” Garcia cheered, leading the way toward the dance floor with Morgan at her side.

You followed, letting yourself get swept into the easy energy of the moment. The beat of the music was loud, the air warm with the press of moving bodies, but Garcia was electric, pulling you right into the centre of it. Morgan spun her with a laugh, and she threw her hands up, pulling you in with her.

For a moment, you let go.

Back at the booth, Spencer’s gaze never left you.

Prentiss arched a brow at him, sipping her drink. “You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, you stare at her a lot.”

Spencer tore his eyes away, clearing his throat. “I was just—”

Prentiss smirked. “Yeah. Sure.”

He huffed but didn’t argue. Because honestly, what was there to say?

After a few songs, you finally broke away from the dance floor, laughing as Garcia dramatically fanned herself. “That was necessary,” she declared. “Now go hydrate before I drag you back out here.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning toward the bar. But first—you needed the restroom.

You wove through the crowd, still feeling the lingering buzz of laughter and music as you made your way toward the hallway. But the light mood vanished the moment someone stepped into your path.

You had barely made it past the dance floor when someone stepped into your path.

Your stomach twisted.

Not him. Not now.

“Wow,” he drawled, looking you up and down with a smirk. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your breath went shallow, but you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Didn’t think I’d see you either.”

Your ex let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We don’t have to be weird, do we?”

"We." Like you were both responsible for the unease curling in your stomach.

“I’m actually just heading to the bathroom, so if you’ll excuse me—”

Before you could move, he reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek.

You froze.

It was casual. Familiar. The kind of touch that once would have made you lean in without thinking. But now?

Now, it made your skin crawl.

You took a step back, heart hammering, but before you could say a word, warmth enveloped you—an arm sliding around your waist, steady and certain.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Spencer.

His voice was smooth, easy, but there was something deliberate beneath it—something razor-sharp. His breath ghosted against your temple just before he pressed a kiss there, the barest brush of lips against your skin.

Your ex’s expression shifted from smug amusement to disbelief. “No way.”

Spencer didn’t acknowledge him. His fingers rested firmly at your side, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs—a grounding touch, steady and real.

Your ex let out a scoff. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly. “Oh, you must be the ex-boyfriend.” He emphasized ex, and something in his voice was just polite enough to be cutting.

Your ex huffed. “I mean, you could just say my name.”

Spencer smiled. “I could.”

A beat of silence. You could feel the way Spencer held himself—calm, unshakable, like he’d already won whatever battle was unfolding here.

Your ex’s gaze flicked between you and Spencer. “You’re serious?”

Spencer turned to you, his eyes warm, questioning. “Are we serious?”

Your breath caught.

This was supposed to be pretend. Just a way out.

But the way he was looking at you—like the answer was already written in the way you leaned into him, in the way your fingers had instinctively curled around his forearm—made your pulse stutter.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “We are.”

Your ex laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. There is no way you two are together.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the heat of his palm pressing into your side. “And why’s that?” he asked, tone pleasant.

Your ex gestured vaguely between you. “Because you hate each other.” He looked directly at you now, his smirk widening. “I mean, come on. How many times have you gone off about him? You can’t stand the guy.”

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh of his own, shaking his head. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers brushed against your hip again, slow and deliberate, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You mistook sexual tension for hatred.”

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

You felt it.

Your pulse jumped, heat creeping up your spine. Spencer had said it so easily, so casually—like it was obvious. Like it was something he’d already figured out.

And maybe he had.

The thought sent a shiver through you, your fingers tensing slightly against the fabric of his shirt. You were too aware of his touch now, of the slow drag of his thumb tracing lazy circles along your side.

His stance had shifted closer, his body angled toward yours like it belonged there.

And, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were just pretending anymore.

Because the truth was…

You liked this.

And from the way Spencer’s grip tightened ever so slightly at your waist, from the way his breath hitched just barely when you leaned in the slightest bit closer—maybe he did too.

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

The shift in his expression was slight, barely there, but enough for you to recognize it. A flicker of doubt.

But then—he scoffed, shaking his head with a short, humourless laugh. “That’s cute.”

He said it like he didn’t believe it.

Like he refused to believe it.

His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, searching—like he was still waiting for the joke, for the moment one of you would break character. But Spencer didn’t waver, his fingers still resting against your hip, his body still angled toward yours like he had no intention of moving.

And neither did you.

Your ex’s jaw tightened just slightly, his smirk sharpening at the edges, like he was trying to convince himself he was still in control of the conversation. “Right. So you’re telling me that all that arguing, all that fighting, was really just foreplay?”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curving up in something dangerously close to amusement. “You said it, not me.”

Your ex huffed out something that might have been a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

But you could see it now—the frustration creeping in, the way his fingers curled slightly against his drink, the way his confidence wasn’t quite as unwavering as before.

Because, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was right about you anymore.

And that felt like a win.

“Right,” he said again, like he was resetting himself, regaining control. But then his smirk returned, sharper now, meaner. “So what, you got so desperate after two weeks that you climbed under the first guy who looked at you?”

The words were like ice water.

You felt Spencer react before you could even process it yourself.

His arm tightened around you, pulling you fully against him, but that wasn’t what made your breath catch. It was the shift in him—the sharp, immediate tension coiling beneath his carefully held exterior.

His voice, when he spoke, was nothing like before. The polite, measured tone was gone.

"That’s an awfully crude way of admitting you thought she’d be miserable without you."

The words were smooth, but there was an unmistakable bite beneath them, an edge that cut precisely where it needed to.

Your ex blinked, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying him with a faint curiosity, like he was solving a puzzle with a predictable outcome. "I’m sure it’s a hard concept to grasp, but she didn’t settle for me. She chose me." His fingers traced a slow, absentminded circle against your side before he added, "And I’d say she made the right choice."

Something hot and unsteady curled in your stomach.

Your ex’s jaw twitched. “Just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

Spencer hummed, tilting his head like he was studying something particularly unremarkable. “That’s interesting. Because from what I can tell, the only person thinking that here is you.”

Your ex let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. We both know she’s a lot to deal with. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

The breath you took in was sharp, uneven.

Because those words weren’t new.

They weren’t just some cheap, offhanded insult—he had said them to you before. At the end. Before he walked away.

Spencer stilled. You felt the shift in his body, the way his fingers froze against your side for just a moment before resuming their slow, grounding motion.

Because he had said it, too.

Not with the same venom, not with the same intent. But it had still stung, had still settled in your chest like an ache you couldn’t shake. And now, here he was—his warmth pressed against you, his voice steady, unwavering, as he met your ex’s gaze head-on.

“I don’t find her exhausting,” Spencer said simply.

There was no hesitation, no preformative bravado. Just quiet certainty.

He turned his head just enough to catch your gaze. His fingers brushed against your hip again, deliberate, his touch light but steady. “If anything,” he continued, voice softer now, just for you, “I think she’s extraordinary.”

A slow, creeping warmth spread through your chest.

This wasn’t real. This was for show. But the way he was looking at you, the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dipped just enough to make your skin prickle—

God, it didn’t feel like an act.

Your ex let out a breathy laugh, his disbelief giving way to something tighter, something closer to frustration. “You two can fake it all you want,” he said, voice lower now, rougher, “but I know her. And I know that this. This is bullshit.”

You have no idea what you threw away, do you?" Spencer asks.

The question was quiet. Almost pitying.

Your ex scoffed, but there was something defensive in the way his jaw tensed.

Spencer didn’t even blink. "That’s fine. I don’t mind proving just how wrong you were."

And then—slow, deliberate—he turned to you.

Your breath stilled as his free hand came up, fingers skimming along your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly. His touch was light, careful. Not possessive. Just there.

The air between you crackled.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Your hand slid higher, resting over Spencer’s chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

He exhaled, just a little shakier than before.

And then—loudly, bitterly—your ex laughed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The sound was sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Spencer didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But you felt the subtle shift in his body, the way his stance remained firm, like he was making sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Your ex let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Whatever, she's your problem now,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away.

Spencer’s hand lingered for just a second longer before he dropped it, stepping back just enough to put space between you.

The space between you felt electric, every nerve attuned to where his fingers rested.

You swallowed, fingers still curled against his shirt, realizing only now that you were still touching him.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

His gaze flicked over your face, searching. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You exhaled slowly. “I am now.”

But even as you said it, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

Your ex wasn’t gone.

Not really.

He had moved to the other side of the bar, but his attention kept drifting back to you and Spencer, his gaze sharp, suspicious.

Spencer followed your line of sight, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

“He’s watching us,” you murmured.

Spencer hummed. “Then I guess we better make it look good.”

His eyes met yours, a question lingering beneath them.

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded.

“Guess so.”

Spencer’s hand was still resting lightly on your back, his fingers a steady warmth against the fabric of your shirt. You could feel the weight of his touch even through the layers—grounding, solid, a quiet reminder that, for now, you weren’t alone.

The bar was still crowded, the energy still buzzing around you both, but the confrontation had left a thin charge in the air, something neither of you acknowledged outright. Your ex had slinked back into the crowd, but you could feel his gaze drifting toward you from across the room. Spencer must have noticed too, because he didn’t move away, didn’t shift back into his usual guarded distance. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low near your ear.

Spencer’s voice was low, teasing. “Think we should sell it a little harder?”

You let out a soft scoff, playing along. “What, you mean make heart eyes at you? Bat my lashes?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Might be a good start. I was thinking more along the lines of you looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, sure. That’s believable.”

Spencer smirked, fingers tracing a slow, absentminded pattern at your waist. “Guess I’ll just have to win you over.”

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh, a small, amused exhale against your skin. His fingers brushed the small of your back again, an absentminded motion that shouldn’t have sent heat curling through you—but it did.

The bartender stopped in front of you, and you took the opportunity to order another drink, something to keep your hands busy. Spencer did the same, sliding a bill onto the counter before you could even reach for your wallet. You shot him a look, raising a brow.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Boyfriend duties.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, taking a slow sip from your glass. The moment settled into something quieter, less tense but still charged, like the flickering glow of a match before it fully catches flame.

Spencer shifted, glancing at you. “So. Are we supposed to look longingly into each other’s eyes now? Whisper sweet nothings?”

You snorted. “You’re assuming I’d have anything sweet to say about you.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t,” he said easily. “You’d insult me, but you’d make it sound affectionate so no one else would know the difference.”

You smirked over the rim of your glass. “Sounds like you know me pretty well.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered, something unreadable in it. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess I do.”

The moment stretched, something unsaid crackling between you. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension before it could settle too deeply. “We should talk about something. Make it look real.”

He nodded, considering. “Alright. Something neutral. A normal conversation between a couple who doesn’t allegedly hate each other.”

You smirked. “That’s asking a lot.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, then, after a beat, asked, “What’s the weirdest fact you know?”

You blinked. That was… not what you were expecting. “What?”

“The weirdest fact,” he repeated, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you have to have one.”

You hesitated, watching him, but he only looked back at you expectantly, like this was a completely normal thing to ask.

You thought for a second, then shrugged. “Octopuses have three hearts.”

Spencer’s mouth curved up, just a little. “That’s a good one.”

“You?” you asked, tilting your head.

His eyes sparked, like he’d been waiting for the question. “Did you know that lobsters communicate by peeing at each other? Really sets the mood, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, then let out a short laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Right?”

The conversation flowed from there, effortless in a way that surprised you. Facts turned into stories, then into inside jokes. Minutes stretched on, blending into an hour, though neither of you seemed to notice. The bar’s once-lively crowd shifted and changed, people coming and going, conversations rising and fading, but you stayed rooted in place, caught up in the effortless back-and-forth. Time lost its meaning as one topic melted into another, each transition so seamless that you barely registered the shift. You weren’t paying attention to the time, weren’t keeping track of how long you had been standing there, wrapped up in each other’s words. What started as lighthearted teasing had deepened into something more, something neither of you rushed to escape. The way your fingers brushed against his when you gestured, the way you leaned in without thinking, just to hear him better, just to be closer—it all blurred together into something effortless.

You caught yourself mirroring his movements, tilting your head when he did, tracing the rim of your glass in tandem with his. It was subtle, unspoken, but undeniable—the shift between you settling into something that felt natural, something that neither of you seemed eager to pull away from. Your laughter came easier, softer, the kind that lingers in your chest even after the sound fades. His knuckles grazed your wrist when he gestured, your knee bumped against his once, twice, neither of you shifting away.

At some point, the topics shifted, the playfulness giving way to something softer. You weren’t sure who led it there, but suddenly you were talking about things you didn’t usually talk about. Favourite childhood books. Places you wanted to visit. The kind of hypothetical, wistful conversations that people had when they weren’t thinking too hard about what they were revealing.

You barely noticed when Spencer’s hand drifted to your waist again, fingers curling slightly at your hip. The touch wasn’t demanding or obvious—it was just… there. Natural. And maybe that was the problem.

It felt too natural.

Like you weren’t acting at all.

Like you didn’t want to be.

You met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between you. His eyes flickered, just briefly, down to your lips, and your breath caught.

This is dangerous, you thought distantly.

But you didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

The air between you felt charged, humming with an anticipation neither of you dared to acknowledge outright. Every second dragged out, heavy and expectant. His fingers flexed against your hip, and you knew—knew—that if you didn’t move, if you didn’t break the moment, something would happen.

Something irreversible.

Something you wanted.

Spencer exhaled, barely a breath, but you felt it ghost across your skin.

Then—slowly, like a question—he leaned in.

And you answered.

Your lips met his in a whisper of a kiss, soft and searching, like neither of you wanted to startle the other. The world didn’t stop, didn’t pause for your moment, but it felt like it did. The bar was still loud, people still moved around you, but it all faded into the background, nothing more than a distant hum against the sudden, overwhelming clarity of his mouth on yours.

Spencer made a quiet sound—something caught between surprise and something deeper—and then his fingers curled at your waist, pulling you just the slightest bit closer. Your free hand found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on to something solid.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like you were both savouring something you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for.

And maybe you had been waiting for it.

For a long, long time.

When you finally pulled away, it was only by an inch, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

And then—softly, tentatively—you whispered, “Do you want to get out of here?”

The words hovered in the space between you, heavy with meaning. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his thumb still making those small, steady circles against your skin.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little rough. “I think that’s a good idea.”

The drive to your place was a blur of city lights and racing thoughts. The tension was palpable in the car, a silent dance of anticipation and doubt. You didn’t talk—what was there to say that wouldn’t break the spell? The unspoken understanding that had settled between you was more potent than any words.

When you finally arrived, you didn’t even bother turning on the lights. The moon cast enough of a glow through the windows, painting Spencer’s face in stark, ethereal shadows as he followed you inside.

You hadn’t even fully closed the door when he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—there was an urgency to it, a hunger that had been building for months. Your heart was racing, the beat echoing in your ears as his hands found their way to your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw.

Your breathing was shallow, uneven, as you stared up at him, his eyes searching yours. You didn’t know what he was looking for, but you hoped he found it, because you didn’t have the words to explain. You just knew that you needed this—his touch, his closeness, the way his breath ghosted across your skin.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was hot, desperate, a year’s worth of pent-up tension and unspoken longing finally given a voice. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you tried to get closer, to erase the space that had kept you apart for so long.

Spencer’s hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, breaking the kiss only long enough to discard it on the floor. His mouth trailed down your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive spots he had discovered in the brief moments you had allowed yourselves to touch before.

“I wasted all that time riling you up when I could’ve had you moaning for me instead,” he murmured against your neck, his voice a low, needy rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer’s smile was all teeth, all arrogance. “But you like me for it, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but your breath caught as his mouth found yours again, his tongue slipping between your lips in a silent demand for more. And you gave it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies fitting together in a way that was somehow both new and familiar. It was like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place, clicking with a certainty that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His hands roamed over your back, down to your hips, then back up again, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch first, as if every inch of you was a new discovery he needed to explore. You could feel his need, his desperation, and it mirrored yours. You hadn’t realized how much you had craved this—his touch, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

With trembling fingers, you worked at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until you could push it open. His chest was pale in the moonlight, the planes of his body sharp and defined. You traced your fingers over the lines of his stomach, feeling the tension coiled within him, the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

Spencer’s own hands were busy with your own shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. He stepped back just long enough to appreciate the sight of you, half-dressed and flushed, before his eyes drifted down to the swell of your chest, the rise and fall of your breasts with every rapid breath. The urge to touch was overwhelming, and he didn’t resist it. His palms brushed over your skin, the heat of his touch making you shiver, making you arch into him.

Your fingers found the button of his pants, tugging it open with an eagerness that had been simmering below the surface for too long. He stepped back again, allowing you to pull them down, his boxers following, and you took a moment to appreciate the sight of him—his erection straining upward, his thighs taut with restrained power. Your gaze lingered on his body, memorizing the lines and planes, the way the shadows danced across his skin.

Spencer’s gaze never left yours as he reached behind you, deftly unhooking your bra. It slipped down your arms, leaving you bare to him, and his gaze dropped, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. He stepped closer, one hand cupping one, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, and you couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation shooting straight to your core. He leaned down, capturing the peak in his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. You felt your knees wobble, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. His other hand slid around to your back, holding you upright as he kissed and sucked, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. Then he was dropping to his knees, his hands sliding down your stomach to the button of your jeans. You watched, half-dazed, as he unzipped them. He kissed his way down your stomach, his breath hot. You stepped out of your shoes, letting him tug the pants and your underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving you naked and trembling in the moonlit room. He didn’t miss a beat, his hands sliding back up to cup your ass, pulling you closer, his mouth pressing against your sex. You moaned, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he groaned, his hands tightening on you as he kissed and lapped at you, his tongue tracing a wet line against your clit.

Your fingers tangled in his hair before you even realized you were reaching for him, gripping tight as his mouth finally met you where you needed him. The first stroke of his tongue sent a shudder rolling through your spine, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could catch it. Spencer hummed at that, like he was pleased with himself, like he was committing the sound to memory.

He started slow, like he was savouring you, his tongue tracing soft, teasing circles that made you whine, your hips twitching forward instinctively. He tightened his grip on your thighs in response, pressing you more firmly against the wall, keeping you right where he wanted you. "Stay still," he murmured, his voice low with something dark and satisfied before he licked into you again, this time with more intent, more purpose.

The first few strokes were exploratory, unhurried, as though he was mapping out every reaction, every little sound that spilled from your lips. But the patience didn’t last. The moment he found what made you gasp the loudest, he focused in, his tongue pressing, flicking, teasing in an unbearable rhythm. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breath coming in uneven, needy bursts.

Your head tipped back against the wall, your breath ragged, your body already trembling under his attention. Every deliberate flick of his tongue sent another spark of heat curling low in your stomach, winding tight. His hands slid up, fingers digging into your hips just enough to anchor you, to hold you there while he devoured you like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d imagined this a thousand times before and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Spencer—" His name came out broken, half a gasp, half a plea, and the sound made him groan against you. The vibration of it sent a shock of pleasure through you, your legs threatening to give out. If not for his firm grip, you might have slid right to the floor.

He didn’t stop. If anything, your desperation seemed to spur him on, his tongue pressing deeper, his mouth working you over with a slow, devastating precision. Like he was unravelling you piece by piece, like he was determined to reduce you to nothing but gasps and shudders and the sharp, needy ache of wanting more.

Your nails scraped against his scalp, your hips bucking forward despite his earlier command to stay still. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, hands flexing against your skin before he pulled back just enough to murmur, "I said stay still."

The way he said it, rough and commanding, sent another jolt of heat through you, your breath hitching as you fought to obey, as you forced yourself to remain still while he resumed his slow, torturous pace. Every movement of his mouth was deliberate, every flick of his tongue calculated to push you further toward the edge. You were shaking, barely holding yourself up, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head with every overwhelming wave of pleasure.

"You should’ve been doing this instead of running your mouth all this time," you managed, your voice breathless, teasing despite the way your body trembled under his touch.

Spencer pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening, his expression dark with something utterly wrecked and unbearably smug. "Oh, believe me, I’m making up for lost time."

He didn’t waste another second. His mouth was back on you, determined, insatiable, working you over with relentless focus. The pressure inside you was building unbearably, a coil winding tighter and tighter, and every sound that spilled from your lips seemed to drive him on. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails pressing into your skin, anchoring you there against the wall like he wasn’t letting you go until he’d completely undone you.

It didn’t take long before you were trembling, your body tight with the effort of holding yourself together. But he wasn’t letting up, wasn’t giving you a second to breathe, his tongue relentless, his grip unyielding. The pressure built higher and higher, every muscle in your body locking up as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap.

And then he did something—something devastating, something perfect—and you shattered, your body arching, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you came undone against him. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stop until you were shaking, until your fingers loosened in his hair and your gasps turned breathless and spent.

He didn’t let go of you right away. Instead, he kissed you through every aftershock, his lips brushing against sensitive skin, his tongue tracing soothing strokes where he had just driven you over the edge. Like he wanted to memorize the way you trembled, to savour the way you broke apart under him.

Only then did he ease up, his lips pressing soft, almost reverent kisses against your inner thigh as you struggled to catch your breath. His fingers trailed lightly over your skin, soothing, grounding, while he watched you, his gaze dark and unreadable.

When he finally looked up at you, his pupils were blown wide, his mouth wet and glistening, his expression dark with satisfaction. There was something else there, too—something deeper, something bordering on something almost tender.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, voice low, unsteady.

You let out a breathless laugh, still dazed, still trembling. "You’re ridiculous."

His lips quirked up, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before he rose to his feet, his hands still firm on your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice softer now, a flicker of concern beneath the teasing edge.

You swallowed, nodding, even as your knees felt weak. "Yeah. But you might have to give me a minute."

His smirk returned, slow and smug. "Take all the time you need. I’m not done with you yet."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat curling in your stomach, your breath catching as his hands skimmed over your sides, his touch still lazy, still teasing. He hadn’t let go of you yet. He wasn’t pulling away. And when you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly undid you all over again.

"Spencer—"

His smirk deepened, his hands pressing just a little firmer against your waist, holding you in place. "I told you, I’m making up for lost time." You reached out to stroke him, your hand sliding down the length of his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. His skin was warm, smooth, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you brushed against his erection. He was already hard, a clear sign of his desire, and the knowledge sent a thrill through you. This was what you both needed—to finally break down the walls that had kept you apart.

You took your time, dragging your fingers along his length, teasing, feeling every twitch and pulse. Spencer let out a low groan, his hips jerking slightly into your touch as his hands tightened against your waist. "You're enjoying this," he murmured, voice rough, laced with restraint.

You smirked, leaning in to press your lips against the hollow of his throat, letting your teeth graze the sensitive skin before whispering, "I think you are too."

His response was immediate—a growl deep in his chest, a surge of movement as he spun you, pressing you up against the nearest surface. The cool wall met your heated skin, a stark contrast that sent a delicious shiver through you, the sensation amplifying the awareness of his body pressing into yours. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself flush against your back. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he breathed, his voice thick with need.

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze over your shoulder, your lips curling. "Then stop talking and take it."

That was all the permission he needed.

He reached between you, guiding himself against your slick heat, teasing you with shallow, deliberate rolls of his hips. The anticipation built with every second, the frustration of years of tension finally boiling over into something raw, something uncontrollable. His fingers dug into your hips, the teasing, shallow rolls of his hips only increasing the frustration coiling inside you. Then, in one fluid motion, he thrust forward, stretching you, filling you completely. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your hands pressing hard against the wall for balance as the overwhelming sensation stole the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck," Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to the curve of your shoulder for a brief moment before he pulled back and drove into you again, harder this time. "You feel better than I ever imagined."

You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat, the pleasure sharp, overwhelming. "Didn't know you thought about it."

He let out a breathless laugh, one hand sliding up your body, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back just enough to murmur against your ear, "Are you kidding? I’ve thought about fucking you senseless every time you opened that smart mouth of yours."

A shudder ran through you, your body clenching around him in response. "Is that why you were always such an asshole?" you shot back, panting, barely able to hold onto the thread of conversation between thrusts.

He groaned, his grip tightening on you, hips snapping forward at a brutal pace that made your legs tremble. "Maybe. Guess we’re finding a better way to work out our issues."

You laughed—though it was breathless, desperate—before another deep thrust stole the sound from your lips. He was relentless, fucking you with everything that had been left unsaid between you, with every argument, every lingering glance, every moment you’d spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

The wall was rough against your palms, each textured ridge imprinting against your skin as Spencer drove into you, his hips snapping forward with an unrelenting pace. Every thrust sent shudders rippling through you, your body caught between the steady press of the wall and the consuming heat of him. The slick sound of skin meeting skin filled the space between gasps, every movement pushing you closer to the edge, every deep stroke setting you ablaze.

His hands never stopped moving—gripping your waist, trailing up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your nipples before sliding back down  back down to spread you open for him. His name spilled from your lips in a broken moan, and he groaned in response, his breath hot against your shoulder.

"You like this," he rasped, his voice unsteady. "Being taken like this—rough, unrelenting."

You nodded, lips parting, but words failed you. How could you even begin to articulate the way he felt—the way his touch untraveled you, the way he filled you so perfectly it left you trembling? Every snap of his hips sent pleasure coiling tighter inside you, and the intensity of it all—of him—was almost too much. But god, you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

His hand slid down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, teasing circles that had you arching back against him with a gasp. "Spencer—"

"I know," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. ��Cum for me. I want to feel every inch of you tighten around me while you fall apart.”

The words alone sent you spiralling. Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight before breaking apart in waves that left you shaking. Your moan was swallowed by his lips as he turned your head and kissed you, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, his body shuddering against yours.

When he finally stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, you both stayed like that for a moment—pressed against the wall, tangled together, bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks.

Spencer let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. “I think we just found a much more effective way to settle our disagreements.”

You laughed, breathless, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. "Yeah? So what now?"

His smirk was slow, lazy, utterly satisfied. "I think we might need to revisit this… for the sake of teamwork, of course."

You grinned, pushing back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. "Then we better get started." You smirked, adding, "All in the name of teamwork, of course."

He let out a breathless laugh, his hands still roaming lazily over your skin, grounding both of you in the moment. Neither of you moved right away, too caught up in the heat still buzzing between you. His lips brushed the back of your neck, a slow, lazy kiss that made you shiver. "You keep teasing me, and we’re not leaving this wall anytime soon."

Your smirk deepened as you reached back, your fingers trailing along his thigh. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want."

Spencer groaned, his grip tightening at your hips again, his breath coming in short, unsteady bursts. "You’re insatiable."

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side as his lips found your jaw, then your pulse, then the shell of your ear. "And you love it."

His only response was another deep thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He had you pinned against the wall, but you didn’t mind—you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Time blurred between kisses, between whispered taunts and shared breaths. Every inch of space between you had disappeared, every lingering frustration burned away in the fire you’d both finally let consume you. And when Spencer finally pulled back, his eyes dark with something that sent another rush of heat through you, he exhaled a slow, satisfied breath.

"Round two?" you teased.

Spencer smirked, his fingers brushing up your spine, igniting sparks along your skin. And with that, he pulled you back in, claiming your lips again, refusing to let the night end just yet.

You led him toward the bedroom with deliberate steps, your fingers laced with his, the heat between you still burning from the moments against the wall. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent challenge hanging between you—one that neither of you was willing to back down from. Spencer followed without hesitation, his pupils blown wide, his breath uneven, and his grip on your hand just tight enough to betray how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

As soon as you reached the edge of the bed, you pushed him. He fell back onto the mattress with a surprised breath, eyes flashing with something dark and eager. Before he could adjust, you were straddling him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palms. You rocked against him, slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stuttered in response.

He let out a breathless chuckle, his fingers flexing against your hips. "You always have to be on top, don’t you?"

You smirked, pressing your hands more firmly against his chest, keeping him pinned. "That’s cute. You actually think you have a say in this?" Your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. "Tell me, Doctor, does it drive you crazy? Having to let go? Not being the one calling the shots?"

His breath hitched, but he didn’t back down, his hands flexing against your hips. "I think you like testing me."

"I think you like being tested," you countered, leaning down until your lips hovered over his. "And I think you’re going to let me win. Just this once."

His breath hitched as your hands trailed lower, nails lightly scraping down his torso, savouring the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. You kissed him—slow, teasing—before pulling back just as he tried to deepen it. He groaned in protest, his hands gripping your hips in an attempt to pull you down onto him, but you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

"Patience, Doctor," you murmured against his jaw, your lips grazing his skin as you made your way down his neck, leaving a path of kisses and nips that had him shuddering beneath you. "I want to take my time. Unless you can’t handle it?"

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself. "You're gonna regret taunting me."

You chuckled, rolling your hips against him in response, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "I hope so."

His head tipped back against the mattress, exposing more of his throat to you, and you took advantage, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. His grip on your hips tightened, his entire body tense beneath you, desperate for more friction, more anything.

"You're enjoying this way too much," he said, breathless.

You grinned against his skin. "And you’re not?"

His only response was a low groan as you slid lower, kissing and biting your way down his chest, your fingers tracing every inch of exposed skin, committing him to memory. His body was lean, all long limbs and subtle definition, but the way he responded to your touch—the way he trembled, the way he gasped whenever you hit a sensitive spot—only made you want to push him further.

Your fingers trailed lower, tracing over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. His breath stuttered, his body already strung tight beneath you. "You gonna be good for me? Or are you going to put up a fight?"

His breath stuttered, his lips parting slightly, but there was something challenging in his gaze, something stubborn. "Wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t."

Your smirk deepened as you leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin, relishing the way he tensed at your touch.  Time blurred, the world outside this moment ceasing to exist as every nerve in your body focused on him, on this, on the way he trembled beneath your fingertips. He was already hard, aching, and the sight of him—so undone beneath you, so desperate despite the fight still lingering in his expression—made something hot and insatiable curl inside you.

"You're so damn cocky," you mused, dragging your nails up his thighs, watching as his hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation. "Wonder how long that’ll last."

Spencer opened his mouth, maybe to throw another challenge your way, but whatever retort he had died on his lips the moment you leaned down and wrapped your mouth around him. His sharp inhale, the way his hands flew to your hair, fingers tightening but not pushing, told you everything you needed to know.

You took your time, setting a slow, torturous pace, revelling in the way he fell apart beneath you, the way his cock twitched in your mouth every time you hollowed your cheeks, the way he bit down on his lip like he was trying to keep from begging. But you wanted to hear him. You wanted to break him down until he was nothing but gasps and moans and your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

"Fuck," he choked out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your cheek, a silent plea. "Please—"

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, lips glistening, eyes dark with intent. "Please what? Say it."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his control slipping with every second. "Please, don’t stop."

You grinned, dragging your tongue along the length of him before taking him back in, deeper this time, until his head tipped back against the bed, a ragged moan escaping his lips. You hummed around him, satisfied, and his entire body tensed beneath you.

"God," he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, his hips twitching upward before he caught himself. "You're—fuck—you're gonna ruin me."

You let him feel the smirk on your lips before pulling off of him slowly, savouring the way his breath hitched, the way his hands fisted the sheets like he was barely holding himself together. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, climbing back up his body, letting your lips hover over his.

"That’s the plan. Unless you think you can stop me."

His response was immediate—his hands were on you in an instant, flipping you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His pupils were blown wide, his expression wrecked yet determined.

"My turn," he murmured, voice hoarse, before claiming your lips with a hunger that sent another bolt of heat straight through you.

His hands were relentless, sliding down your body, gripping your thighs as he spread them, as he settled between them. His lips traced a slow, torturous path down your torso, his breath hot against your skin. You shuddered as he kissed lower, dragging his tongue over sensitive flesh, marking his way down until you were trembling beneath him.

"Let’s see how patient you are now," he mused, voice laced with wicked amusement.

You smirked, your fingers threading through his hair. "Try me."

Neither of you had any plans of stopping now.

With a steady, commanding grip, you pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips before he could even think to regain control. His breath was uneven, hands skimming up your thighs, but you caught his wrists, pinning them down against the mattress. His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly, as if caught between resistance and surrender.

"You don’t get to take over that easily," you murmured, leaning down, your lips grazing against his jaw. "You wanted me in charge—so take it."

Spencer swallowed hard, his pulse pounding beneath your fingers. "You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?"

You smirked, rolling your hips against him, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "Not a chance. Now, be good for me, Doctor."

You guided him inside you with an unhurried confidence, revelling in the way his body shuddered beneath yours. His fingers twitched, desperate to move, to touch, to grasp at any control left to him, but you kept his wrists pinned, watching as he came apart under you. Every roll of your hips pulled another breathless sound from him, each movement deliberate, dragging out his pleasure until his composure cracked entirely.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice raw. "You’re going to be the death of me."

You laughed softly, leaning down, your lips brushing over his ear. "And yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way."

Spencer’s eyes followed the path of your breasts as you moved, the way they swayed and bounced above him, and it was all he could do to not reach out and touch. It was a dance of dominance and submission, one that had him utterly transfixed. The way you controlled the rhythm, the angle, the depth of every thrust, had him writhing beneath you, desperate for more, for any little piece of control you’d allow him. He could feel every inch of you around him, warm and slick, gripping him so perfectly it made his head spin.

With a smirk, you leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, your movements never faltering. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your chest, setting your nerves alight. You felt his hands tense against the mattress, the muscles in his arms flexing, his whole body begging to touch, to hold onto something, anything. His knuckles were white against the sheets, his body trembling with the effort it took not to grab you, not to flip you over and claim you the way you knew he wanted to.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back slightly, the shift in angle sending a fresh wave of pleasure through both of you. "You can look all you want," you murmured, dropping your hands to his chest, your nails digging in just enough to leave marks. "But you don’t get to touch."

Spencer's jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Not yet. His eyes remained on you, watching every move, every shift of your body, the way your muscles flexed as you began to ride him slower but harder. Each time you slammed down onto him, his eyes rolled back, the sensation of you taking him in so completely, so deliberately, had him fighting for control. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, his restraint slipping further with every motion.

You could feel him getting closer, his body tightening beneath you, his hips jerking upward in a silent plea for more. So you gave it to him—faster, deeper, until he was nothing but a symphony of need and want, his breath coming in sharp pants. His fingers twitched, his muscles coiling beneath you, his body shaking with the sheer force of his pleasure.

Your combined juices flooded his pelvis, creating a deliciously raunchy sound with every slap of skin against skin, each movement echoing through the room. The wetness was a testament of desire, a slick reminder of how much power you had over him in this moment. And with each roll of your hips, each deep, deliberate thrust, the sound grew louder, more intense, a symphony of passion that had you both on edge. The smell of sweat and sex filled the air, intoxicating, adding to the hazy, feverish heat of the moment.

Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his entire body taut with tension. You watched him, revelling in the way he trembled beneath you, the way his abs clenched with every movement, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. You could feel him getting closer, the pulse in his cock growing stronger, the muscles in his thighs tensing. Every breath he took was shaky, every exhale laced with a low, desperate moan.

With a wicked smile, you leaned in, your breath hot against his ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking on yours. "I’m right—fuck—right there." His voice was strained, the muscles in his neck standing out with the effort of holding back. His fingers curled into the sheets, his whole body trembling beneath you, the strain of resisting almost painful.

You grinned, feeling a thrill at his desperation. "Good," you murmured, your voice low, a purr of satisfaction. "Because this is a fight you’re going to lose, Doctor."

With that, you leaned in and bit down hard on his neck, feeling the muscles there jump beneath your teeth. You didn’t break the skin—not yet—but the pressure was enough to leave a bruise. A mark that would be yours alone. Spencer’s eyes went wide, a surprised gasp escaping him, his body arching up into you, and you felt the moment he lost it, his control shattering like glass beneath the weight of your dominance. He let out a strangled moan, his hands clenching into fists against the sheets, his entire body going taut before he spilled inside you, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as he came undone beneath you. And when he came, it was with a roar, his hips jerking up into you, filling you so completely it took your breath away. The warmth of him, the pulsing of his cock inside you, it was almost too much. Your own orgasm was a surprise, a sudden explosion of sensation that had you crying out, your nails digging into his skin.

You pulled back just enough to watch him, your own eyes hooded with pleasure. His gaze was hazy, pupils blown wide with arousal. His hands, once fisted in the sheets, now reached for you, trying to find something to hold onto, trying to claim some semblance of power. But you didn’t let him. You kept his wrists pinned to the bed, keeping him beneath you, revelling in the aftershocks that had him trembling beneath your touch.

Spencer let out a long, shaky breath, his body sinking into the mattress, utterly spent, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. His flushed skin glistened with sweat, his lips parted, still trembling slightly from the force of his release. You smirked, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back and sitting upright, keeping him inside you just a little longer, just to revel in the sensation of still having him beneath you, completely at your mercy. He let out a soft, broken groan, and you grinned, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

For once, he had no words. And that, more than anything, was the ultimate victory. You had spent so long locked in battles of wit with him, always feeling like you were a step behind, always scrambling to match his sharp mind and quick tongue. But now, with his breath stolen, his thoughts scattered, and nothing left in him but you—this was a triumph like no other. You traced your fingers over his heaving chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, knowing that you had reduced the brilliant, articulate Dr. Spencer Reid to nothing but a mess of pleasure beneath you. A victory, indeed.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable, warm. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly over his skin, mapping out the lines of his collarbone, the sharp edges of his ribs. His breath was steadying now, but his gaze remained unfocused, lost somewhere in the haze of what had just happened between you. Spencer let out a slow breath, finally gathering himself enough to meet your gaze. "That was..." he started, but trailed off, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. "I don't even have a word for it."

You smirked, tilting your head. "Speechless? That’s a first."

He let out a breathy chuckle, his hands finally finding your waist, thumbs rubbing soft, soothing circles against your skin. "You always did have a way of knocking me off balance."

Your smile softened at that, your teasing fading into something more genuine. The weight of everything that had led up to this moment pressed against your chest, making it difficult to speak. The echoes of sharp words exchanged, the nights spent simmering in unresolved tension, the way his gaze had always lingered a second too long before he forced himself to look away—all of it came together into this single, inescapable truth. The fight had never been about animosity. It had always been about everything they were too afraid to admit. "Spencer... about everything before tonight... I—"

He exhaled, his grip on you tightening slightly. "I was an asshole to you," he admitted, voice quieter now. "I didn’t handle things well when you joined the team. I—change has never been easy for me. And then, when I found out you had a boyfriend... I was jealous. I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

You searched his face, taking in the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet regret there. "I gave as good as I got," you murmured, your fingers ghosting over his jawline.

His fingers traced your spine, his gaze never leaving yours. "So... what now?"

The weight of everything unsaid pressed between you, years of tension unravelling in a single moment. The walls you had built to keep him out were crumbling, and you knew, deep down, that neither of you wanted to rebuild them.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to fight you anymore. I don't want to pretend I don’t feel this."

His breath hitched, and his hands tightened on your waist, anchoring you to him. "Neither do I."

A slow, nervous smile pulled at your lips. "Then let's stop running from it."

Spencer reached up, brushing his fingers along your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw like he was committing you to memory. His touch was delicate, reverent, as if he was afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, covering his hand with yours. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Relief flooded his features, and he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours. "Then we stop pretending."

The last of the barriers between you shattered as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss—one filled with every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every suppressed feeling that had simmered for far too long. This wasn’t an impulse or a fleeting moment of passion. This was real—the press of his lips against yours, slow and sure, the way his hands anchored you to him like he couldn’t bear to let go. It was in the heat of his breath against your skin, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they traced the curve of your spine. The weight of his gaze, filled with something deep and unshakable, sent warmth unfurling through you, settling deep in your bones. Every touch, every breath, every second of this moment cemented the truth—you weren’t pretending anymore. You never would again. And finally, neither of you had any reason to deny it.

As the kiss deepened, the world outside of this moment faded into irrelevance. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him down to you, needing him in a way that felt almost desperate. His breath was uneven against your lips, and you could feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath your fingertips.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, finding them darker, more intense than ever. "Spencer," you whispered, his name a plea, a promise, an invitation all at once. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, reverent, awed.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek, his gaze searching yours like he was still trying to make sense of everything. "I don't want this to be just tonight," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and pretend like this didn’t happen. Like it doesn’t mean everything."

Your breath caught, a slow warmth unfurling in your chest, because that was exactly what you needed to hear. "Me neither," you admitted, the words feeling truer than anything you’d ever said. "I want this. I want you."

Something in his expression softened, like a tension he hadn't even realized he was holding had finally eased. He cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into another kiss—deeper this time, more certain, like he was memorizing the way you felt against him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. "Then we don't pretend," he murmured. "We stop fighting it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, fingers curling around the nape of his neck. "No more running."

And as his lips found yours again, slow and lingering, you knew that neither of you ever would.

Neither of you spoke for a long time after that, simply holding each other, basking in the certainty that, for once, neither of you had to run anymore. This was real.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time had lost all meaning. The only thing that tethered you to the present was the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his fingers traced idle patterns along your skin. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full—of unspoken words, of lingering touches, of breaths that synced in the quiet. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, all of it grounded you in the certainty of this moment, of him. Spencer traced patterns along your bare shoulder, his touch hypnotic, grounding. "I never thought I'd have this with you," he admitted. "I spent so much time trying to convince myself that it was easier to keep you at a distance. That if I pushed you away, maybe I wouldn't have to deal with wanting you this much."

Your chest ached at his words, at the thought of all the wasted time, the hurt you had both caused in your attempts to avoid the inevitable. "I think I did the same thing," you whispered. "You were pushing me away, so I pushed back. And maybe I didn't realize I enjoyed it—that arguing with you was just another way of being close to you."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening around yours. "We’re kind of idiots, aren't we?"

"Yeah," you murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of his wrist. "But at least we figured it out eventually."

His lips quirked into a smile, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something tender, something permanent. "And we’re not going to waste any more time."

You shook your head. "No more pretending. No more running."

Spencer exhaled, his hands framing your face as he kissed you again, slow and sure. "Good," he murmured against your lips. "Because I plan on spending a long time making up for all the time we lost."

And as you melted into his arms, you knew, without a doubt, that you had found exactly where you were meant to be.

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when you awoke to the sensation of warmth and weight beside you. Spencer’s arm was draped across your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, you lay still, basking in the unfamiliar comfort of his presence, his eyes on you, watching you sleep. There was something so tender in his gaze, something that sent a warmth spreading through your body, chasing away the last vestiges of the cold loneliness that had clung to you for so long.

You turned to face him, his eyes snapping to yours with a flicker of surprise before he schooled his features back to something more neutral. "Were you watching me?" you asked, the question a teasing lilt in your voice, a smirk playing on your lips.

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze dropping to your bare chest where his arm lay. "I was," he admitted, his voice laced with something that could only be described as adoration. "You looked so peaceful."

You reached up, your hand brushing against the softness of his cheek. "I am now," you murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, urging his gaze back to yours. The intensity of his stare made your pulse race, the memory of last night's passion still tangible between you.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or regret. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both gentle and hungry. It was a declaration, a promise, a silent vow that this was just the beginning.

Your fingers danced across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. The kiss grew more urgent as the morning light painted the room in soft hues of gold and pink. The weight of his body on yours was both comforting and exciting.

"I never knew you could be like this," he murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice thick with sleep and desire.

You chuckled softly, nuzzling closer. "What? That I could keep up with you? That I could challenge you?"

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, his nose brushing against yours as he shifted, his fingers skimming along your side. "No," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That you’d let yourself be this open with me."

Your smirk softened at his words, something unspoken passing between you. "Guess you bring it out of me," you admitted, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

His hand trailed down your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine as he hummed thoughtfully. "I like it," he said, almost as if confessing a secret. His lips ghosted over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again. "I like… this."

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it—uncertain yet sure, like he was still processing the reality of waking up with you but already knew he wanted to do it again.

"I like this too," you said, your fingers threading through his hair, still tousled from sleep. The golden morning light caught in the strands, making him look softer, more at ease than you’d ever seen him.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he whispered against your skin, his arm tightening around you as if he wanted to make sure you stayed right there.

With a gentle nudge, Spencer shifted, rolling you onto your back before settling his weight over you. His kisses grew more urgent as he made his way down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid to your breasts, cupping them with a familiarity that sent a thrill of pleasure through you. His thumbs brushed over your already-hardened nipples, and you felt your back arch off the bed, a low moan escaping you.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes, his own dark with desire. "Is this what you want?" he asked.

You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper. "More than anything."

Spencer's gaze held yours for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. You moaned, your hips bucking against him, silently begging for more. He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand slid down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, teasing the slick folds of your sex before he finally slid one long finger inside you. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut, your entire body tensing at the sudden intrusion.

He moved with purpose, his thumb circling your clit as he kissed a trail down your body, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone before moving to capture your other nipple in his mouth. The feeling of his fingers moving inside you, his mouth worshipping your body, was almost too much to handle. You tangled your hands in his hair, holding him to you, needing more.

His movements grew more deliberate, his tongue teasing and taunting, his fingers curling and stroking in a way that had you panting and desperate. You could feel the beginnings of an orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you knew it was going to be explosive.

"Spencer," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need—"

With a knowing smile, he added another finger, stretching you, filling you. The sensation was overwhelming, your body responding with a sharp intake of breath. His touch was confident, masterful, his movements a silent promise that he knew exactly what you needed.

He watched your face as he pushed you closer to the edge, reading the signs of your arousal with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished. His eyes darkened, his own breath growing uneven as he watched you squirm beneath him, desperation lacing your voice with every whine. With one last, lingering kiss to your neck, Spencer pulled away, his gaze meeting yours as he slid another finger into you, stretching you even further. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious fullness that made you quiver.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you could see the hunger there—for you, for this moment, for the connection that had been building between you for so long. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening around his fingers, your muscles clenching in anticipation. He swiped his thumb over your clit again, and you bit back a cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.

"Spencer, please," you breathed, the words barely coherent as you writhed beneath him.

He didn't need the words; he could read your body's language with the same ease he read the pages of a book. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm, each stroke building the tension higher and higher.

"Spencer," you begged, your voice a breathy moan. "Please, I need you."

He pulled back slightly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Not yet," he murmured, his fingers continuing their relentless rhythm. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers first."

You whimpered, the frustration building. "But—"

Spencer cut you off with a firm look, his eyes dark with hunger. "No," he insisted, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers didn't slow, the rhythm unrelenting, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, to maintain that connection with him, but the pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming. Your hips began to rock against his hand, the friction building, the coil of need tightening deep within you. You could feel your orgasm approaching like a storm. "Spencer," you moaned, his name a plea as your body grew taut with anticipation.

"Cum for me," he whispered, his voice a seductive command that sent heat through you.

You moaned, your body responding instinctively to the words, the promise of what was to come. Spencer's fingers continued their relentless dance, the pressure building until you were sure you couldn’t hold on any longer. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you clutched at the bed sheets, the fabric bunched in your fists as you tried to find purchase in the world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

With a final, desperate whine, you shattered, your body arching off the bed as an orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tempest. You cried out his name, the sound echoing through the room, the waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful. He watched you cum, his own desire clear in the way his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating to swallow the blue of his irises.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement that had your heart racing even faster, Spencer removed his fingers from your body, his eyes never leaving yours. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to look away. The sight was obscene, erotic, and you couldn't tear your eyes away as he tasted you.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, sharing the intimate flavour of your pleasure with you. You moaned into his kiss, the sensation of his tongue against your own making your core clench with aftershocks.

And then, with a deliberate slowness that made you ache, Spencer took hold of his cock, swiping the tip through your wetness, coating himself in your desire. The contact was electric, a promise of what was to come, and you could feel the tremble in his hand as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You watched as he pushed in, the sensation of him filling you up making you gasp against his mouth. He took his time, inch by torturous inch until he was fully seated. You felt stretched to the brink, but it was a sweet agony, a feeling you never wanted to lose.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back as you matched his movements. The friction was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you with every stroke.

Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as he began to move faster, his breathing growing ragged. You felt the tension coiling in his body, the way his muscles tightened and his grip grew more possessive. "Look at me," he whispered, his voice strained with need.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze with a hazy sort of wonder. The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was intoxicating.

Spencer’s strokes grew deeper, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the desperate sounds you were making. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, urging him closer.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice low and raw. His eyes were closed now, his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved inside you. You could feel the tension in his body, the effort it took to maintain control.

The sound of your muffled cries filled the room, the sweet symphony of passion echoing off the walls. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts. You bucked against him, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge once more.

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, the intensity of his gaze searing into yours. "I want to watch you cum," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Again."

And with that, he changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot making your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, building on the remnants of your last orgasm. You couldn’t believe how close you already were, how desperate you felt for the release that you knew was just within reach.

Your breath grew ragged, your chest heaving as you met his eyes. He watched you, his own eyes dark with need, his thumb working you with a precision that had your back bowing off the bed, your cries growing louder. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the sensation of his cock filling you, his thumb on your clit, the sound of his breath in your ear—it was all too much.

And then you were there, falling over the precipice into the abyss of pleasure. You screamed his name, your body tightening around him as the orgasm swept through you like a wave, crashing over you and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Spencer's eyes remained locked on your face, a look of awe and adoration on his face. "God, you're so beautiful when you cum," he groans out. His thumb didn’t stop moving, keeping the pleasure pulsing through you.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he followed you over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him. His body went rigid, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense. You felt your inner muscles clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths hot and erratic against your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hearts beating in sync. The aftermath was a mess of sticky skin and tangled limbs, but it was the most alive you’d felt in what felt like an eternity.

You stroked his hair, your breathing gradually slowing, the sound of your heartbeats the only music in the quiet room. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow across the rumpled bed.

Spencer's head was nestled in the crook of your neck, his breathing evening out as he held onto you. The intimacy of the moment washed over you, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days.

You didn’t know how to navigate this new territory between you. But as his weight settled, as his arms tightened around you, you felt something unfurling within you—a warmth that had been missing for a long time.

You laid there, his breathing even and steady, his heartbeat a comforting thump against your chest. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his back, feeling the contours of his chest.

You sighed, tightening your arms around him for a brief moment before murmuring, "We should probably get up."

"Mhm," he mumbled, though he made no effort to move. He nuzzled against your neck for a lingering moment before finally pushing himself up onto his elbows. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, still heavy with sleep, met yours with something unreadable flickering in them.

Neither of you spoke as you got out of bed, dressing in the nearest clothes you could find. The air between you wasn’t awkward, but it was charged with something unspoken. The weight of what had just happened, what it meant, hung between you like an unfinished sentence.

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

Part Two

[bringmeanangel]

A Quiet Moment

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Tags/warning: mentions of crime scenes. Aaron Hotchner in gloves. BAU reader. Mutual feelings for each other. Reader cuts hand on broken cup. Mentions of Jack. Gentle Aaron.

Synopsis: Reader think she's being subtle whenever Hotchner is wearing gloves... she's not.

A/N: So... as you may have guessed I go a bit wild for Hotchner and Spencer in gloves. Here's some gentle Aaron

Semi proof read

You had a crush on your boss. You hoped it would pass, everyone has a crush now and then, but this one wasn't passing.

You walked into the crime scene, something you do all the time. Another thing you do all the time is try not to stare at Hotchner's hands when he pulls on the gloves.

Yet, there you were, blue gloves on, looking around the room and when you looked up, Aaron was pulling on the same light blue gloves. You were so fixated on this, that you didn't notice the glance he gave.

Blushing when you realized you had been looking too long, you went back to work. You made your way to the bedroom and of course Hotch followed you.

The room had been tossed, clearly they were looking for something. Aaron crouched down, picking up a picture frame.

"I don't know. This looks like they were searching for something. The unsub walked in and-" you said turning to face Aaron and stopped talking.

"And?" he prompted not flinching.

" Uh- right. Sorry."

You took a deep breath and continued. Thankful that your boss didn't notice.

But of course he notice. You work for the BAU, some of the best minds out there. He watched the way your eyes would linger on his hands. He even noticed which color you liked better.

You somehow relaxed whenever he wore the periwinkle color. You had no idea why, especially when you're at the morgue.

As the medical examiner was talking, Aaron pulled on a pair of the periwinkle to examine the body. You opted not to wear some.

"Come look at this" his deep tone echoed through the room.

You walked over to him and watched as he lifted up the victim's arm. He flipped the arm and you saw the track marks and the bruises on the wrist.

"Those weren't made by rope" you said.

You took a breath, trying not to focus on the way he traced the marks with his fingers. You missed the glance he gave you.

He watched you as you followed his hands. Aaron didn't miss how oddly calm you seemed considering where you were. He looked back at the body on the table focusing on the case.

Aaron always had a soft spot for you and as much as he wanted to deny it, he started to develop feelings for you too.

You were at the office, staying late, finishing up the paper work. You made your way to the kitchen and you weren't paying attention and you dropped a mug.

"Oh shoot" you murmured.

You bent down to pick it up and cut your hand. You placed the pieces and turned the water on.

"Ow!" You winced.

"What happened?" You jumped when you heard your boss's voice.

"I broke a cup and-" you trailed off when he reached for the first aid kit.

He grabbed a paper towel and handed it to you, pressing it against your cut. You took over pressing down.

Aaron rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. He opened the first aid kit and grabbed the white medical gloves. Your favorite.

Aaron pulled them on, intent on taking care of you. This time you knew you weren't being subtle. You were full on staring as he finished pulling on the left glove.

He smiled to himself, adjusting the gloves. Gently he took your hand, you lightly gasped at the touch. You moved your hand with the paper towel.

Aaron inspected the wound, brow furrowed a bit.

"Sit. You won't need stitches and it doesn't look like there's glass, but I'm going to clean and bandage it."

"Oh. Sir, it's okay-"

"Nonsense. Sit" his voice was gentle and caring.

You pulled a chair out and sat down. Aaron opened the antiseptic and grabbed a cotton ball, pouring some on.

His gloved hand wrapped around your wrist. He started to clean and you sucked in a breath, wanting to pull your hand away, but he kept a firm grip.

"Almost done. I know it stings. You're doing such a good job for me."

You pulled your gaze away from his hands to look over at him. He was blushing. You let out a soft laugh

"Sorry" he lightly chuckled. "I'm used to Jack."

"It's okay" it almost came out like a whisper.

You looked down again at your hand... His hands. He glanced at you, noting the blush that was making its way across your face.

"There we go." Aaron placed the cotton ball down.

He examined the wound again. His thumbs on either side of the palm, pressing around the wound. His pinky brushed against your wrist.

You gritted your teeth, trying to suppress a whine. His hand wrapped around your wrist. He stroked his thumb against your pulse point.

Neither of you said anything or dare look up. It was a nice quiet moment.

You felt like you were holding your breath. Finally, Aaron let go of your hand and grabbed some gauze, applying it to the cut and then wrapping your hand to hold the gauze in place.

His hands lingered and then he pulled away and looked at you. You blushed, smiling a bit.

"Thanks. Sorry for breaking the mug"

"Don't worry about it." His smile was so reassuring.

You were still sitting down as Aaron stood up. He snapped off the gloves and threw them and the used cotton ball away.

He started to clean up and you looked at your hand and then snapped out your daze. You stood up abruptly, startling him and yourself.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh- yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I just uh. Thank you... Again."

"Are you sure?" The concern in his voice was not helping how you felt.

"Yes. Sorry."

Aaron took a step towards you and reached up, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. He rubbed his thumb on your collarbone. You two locked eyes.

You saw it. The spark in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand.

"Clean it again before bed and wrap it up. Then come find me tomorrow morning and I'll clean it for you."

"Thank you, sir."

He nodded and left. You stood there unsure that just happened.

Aaron headed back to his office and closed the door, taking a breath.

[writersrkive]

Warmth | Aaron Hotchner

summary: Your period arrived, and you are feeling like shit, but that doesn't mean you won't go to work. Your body is pleading to rest, but you are stubborn, so you act like you are fine. However, Hotch is there to take care of you.

genre: comfort pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader warnings: cramps and physical discomfort caused by menstruation, fainting.

a/n: maybe is not a good one, but I'm on my period, so let me be delulu. English is not my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

When your lower back started to hurt, days prior, you knew what day of the month was getting closer. You prepare yourself, however that morning your body felt heavy, almost numb.

Walking out of bed, going to the bathroom, showering and dressing up were difficult tasks. The morning didn't go any better. You had problems with your car, the traffic was hell, and when you arrived at Quantico, fifteen minutes late, your ID wasn't in your wallet. You had to walk back to your car and go up to the floor where you worked five minutes later.

“Did you have cardio yesterday? Is that the reason why you are so late?” Derek asked, teasing, but you were not in the mood to joke with your best friend.

"Maybe I just took too long to hide the body of the rat that was bothering me last night, do you want me to show you what I did with it?" I asked, finally sitting on the chair to rest my lower back. My belly was hurting a lot.

“Uh.” Emily said and chuckled when she saw Derek's surprised expression.

“Maybe not the time.” The dark skinned whisper.

“Definitely not.” I answered. “Did Hotch…” I started, turning to JJ.

“Don't worry. He has been inside his office since we arrived. I don't think he noticed."

A few minutes later, I was leaning towards the files I had on my desk, not because I couldn't see, but because I needed to feel something warm towards my belly. My hands weren't enough, but it was all I had.

“Take this.” Spencer said, handing me some pain killers.

“Thanks, but last time I tried, they didn't work."

“Try again.” Emily said softly, understanding what was happening. “If you don't feel good, tell us.”

“Thanks, but seriously, I'm fine.”

That wasn't true though. Thank God we had just file day, because I wouldn't be able to fly in that condition. But at least I would have the opportunity to sleep a little thereby.

I needed something warm. So I stood up and walked to the mini cafeteria, where there was a coffee machine, with tea bags on the side and snacks. My tea was already prepared, I only wanted to grab a chocolate bar, but the cramps hit me, making the cup of tea almost fall from my hands.

“Hey, hey. Easy there.” That calm and velvety voice made me realise the man who I liked was now next to me, helping me by taking the cup and steadying myself with his other hand.

“Sorry, boss.” I whispered.

“What happened? Are you sick?”

“Kinda… I'm just not feeling good. You know, that day of the month.” I answered, still trying to breathe, feeling a tear of cold sweat slide down my back.

“It's okay. You need to rest. Go home.” He said with a firm, yet soft tone of voice. The team was always saying he only used that tone with me.

“I'm fine, seriously.”

I could see in his eyes that he was not convinced. “Okay, but let me know if you need something. Don't think I didn't notice that you arrived late.”

“I'm really sorry. That won't happen again.” My cheeks were probably burning, and I didn't know if it was because of my period, or the embarrassment.

“What I'm trying to say is that I know that you are not feeling good, and I will understand if you need to go back home.” He reassured me, lightly caressing the arm that still held me.

“Thanks.” I whisper.

“Here. Take this.” He handed me a warm compress that he took out of the microwave after heating it for a few minutes.

The tea and compress helped a lot, however, the painkiller didn't work. I felt like I was about to faint. The noises of our workmates, the weather, and even poor JJ's breathing was stressing me out. A break was what I needed, but I wouldn't be able to take one, so instead, I went to the bathroom. I didn't know Hotch was observing me from his seat, through the office window.

In the bathroom things weren't better. My forehead was covered in sweat, my throat felt dry and my legs and arm were about to give up. All of that was reflected on the mirror in front of me.

Someone knocked.

I opened the door and then my vision turned black. Next I remember strong arms embracing me on the floor. “That's it. I'm taking you home.” He said.

“I'm…” I tried to talk.

“No, you are not fine. Sometimes you need to hear your body and rest.” He explained gently, moving my hair out of my face. “You are going to drink water. I'm going to get your stuff and I'll take you home.” It was obvious there was no room for discussion.

“Got it, boss.” I whispered, letting myself smile on his chest. It wasn't a surprise how excited I was because he was taking care of me, even if I was feeling like shit. He was the warmth I needed.

[hotchsnation]

all I can think of, all that's been on my mind is bau!fem! reader who's out to make hotch's life miserable from the day that she joined the team.

It starts out small, testing the waters to see what he would let slide. You learn pretty quickly that as long as you don't go against his word, you won't get in trouble. So you always listen to what he says, admiring his commanding presence in ways that are rather...interesting.

Hotch swallows thickly as his eyes find yours as he delivers the profile, looking away quickly when he sees the same dark look in your eyes. He must be imagining things, he has to be--this had to be the way you stared at everyone else, right?

But it wasn't and he knows that, he's seen it with his own two eyes--you giggle at Spencer and Derek, your eyes beam when you talk to any of the women that you work with and your expression softens whenever Rossi praises you or makes a funny joke.

With him though, it was an entirely different story.

"Agent," he approaches you as soon as the team is done delivering the profile, his voice quiet yet commanding. "A word please."

"Oh, of course." You feign innocence as you step outside with your unit chief, crossing your arms over your chest the moment he makes sure that the door is closed.

"Agent, I would like to remind you that this team operates in a unique manner."

"Of course, sir." You tilt your head as you nod, staring up at him from behind your lashes. "Which is why I love being on this team."

"So you must be aware of the importance of maintaining the same dynamic within the team."

"Why of course, sir." You put more emphasis on the last word, eyebrows furrowed in faux confusion. "Did something happen? Did I do something?"

You happened, he wants to say. But instead, he maintains his composure and continues.

"Are you aware of the fraternization rules, agent?" 

You suppress a smirk, nodding. "Indeed, I am."

Hotch's breath hitches slightly before he continues. "Then you must be aware that flirting with anyone on the team is...off the table."

You hum, staring deeply into his dark eyes.

"Hotch," you finally respond, stepping just a little closer to the taller man. Your fingers grasp the end of his tie, pulling him just a tiny bit closer to you. "I know what the rules are."

And you know how to play around them and make him absolutely lose his fucking mind.

Staring up at him, you find the man already looking at you with a clenched jaw and darkened eyes. Something flutters in your stomach but you push it.

You can drag this a bit longer.

"Let's go back inside, sir. "

[springtyme]

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 ♡

Emily Prentiss x BAU!Reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

summary: You and Emily takes a break from the case you're working on together.

word count: 875

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟓) 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

The leaves crunched under the tires of the SUV as you drive down the winding road, the vibrant oranges and yellows of fall foliage creating a picturesque backdrop that contrasted with the weight of the case you were working on. It is one of those crisp autumn mornings where the air feels electric, vibrant leaves swirling like confetti in the wind, the windows rolled down and crisp autumn air is swirling through the car.

Emily sits in the passenger seat beside you, her focus directed at her notebook, scribbling down notes. Every once in a while, she will look up, scanning the tree line as if the answer to the case might materialize from the colorful landscape.

You can’t help but steal a glance at her, your heart fluttering. Something about her is just so captivating—the way she focuses with such intensity, the slight furrow in her brow as she brainstorms, and the way her dark hair falls around her face, framing her features in the golden morning light. It would probably all be easier if you weren’t colleagues, you wouldn’t feel as bad or as complicated about your attraction. 

The conversation had been light so far, but a lull has settled in the cabin of the car. When you had told the others that you would go for a little drive to clear your head and contemplate the next steps in the case, you hadn’t expected for Emily to ask if she could come. As you navigate the road, you think about what to say to bridge the silence.

“Hey, Em,” you finally break the quiet, keeping your voice casual. “A penny for your thoughts?”

She tilts her head slightly, pulling her focus from the notebook to meet your gaze. The sunlight catches in her dark hair, creating a halo effect that amplifies your stirring emotions. It takes a second for her to respond, her brow relaxing as she launches into her thoughts.

“I was just going over the timeline of the events,” she says, tapping her pen against the side of her notebook. “There’s still something off about the alibis we were given. I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s hiding something.”

She looks away, eyes drawn to the swirling leaves outside. “I just wish we could find a way to crack this, you know? It feels like we’re chasing shadows.” 

“Right, and there’s still so much we don’t know about our suspect.”

She nods, her eyes narrowing as she considers the situation. “I feel like we’ve overlooked something crucial. Maybe it’s in the way the incidents are connected? We should  try and see if we can get an overview over everything and see if we can find a common thread.”

You lean back in your seat, contemplating her words as you keep your eyes on the winding road ahead. Emily's passion for detail and her determination to solve the case only deepen your admiration for her. “A detailed overview is a good idea,” you reply, trying to channel your thoughts into a structured response.“Let’s map it out when we get back,” you suggest. “If we can visualize everything—the timeline, the suspects, the alibis—it might give us a clearer picture. 

You nod thoughtfully, but as you shift your gaze back toward the winding road, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the open windows. The vibrant leaves from the trees dance gracefully into the air, swirling around the SUV like golden butterflies. As one particularly daring leaf flutters in through the window, it makes a delicate spin before settling on Emily’s notebook.

Startled, she looks down, her eyes widening in surprise before breaking into a radiant smile as she picks up the leaf up between her fingers. The light filters through it, revealing an intricate pattern of veins that almost resembles a work of art. 

You can’t help but grin at her delight. “Well, if that isn’t a sign of inspiration, I don’t know what is,” you joke lightly, grateful for the moment of levity amidst the weight of the case. 

Emily holds the leaf up to the sunlight, allowing its golden hues to shimmer in the light, her expression a mix of wonder and thoughtfulness. “Maybe it’s the universe telling us to take a break,” she suggests, her tone playful yet earnest. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee and a pastry right about now,my treat.”

You chuckle, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest at her offer. “I’m always down for coffee and pastries,” you respond, glancing at her with a playful smirk. “Especially when you’re the one treating.”

Emily laughs, a sound that mingles with the rustling leaves outside, bright and infectious. It feels good to share this lightness with her, especially in contrast to the heaviness of your work.

As you navigate the road that leads to the quaint little coffee shop you have in mind, the vibrant landscape outside only adds to the cozy atmosphere you’re creating in your head, intermingling with the scents of pine and damp earth that waft through the open windows. The trees close in, their leaves glowing under the sun, and for a moment, all the weight of the case seems to fade into the background.