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codename-mom · 2 months

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First day at school

Summary: Jack is now old enough to go at school and his father has trouble to deal with this very special day.

Characters: Mostly Jack and Hotch (but some BAU members appear)

Contents: TW well, as Hotch is the king of anxiety, the text is quite angsty (mention of grief and of what Foyet did to him), but I tried to make it a little bit fluffy too.

This is a text written for the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch stopped in front of JJ's desk, absorbed in her mission report, and saw her flinch when she realized he was standing right next to her. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“JJ. Tomorrow I'm going to be very late, he announced, looking a little embarrassed. Check with Morgan which file we need to work on and give me a summary of the briefing when I arrive.”

“Okay, she nodded, eyebrows furrowed. Is there a problem?”

“First day at school.”

“Ouch! She winced immediately. I’m weeping in anticipation. Good luck.”

“Thank you, he answered with a shy smile. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”

Yes, the fateful date had arrived: Jack was now old enough to start school. An event that represented both a form of relief – for Jessica and Ada, who would no longer need to put their respective lives on hold to raise a child that wasn't even theirs – and a source of terrible anguish for the agency director.

He still couldn't believe how much his son had grown since the day he regained custody. He still had the impression of holding his tiny body in the palm of his hands, watching him stagger around the living room in search of his balance, and witnessing his chaotic attempts to learn to eat on his own. And tomorrow, he would go to school.

Tomorrow, he'd leave the nest to mingle with other kids his age, with whom he'd discover the world in all its aspects. Tomorrow, he'd be meeting human beings who wouldn't necessarily be at his feet, let alone in his pocket, with whom he'd have to negotiate, argue, discuss, and exchange to make himself heard or win his case. Tomorrow, he'd realize that life in society required bending even more rules than he'd ever known before, that obeying them wouldn't be easy, and that disobeying them would be even more damaging. Tomorrow, the cocoon in which he'd been enclosed until then would be torn apart, and his father wouldn't be there to fly to his rescue.

Aaron was unable to suppress the panic that had gripped him for two weeks now. He'd done all he could to soften it up, planning this day down to the last detail, but nothing had helped. Jack's schoolbag was ready, as were his clothes; the breakfast table was set, the car refueled, the itinerary marked, and the documents requested by the school completed. But his heart continued to drum far too hard against his ribs as he sought sleep. What he was afraid of? To be lost? It was a stone’s throw from the apartment. To be late? Even if an unexpected traffic jam came up, they could always get there on foot if need be. For not giving his offspring the keys to get by? It was a possibility, but his aunt and grandmother had had to make up for his shortcomings. That Jack has had a bad experience and never wants to go back?

A silence passed in his head as the vise tightened around his lungs. This plunge into the deep end of the pool was no small step in a toddler's life. It was almost the equivalent of a parachute jump for an adult: even with the best possible precautions, there was always a chance – tiny sometimes – that things could go wrong. He tried in vain to remember what he had experienced and felt that day, but his brain ignored his request, content to amplify the feeling of malaise that had assailed him for the past fortnight. And even if he could remember his own back-to-school experience, his descendant wasn't him. Far from it. The difficulties he had potentially encountered would not be those he would encounter. And conversely, the facilities he'd had would, logically, not be those he'd have. And he had no way of preparing him to overcome these obstacles. He had no choice but to push him into the arena and pray for the best.

An action he lived as a betrayal of the flesh of his flesh – for all he knew – and one he'd never forgive himself for if the day took a turn for the worse. He felt guilty even before anything had happened and seeing it didn't make him feel any better. Especially as another feeling wandered in his gut. He was sad. He'd imagined that moment so differently that he couldn't erase the projection he'd mentalized years earlier to update it with their current situation. At the time, he had thought that someone would be at his side to endure this heartbreak with him. That he'd have a hand to hold to help suppress his anxiety. That he would have a smile to cross to lighten the weight on his shoulders. That he would have an ear to confide his worries and questions to. But there was no one.

Tomorrow, he'd be on his own to deal with whatever came his way, and it was totally out of the question for Jack to see the stress that was devouring him by the hour. He had to put on a good show, through and through, as long as he was still in his son's field of vision. Smiling and being reassuring were the guidelines he should absolutely follow. And if he felt like screaming or running away with him in his arms, he'd have to contain himself and triple lock his emotions. Like he was doing at Quantico. Not for nothing was he nicknamed "The Iceberg" by the other unit heads. So why did it now seem so impossible?

“Put your shoes on, Jack, while I finish packing your bag,” he ordered as the kid finished pulling on his hooded sweatshirt.

The profiler hadn't slept all night, and the look on his face had given him the shivers in the mirror, but he had gone through his usual routine before waking the little boy. He, seemed to have had an excellent night's sleep and was up and about, swallowing his meal as if it were just another day. He then went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and quickly ran a comb through his fine hair, before returning to his room. He had ignored his father's suggestion of an outfit and chosen a more... Jurassic one, then gone back outside to give his sire a whole bunch of odds and ends he insisted he expressly needed. He then left to finish dressing, leaving Aaron with a light-up yo-yo, three marbles, a Playmobil, a Spiderman pencil, and an Elastic Man figurine. The giant sighed and reached for the boy's schoolbag to slip in all those treasures that would give him peace of mind if need be.

“Okay,” said Jack, taking a seat by the shoe rack.

“Both the same, please.”

“…Yes, Dad,” he grumbled, annoyed at not being able to carry out his Machiavellian plan.

Since he'd learned to put his sneakers on by himself, he'd taken great pleasure in combining the elements of the four pairs he had in any way he could. Hotch wasn't sure how long he'd been doing it, since he'd suddenly realized it in the park when his shoelaces were untied, and he had a waffle in his hands. His progenitor's expression of surprise had made the youngster laugh out loud, and obviously the frown that always escaped his control when Aaron discovered he'd repeated his forfeit delighted him just as much. By now, the director was getting used to it, but he didn't want to be given a bad label on the first meeting. He had been officially declared negligent to his wife, if he could avoid being so to his son, it would take a thorn out of his side.

“Are you all set?” he asked his son as he zipped up his coat.

“Yes,” he declared with pride.

“Ready for the big day?”

“Yes,” he repeated, with the same determination.

The titan knelt down to be level with the boy's face and took one of his hands.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine. You'll make lots of new friends and learn lots of new stuff.”

“I know. You told me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before before…”

“Okay, he interrupted before he could go any further. Well, maybe we’ll go then. It'll save me having to tell you again.”

Jack's smile stretched from ear to ear, mocking. Father and son were currently living on two different planets, the first as anxious as the second was serene. The profiler could have rejoiced that the kid had obviously taken everything from his mother – both in physical appearance and in mind – but mostly he felt particularly foolish. He swallowed to try and get the knot out of his throat, without success. The duo left the scene, found the car, and climbed in. Hotch started up shortly afterwards and took to the road. Sitting in his booster seat, Jack observed the building facades, nodding his head in harmony with the music playing on the car radio.

“Try not to lose your things, please,” said his father when he stopped at the first red light.

“Why would I lose them?” questioned a puzzled Jack.

“Because when I was your age, I was always losing things. Every day, I came home from school with something missing, he revealed, as he suddenly reminded this detail. It drove you grand-mother crazy. So, if you take after me a little, it's likely to happen to you.”

He also remembered that he had absolutely no explanation to give his mother every time. He'd put them in a corner and when he came back to them, everything was gone. Of course, he didn't realize the financial impact his air headedness was having, and only thought that a new pair of gloves or a new beanie would fall right into his lap the following week. But now that he was on the other side of the fence, he understood better the dark looks Ada had once given him. His brain also reminded him of the consequences for herself, but Jack's voice short-circuited this plunge into the abyss of his memory.

“So, it’s no big deal.”

“What?” he croaked, surprised by the kid's reflection.

“You're saying I'm going to lose my stuff like you did. So that means it’s normal. So it’s no big deal.”

Aaron squinted, analyzing his son's reasoning. His train of thought was a bit far-fetched, but made sense, nonetheless. However, this wasn't going his way, so he resumed:

“…Yes, except I wish you wouldn't do what I did. Because I won’t be able to buy it all back. Okay?”

The little boy wore a worried expression that struck him right in the heart. He had never intended to stress him out and regretted imposing this rule on him from the outset when the day was already going to be rich enough in new information.

“Okay. It won't be a big deal, but just try to be careful, he recommended, diplomatically. Understand?”

Jack nodded, looking concerned.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Dad,” he replied cheerlessly.

The sadness on his face aroused his father's natural guilt, and he mentally reproached himself for this dispensable outburst of severity. He had to defuse the situation so that his offspring didn't arrive at school looking so down. The boy possessed an innate joie de vivre that regularly lifted his sire's spirits, and he was keen that his future classmates should see this aspect of his personality first and foremost. So, at the next traffic light, Hotch reached behind him to tickle the toddler's belly, who immediately began to squirm to dodge the attack. His mouth twisted, stretching into an amused smile before a burst of laughter crossed his lips. His assailant rapidly regained his good humor and started up again. A few minutes later, he parked in the school parking lot.

“Here we are.”

The federal agent got out of the car, walked around the vehicle and unfastened the seatbelt. He helped Jack onto dry land, and the latter immediately slipped his hand into the adult’s while he retrieved his bag. Then the pair joined the flow of other parent-child pairs making their way towards the headmistress. She greeted them with a broad smile when it was their turn.

“Good morning, gentlemen, she trumpeted cheerfully. Olivia Simmons, I’m the school director.”

“Hello. Aaron Hotchner and this is my son,” he answered shaking her hand.

“And what's this big boy's name?” she asked, leaning towards him.

“Jack, ma’am,” he confided, suddenly shy.

He tried to hide behind his father's legs, all of sudden much less at ease in this unfamiliar environment.

“You can call me Olivia, she said reassuringly. Welcome. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. Okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he did, clinging to Aaron's fingers.

“Come on. You can join your comrades over there.”

She pointed to a group of schoolchildren, all displaying the same nervousness. Those who had been there all along were just beginning to relax enough to meet the newcomers. Jack looked up at his ascendant, his eyes shining. He was scared. Hotch crouched instantly in front of him, while the headmistress moved away to address other parents. He could feel the trembling of the kid, who had snuggled into his arms as soon as possible and clung to his jacket like a lifeline. An irrepressible urge to take him away from all this arose in him that he had to fight fiercely. The moment was heartbreaking for both of them, but it was a necessary step in their life together. Soon – he was praying for it – that day would be a distant memory, leaving only a faint trace in the boy's mind.

“Are you picking me up tonight?” he questioned him, his little knuckles closed around his tie.

“I don’t know yet, Jack. Maybe it'll be Jessica,” he asserted, quickly realizing that he'd been so focused on the start of the new school year that he'd forgotten to think about when classes would end.

“I'd rather it be you, Jack confessed, turning his eyes on him. Then I could tell you everything I did today.”

He could hear the boy's plea, but all his professional responsibilities came to the fore and there was clearly no room for a mid-afternoon return to the area. Even less so if a file requiring travel was to fall on his team.

“I'll call you if I have to leave, he declared before emphasizing, Jessica will take very good care of you.”

“But it's not the same,” moaned the youngster, on the verge of tears.

Aaron felt his throat tighten, his insides liquefy, and his muscles tense in unison. This reaction was exactly what he'd been dreading, and dismay overwhelmed him. His thoughts raced through his head. They bumped, piled up, and disintegrated until they formed an unintelligible mass of words and sensations that didn't help him at all to get out of this trap. But the boy's tremors called for a response from him, and only one possibility was open to him.

“…I'll try to be there,” he said in the end.

Jack’s smile reappeared on the spot.

“But I can’t promise anything. Okay?”

“…Okay,” he replied, without quite losing his new-found good humor.

“I love you, buddy,” he confided, placing a kiss on his temple.

His offspring embraced him and said:

“I love you, Dad.”

Then Hotch kissed him on the forehead and encouraged the boy to take the first step. Reassured, he headed for the group of children, one of whom immediately approached him. The agency head was too far away to hear what was being said, but the tone seemed friendly. He got to his feet and sighed heavily to ease the tension in his muscles. Having completed the first stage, he now had to tackle the second. In two steps, he reached the director.

“Mrs. Simmons.”

“Mr. Hotchner,” she reacted, smiling.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“If it’s about allergies, we have a form to fill out for that,” she anticipated, pointing to the table set up nearby, on which several documents had been made available to parents.

“No. No, everything is fine from this side.”

“Perfect. What’s the issue then?”

He felt the cold take possession of his body and a knot formed in his windpipe. What he had to reveal was already painful in thought, it would be even more so when he had to say it out loud. Months and months had passed since the events, but he still had the feeling that it had just happened or, sometimes, that it had just been a bad dream from which he was finally waking up. The euphoria that followed disappeared as soon as he stepped into the living room and saw the portrait on the dresser, the only two plates on the dining table or the toys scattered on the carpet.

“… His mother died, he announced, his voice breaking, before adding: a year ago.”

“Oh. I'm sorry for your loss,” bounced the forty-year-old, genuinely moved.

“Thank you.”

Then he saw her frowning, puzzled.

“Excuse-me but… do I know you?”

A shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed his saliva, uneasy.

“… I hope not. Why?”

“Your face looks familiar, she admitted, before pulling herself together. Well, never mind. Go on.”

“Normally, he has understood that she won’t coming back, but it's possible that his mind is sometimes elsewhere. He may also resent being reminded by his peers that he has only one parent left.”

Even though he had coped much better with the disappearance of the woman who had given him life than he had, he occasionally caught him standing motionless in the middle of his toys, mute and with a low expression on his face, obviously prey to some questioning. It was a fleeting state that faded as soon as Jessica, he or another family member entered his field of vision, but Aaron always paid close attention. In the same way, he had noticed his envious look at the park as he watched the other children interact with their mother. He appreciated his father's presence, but missed Haley's gentleness and positivity.

“Yes, I understand, nodded the headmistress, adopting a soothing expression. Look, Mr. Hotchner, Jack isn't the first child we've taken in who's already lost his mother, so we should be able to manage.”

“Okay. If… if there's any problem, I've written my cell phone number on his card, he insisted, handing her the document. You can call me anytime.”

“It’ll be fine, I assure you.”

He was sure she was convinced by her words – and she probably had all the skills to handle this type of case – but couldn't stop his anxiety galloping through his veins. He was already ready to jump out of his chair, get back in his car, and drive to school to put his son's mind at rest. This reminded him that he hadn’t told her everything.

“One more thing. It is… – he hesitated, conscious of the image this would give of him – probable that I won't be able to pick him up tonight. Only two people are allowed to pick him up. Here is, Jessica, his aunt, and Ada, his grandmother.”

He presented her with snapshots of the two women and she retrieved them, squinting.

“Wait, aren't you the FBI agent who was stabbed to death in his home a little over... – her enthusiasm waned as her memory delivered the rest of the information – a year ago? Oh, my God! Is it… Whoever did this to you is...?”

Hotch cursed Strauss for allowing this reporter to publish this article in the Arlington daily, complete with his photo portrait and far too many details about his assault. Several neighbors had been worried for their lives, and he had had to do some explaining to get them to dare leave their homes again. Fear had reigned over the neighborhood for several weeks, before being gradually dispelled by other news. But some people hadn't completely forgotten, and his interlocutor was now shocked by his mere presence. Completely unsettled, she stared at him as if he were on his deathbed. He had to cut short this situation, which was as embarrassing for him as it was for her.

“If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sure! Of course. Excuse me, she went on, distraught. I get that… Photos. Thank you. We… we’ll take good care of Jack.”

She no longer dared to look at him.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Very good. Good… Have a good day.”

“I hope so.”

He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but her state of shock prevented her from seeing it. He climbed back into his car and drove towards Quantico. He reached the sixth floor just as JJ was settling down in front of her screen. She looked up at him and asked, curious:

“So?”

“He's surprisingly quick to forget my existence,” he observed, as the boy had ignored the last greeting he'd tried to give him.

Absorbed in a conversation with two other boys, he had obliterated his father's tall silhouette from his surroundings.

“Oops! Grinned JJ, feeling sorry for him. Are you okay?”

“It'll be tough, but I'll get through it, he joked without much conviction. What do we have?”

His heart was still pounding under his skull and his muscles were still tense from the tension built up over the last few days. He needed to take his mind off the latent anguish compressing his ribcage.

“Three men found in a river in a small Wyoming town.”

“Locals?”

“No. They were all just passing through, JJ pointed out, handing him the folder. The sheriff is under pressure; tourism is what sustains the locals.”

Reflexively, he opened the cover, but his eyes fell on the scene of the tragedy. His son's words echoed in his head.

“A problem?” inquired JJ, aware of his trouble.

“Jack would like me to pick him up from school tonight.”

“I see. What’s the plan?”

“I'm still thinking about it, he confessed, unable to make a definite decision at this hour. Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the whole team was gathered around the briefing room table, and JJ gave them a brief description of the case and the latest advances in Garcia’s research. The profilers did a series of hypotheses and deductions, concluding that an on-site presence was essential.

“Off we go,” Morgan said, determined.

Everyone left their chairs and collected the papers spread out in front of them, except Aaron, who did not move from his seat. To the surprise of his flock.

“Hotch?” Derek raised an eyebrow, concerned.

His brain was still weighing up the pros and cons of whether or not to accompany his men into the field. While his neighbors were quoting on the proposed case, he had drawn up a comparative table in his head in order to make his decision. So he hadn't listened too much of what had been said, but finally knew what he was going to do.

“Go without me. I have an imponderable here that requires my presence. But I'll be available most of the day and tonight if necessary.”

“Most of?” repeated Prentiss, baffled.

“Not between 3 and 7 PM,” he clarified, rising to his feet.

With the exception of JJ, all the agents looked at each other, equally confused. It wasn't the first time he hadn't followed them in their investigations – his layoff, his most serious injuries and the loss of his ex-wife had kept him at home – but the specificity of this time slot was surprising. They waited for further information, which their superior did not give them, considering it none of their business. He and the liaison officer exchanged glances and agreed that he wouldn't take it badly if she revealed why he'd had to forfeit this time.

“… Okay. See… see you later,” Morgan stammered before leaving the room.

“Good luck.”

Soon he found himself alone with Penelope, who questioned him in silence, unsettled by this sudden change in protocol. He reassured her with a smile and urged her to return to her post to support her colleagues already on the way. He returned to his office and stayed there for most of the day, answering calls from subordinates and others seeking the BAU’s help, relieving the workload of the team's only mother so that she could devote herself fully to the case. One thing led to another, and his employees untangled all the knots in the story, uncovering the culprit's identity in record time. Hotch had already left his office and was driving towards downtown DC when he received a message from Derek that the suspect was under arrest. At the first red light, he sent a congratulatory message to each member of his team, and then continued on to the school, a little more appeased.

When he pulled into the nearby parking lot, the gates were still closed and only two or three parents were present. He got out of his vehicle but didn't approach them any further, not daring to disturb them or impose unwanted greetings. Anyway, his mind was entirely focused on the imminent arrival of his son. He kept his fingers crossed that everything had gone well and that all he wanted to do was go back. He hoped his master or mistress would be friendly, that he would have learned lots of things that piqued his interest, and that he would even have made some friends. In short, he prayed that he wouldn't be so angry at him for throwing him into the lion's den, with the intention of repeating the gesture.

The bell went off somewhere within the walls of the building, and less than a minute later, two people came to open the doors to the street. Many more mothers and fathers had appeared since then, and they had all stiffened at the sound of the chirping. In the end, they were all moved by the same concern, which somewhat reassured Aaron, who had often been criticized for overreacting to innocuous subjects. A handful of children emerged from the corridor and rushed towards their targets at full speed. A second wave soon followed, and more pairs and trios were formed. The director felt his heart quicken as his neurons began to imagine all sorts of contingencies that could explain this absence. At the third salvo, a familiar face stood out from the crowd and was immediately spotted. Jack galloped toward him with a smile running from ear to ear, and he threw himself into his arms with a blissful expression that annihilated all apprehensions of this very special day.

___

In the original draft, there's a dialogue between the BAU team members after they left Quantico. JJ told them the truth and as Emily was asking out loud why he didn't say it to them, Derek explained that he just couldn't (because: "Boys...", you know. XD).

I cut it because it's written with Hotch's point of view, so he can't hear them. And I wanted a cuddle between the two Hotchner's boys. X3

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #code name mom #criminal minds fanfic #jack hotchner #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau #father #son

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ddejavvu · 8 months

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pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: your starbucks order is a little too complicated for aaron to understand.

Aaron, in many ways, acts like a father. He's stern when he notices one of his agents on their phones during a case, he scolds Reid for not getting enough sleep, and he's infinitely grumpy when traffic is poor. It means that when he swings the van into a starbucks drive-thru on your way back to the precinct, you feel like a kid on Christmas.

"Hotch!" You squeal, mouth already watering in anticipation of your favorite drink, "I knew you were my favorite."

He lets a small, amused smile grace his typically stoic features, hands relaxed at the wheel as he maneuvers the van beside the window.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" The speakers emit a crackly voice, and you're sure the person on the other end can't be over 20.

"One tall dark roast, and-" Aaron recites, then turns to you, "What do you want?"

Aaron's never heard so many words jumbled together before. You spit the name of your drink like it's lyrics to a song, an unintelligible rhythm to them that Aaron is helplessly lost amidst. You must have told him twenty separate terms, stringing them together in a way he could never hope to reproduce. He blinks once, his jaw shifted so that his lips part slightly.

"What?"

You huff out a laugh, "A-"

"Will that be all for you today, sir?"

Tense, realizing you have no time to coach Aaron on your hyperspecific drink, you surge forwards, nimble hands undoing your seatbelt as you lean across Aaron to speak into the receiver.

Out of reflex, your hand falls to his thigh to brace yourself, and the muscles are strong beneath your fingers. You nearly jumble up your own drink order, especially at the way his breath hitches when you practically crawl over his lap in the seat to stick your head towards the window.

Aaron's never been this close to you before. Not like this, not with your hand on his thigh and your ass not far behind. If he were to glance down, which he won't, he could see straight down your top. He won't, though. He wouldn't have a clear enough head for driving if he did.

Aaron didn't catch your drink order before, and he's certainly not able to now, too overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and the feeling of your palm braced steadily against his thigh. You dig your fingers into the fabric of his dress pants for stability and he hopes you can't feel the way his slacks tighten ever-so-slightly, cursing himself for chubbing up like a horny teen.

"Okay," The employee hums, furiously pressing buttons on the computer to complete your order, "Is that all for you folks?"

"That's it," You hum cheerily, "Thank you!"

"$11.87,", the voice comes back, not nearly as jovial as you.

You unstick yourself from Aaron's thigh, knee aching from where it had been balanced on the center console. You send him a sheepish smile when your faces are only inches away, lips plumping as they curl.

"Sorry," You breathe, settling back in your seat so that Aaron can pull up to the next window, "I know it's complicated. I didn't think to prep you. I panicked."

"It's alright," He manages to find his voice, using every ounce of strength in his body to fight against the speechlessness that threatens to overtake him. He hands his card to the woman at the window, and sees you already reaching for your wallet to pay him back. He won't let you.

He pulls up to the next window and clears the cupholder of someone's old plastic water bottle, "I don't even think Garcia has that long of an order. And she's notorious for trying pinterest brews."

"It's complicated, but it's good," You gush, happily taking the drink from him when he's handed it by the man in the window. Aaron's surprised they managed to concoct yours in under twenty minutes. Your lipstick leaves a prim stain on the white lid, and you hum in pleasure, "Ooh, they made it just right."

Aaron sips at his own bitter roast, using one hand to steer as he fumbles to fit his drink in the small cupholder. He's got his eyes on the road, and his hands occupied, so he's a little frazzled when the rim of your drink pops into sight beside his face.

"Wanna try some?"

"That's okay, my hands are full." He hums, seriously considering just crashing the car to have a hand to take your drink with. He can't believe he's missing the opportunity to fit his lips over residue of your own, press his mouth to that pretty pink kiss mark you'd left in your wake.

"It's alright, here." You hold the drink to his lips, "I got it."

Aaron steals a glance at the cup as he fits his mouth around the spout, spending as much time as he can staring at your lipstick on the rim before looking back up at the road. You tilt the cup towards him, and the drink floods his mouth, excessively sweet and creamy.

He nods and you lower the cup again, careful not to spill any on his neat, white dress shirt. He hums at the taste, hoping you share a similar one, "That's good. Very sweet."

"Mhm." You agree, raising the drink to your own lips again. Aaron feels a sheen of grainy residue on his lips, and he's hoping it's not the stain of your lipstick, just the feeling of it.

He's unlucky.

"Oh, Hotch," You laugh, "There's lipstick on your face. Hang on," You lean over, smearing your thumb against the very corner of his mouth, "There. Sorry," You're sheepish as you settle back into your seat, "The perks of sharing drinks, I guess."

Aaron thinks he'll remember the feeling of your hand pressed against his face for eternity, and he'd be willing to suck down a thousand cups of liquid sugar just to feel it again.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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pathologicalreid · 3 months

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hello my new favorite tumblr writer 😇 i will b honest i have never requested anything before so!! bear with me. however the spencer reid brainrot is all too real SO would you be open to doing anything with a hotchner!fem!reader? bau or not for the reader! something something hotch is very hesitant about their relationship but maybe reader gets caught in the crossfire of something and hotch and prentiss see them together afterward and prentiss is like “that looks pretty real to me.” DOES THAT MAKE ANY SENSE OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW THANK YOUUUU 🫡

a father's daughter | S.R.

in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

who? spencer reid x hotchner!fem!bau!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, blood, stitches, hospitals, medical inaccuracy word count: 2.03k a/n: anon you are legendary. this is an incredible request and i am so honored to be your new favorite tumblr writer! i am an absolute sucker for anything hotchner!reader (or rossi!reader) so i absolutely ate this request up! (also if anyone wanted to drop a request in my inbox... it would be welcome)

Aaron Hotchner was the most professional person in the BAU, except when it came to you. You, like him, had gone to law school. You were a public defender for just a short time before being put into WITSEC, and when your mother died, you applied to the FBI Academy.

Plain and short, it was nepotism, but no one was going to argue with the man whose wife was murdered by a serial killer. Your dad wanted you in the BAU so he could keep an eye on you, and there was nothing Erin Strauss could do about it. What your father couldn’t control, was your relationship with Reid.

He could tell you that he didn’t approve, but so long as David Rossi, king of inter-bureau mingling, was around, he couldn’t actually do anything to stop you. “I’m just saying that I’ve never seen Reid be consistent with a relationship,” your dad said, having pulled you away from the team to, once again, try to warn you off of your relationship.

“He’s been pretty consistent for the last seven months,” you responded, rifling through the victims' files that were in your arms.

You started to make your way out of the empty office when your father spoke again, “And he’s too old for you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you pivoted and faced your father, “He’s three years older than I am, I’m twenty-six. That’s hardly an age gap to bat an eye at.” The two of you had always had a rocky relationship, he missed a large portion of your childhood due to this job and you always tried to not resent him for it.

Your parents’ marriage fell apart, neither of them handled it well, and you weren’t all that surprised. They had gotten married when your mom got pregnant with you because they thought that was what they were supposed to do, and when Jack couldn’t keep them together, everything fell apart.

“You have no right to lecture me on relationships, Agent Hotchner,” you snapped, staring him down. Daring him to challenge you.

He sighed, obviously trying not to lose his patience with you. “I’d just hate for you to find out you wasted your time on something that wasn’t real.”

The door behind you swung open, you spun on your heels to face Emily. “Sorry, uh, we have a location, Morgan’s coordinating with SWAT,” she said, looking between you and your father.

“Great, let’s go,” your father said, his parental demeanor falling away as his Unit Chief mask took its place.

You walked out the door to see the rest of the team, Rossi tossed you a Kevlar vest as you walked over to where Spencer was standing with the police chief, “Where are we headed?” You asked, undoing the Velcro on the vest and pulling it over your torso. The beige precinct was buzzing as agents and officers prepared to break into the UnSub’s home base. Hopefully to find his most recent victim still alive.

Reid reached over and adjusted the strap of your vest, making sure it was evenly tightened over your shoulders. “Garcia found a warehouse on the other side of town. It’s being rented out under an anagram of the first victim’s name,” he said, gently squeezing your arm before dropping his hands back to his side.

Nodding, you followed the rest of the team out the metal doors of the precinct and into the black SUVs. “Your UnSub’s name is Jonas Watts, he used a different name to rent the space but the account he uses to pay for it is under his name,” Garcia’s voice rang through the speaker as she told you about the perpetrator. “He checks every UnSub box we have, raised by a single father after his mother left, and… oh, multiple arrests for assault.”

You looked up to the driver’s seat, your dad was white-knuckling the steering wheel, entirely focused on driving as you listened to Garcia reciting the UnSub’s rap sheet.

When you arrived at the warehouse SWAT was already there and Morgan started organizing the tactical assault. Drawing your weapon, you nodded at your teammate when he instructed you to go around the back with himself and your father. Allowing Morgan to kick the door down, the three of you held your firearms up and began clearing the warehouse.

Further away, you heard Emily and Spencer clearing the front. “Clear, moving up,” you called into your radio as you approached the stairs, stepping on them carefully so they didn’t creak. On the landing, you looked at a trail of blood on the ground. “There’s a blood trail in the upper west wing,” you whispered.

“Move up, little Hotch, I’m right behind you,” Morgan responded.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, one that you had begged him to stop using, you moved forward, keeping your firearm aimed right in front of you. Turning into the room that the blood trail led to, you immediately ducked when you saw a knife coming for you. Keeping your gun aimed, you faced down the UnSub, “Jonas Watts, FBI!” You announced yourself, scanning the room for the girl he took last night.

Watts shook his head, “You’re not supposed to be here! You can’t be here!” He shouted in distress.

“Where’s the girl, Jonas? Where did you take Isobel?” You asked him, not seeing her in the room the two of you were in. There was another entrance on the left of him.

He stepped toward you, and you cocked your gun, “I don’t have her now. I lost her, she’s lost,” he said, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Unnerved, you decided to take a leap of faith, “Jonas, where’s your partner?” A partner hadn’t been part of the profile, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The crimes were too complex, it didn’t match up with something as simple as using an anagram of a victim’s name for the warehouse rental.

Morgan filed in behind you, aiming his gun at Jonas, same as you. “Time’s running out, Jonas. If you tell us about your partner we can help you,” he said, slowly inching toward Watts.

“It’s too late,” Jonas wailed.

Someone knocked into you from behind, causing you to stumble forward before you were pulled to your feet. One arm was locked around your torso, and another was holding a knife to your throat. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll cut her fucking throat!” The unnamed man said from behind you, he was almost impossibly tall, easily overpowering you.

You didn’t dare move, not with that knife to your throat, one false move and you’d bleed out. Morgan shouted for him to let you go, but he just pressed the knife tighter to your neck, splitting the skin.

Shutting your eyes, you tried not to cry, fearing the damage it would do to your throat.

Your captor held you tightly to him, using your body to block Morgan from shooting. Something warm trickled down your collarbone, and you weren’t sure if it was blood or tears.

For a moment, you thought you could swing your foot back into his knee, but the fear of having your carotid cut outweighed your bravery.

Ever since you were a kid, you thought death would be quiet. Something you slipped into like sleep, but your death was loud, and it left your ears ringing.

The afterlife was the weirdest place you’ve ever been, someone was calling your name, and you heard your rights being read. Although, why you would need your Miranda Rights in the afterlife you had no idea.

“Angel, please open your eyes,” someone said.

Confused, you opened your eyes and saw familiar eyes staring down at you. Golden and bleary. Spencer, Spencer was here. You tried to sit up, but he held you down, keeping a hand on your throat.

Morgan was shouting for medical, saying there was an agent down. You turned your head to see the still unidentified UnSub on the ground, shot through the temple. Using his free hand to turn your chin, “Don’t look,” Spencer whispered. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, angel.”

If you weren’t still coming down from an adrenaline high, you might’ve smiled at the irony of the nickname. Being called ‘angel’ after having your neck cut felt like tempting fate.

Where was your dad? Of everyone here, you expected him to be here, barking orders at people.

As if summoned by your thoughts, your dad appeared, nearly hauling an EMT behind him, “Help her,” he said.

Yeah, that absolutely tracked.

The EMT’s packed your wound and assured everyone that your carotid had not been slit, against your protests, the ambulance brought you to the hospital for stitches. Emily had run to the hotel to get your go bag, allowing you to change out of your bloodied clothes.

Thankfully, the doctors said you didn’t need to stay overnight, meaning you and the team got to go home. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked while you were waiting to board the jet.

You hummed, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes, and leaning against a car, “Tired, but I’m alright.” Tired might have been underselling it, you felt like all of the energy had been physically drained from your body. “You worry too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes for just a moment. Your throat was a little raspy, but it should go back to normal after a couple of days.

“Your throat was cut about four hours ago, some might say I’m not worrying enough,” he responded, reaching down, and picking up your bag, carrying it over to the jet once they got the okay to board. On the jet, he gestured to the seat, “Lay down, get some rest.”

You furrowed your brows, “Isn’t it kind of frowned upon to take up a whole seat?” You asked, of course, sometimes it happened, but you didn’t want to take up too much space.

Spencer cocked his head at you, “I don’t think anyone is going to fight you on it, love.”

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the seat, laying down and closing your eyes, falling asleep before you even left the tarmac.

Being the Unit Chief had its perks, surely, but the piles of paperwork sometimes felt never-ending. Aaron took a deep breath before he closed the file, Rossi sat across from him, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Prentiss whispered, taking the seat next to him and setting her glass of water down on the small table. “Do you see that?” She said, gesturing with her head toward where you were lying down, asleep.

Right next to you was Reid, who usually had his nose buried in a book at this point in a flight, but he was wide awake, and all of his focus seemed to be on you. Begrudgingly, Hotch watched as Spencer reached over and tucked a blanket around you as if he was afraid you’d freeze on the temperature-controlled jet. “What about it?” Hotch asked, reaching over for the next file.

His eyes flicked up again, Spencer was sitting on the floor of the jet. Everyone had elected to leave the couch seats for the two of you, but the one across the aisle from you was empty. Like Reid didn’t even want you to be any more than one foot away from him.

Leaning back in the chair, Emily shook her head, “That’s what we in the business call hypervigilance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, he just spared another glance over at the two of you. “’We in the business’?” He inquired, humoring Prentiss.

“I’m just saying… the hovering? The blanket? I don’t know about you, but that looks pretty real to me,” she said, leaning back in the leather seat.

Silently, he glared, it would seem his hopes of getting the team to stop eavesdropping on familial conversations were quashed.

“Just let the kids be, Aaron,” Rossi said, grinning into his glass.

He cleared his throat and flipped open the new file before he acquiesced, “Fine, for now.”

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#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #margot's asks #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds angst

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cometkenji · 20 days

Text

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.”

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers.

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying.

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could.

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you.

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question.

Damn. Tough crowd.

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang.

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal.

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac.

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home.

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him.

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right.

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him.

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action.

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest.

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?”

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop.

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing.

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here.

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said.

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently.

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him.

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped.

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital.

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it.

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you.

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #fanfiction #suggestive #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #comet: SR

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bau-muffin · 20 days

Text

“Live Mas”

Word count: 6343

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, dbf!Hotch if you squint

Content warning: oral sex, fingering, p in v sex

Summary: you had a bad week at work, and Aaron suggests you go on a cabin trip. What could possibly happen?

Author’s Note: this is for my friend’s (@rivnxm) birthday! Happy birthday darling, and I hope you have a WONDERFUL day <3 xoxo

“Oh my god, thank you for letting me crash here,” you said, half gratefully, half apologetically, with a bottle of wine in your hand. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you with a half smile from where he was sitting in an oversized armchair, beckoning with his hand for you to set your things down.

“You’re lucky you caught me on a day where I actually got to go home at a decent hour. Jack’s at Jessica’s until Sunday night, and this house sounded a little hollow.”

You sat your bag on the floor unceremoniously beside the couch, the wine on the coffee table, and yourself on the couch, flopping a bit.

He eyed you, and you almost rolled your eyes as you felt him “profile” you.

“Rough day?” Aaron asked.

“Rough week. JD is giving me issues and I can’t stand him! He said my article was frivolous. Frivolous! Can you believe the gall?”

“Isn’t this the same guy who said your use of the word “persnickety” in an editorial was entirely too casual?”

“The one and only bastard.”

“If only he was the only bastard. It would make my job easier.”

You rolled your eyes, “you know what I meant.”

He reached for the wine bottle and pulled out a bottle opener and popped it open, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I do.”

Of course, your friendship with Aaron Hotchner was probably a bit strange. He was in his 40s, a father, and a widower who had been through a divorce, and you were… well, quite a bit younger and not as jaded or cynical.

You were acquainted with him through your father, whose expertise was consulted for a case as a favor to Aaron, and somehow you two clicked and became better friends than he was with your father. You’d met him after your father invited him to a barbecue, and you realized you’d never met a more stoic man, nor one who could wear the hell out of a quarter zip shirt like he did. Did you form a small crush on him? Yes. Did you dare utter it aloud? Hell no. You suppressed the snot out of it.

“You know what I need? I need a vacation. Just… to relax. Maybe become one with nature, let the moss grow on me like a rock.”

Aaron got up to get wine glasses from his wet bar, and came back, sitting down in his chair as he poured the wine in the glasses. “What would your ideal vacation be?”

“Gosh… I love the mountains,” you said dreamily, your chin propped up on your knuckle, “I haven’t stayed in a cabin since… I don’t know, since I lived with my parents.”

He handed you a glass of wine. “I see.”

“You sound awfully pensive, what’s ticking in that head of yours?”

“I was thinking… maybe, we could take a vacation. Just you and me and a cabin in the mountains. A retreat, if you will. Jack’s at Jessica’s, and I have an overstock of days off.”

You took a sip of wine and leaned forward. “Where were you thinking?”

“West Virginia. I’ve rented a cabin before that was about four or five hours drive from here- easily doable for a weekend getaway. We could leave tomorrow after work, Friday, and come back Sunday evening.”

“Why would you come?”

He shrugged. “Keep an eye out on you. Plus, I need a break too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you not believe I can take care of myself at all?”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” Aaron insisted, “I just… I don’t know, I don’t want to risk anything.”

You were aware of his overprotective tendencies, partially because of the horrors he saw at his job, and also because of what happened to his wife. Your eyes and lips softened a little at the layer of concern in his voice. “Well… I guess it’s always more fun with friends.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You could bring some board games.”

“Are you telling me Super Special Agent Aaron Hotchner is fond of board games?”

“That is not what SSA stands for, and you know it,” he said with a laugh.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of Aaron’s SUV after work the next day. He had loaded up your bags, snacks, and cooler of drinks into the trunk without much complaint, which surprised you. You were sure he would make the typical sarcastic “traveling light?” comment that most guys did, but it was nothing from him.

“I guess I’m the passenger princess,” you said with a laugh before you popped a gummy worm in your mouth from the bag between your legs.

His eyebrows raised in bewilderment as he looked over at you. “I- if you mean exactly what the term sounds like, yes, I guess you are.” Aaron looked at the road before looking back at you. “Gummy worm, please?”

“I’m surprised Penelope hasn’t taught you more internet slang,” you said as you handed him a red and green gummy worm.

“She taught me what “rizz” and… um… “slay” means. That was too much for me.” He popped the worm into his mouth. You studied the side of his face for a second before he glanced over at you. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a gummy man.”

“I love gummies. If Ronald Reagan ate jellybellies to concentrate on ruining our country, then I eat gummies to help save it. It’s not so great for my physique, though.”

“I like your physique,” you blurted.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t say anything as he turned his attention to the road, though even your view of the side of his face didn’t hide the small smirk.

“You’re smug,” you said, teasingly accusatory.

“I don’t get many compliments on my physique nowadays- give me a minute or two to stew in it.”

“It- it kind of reminds me of Atticus Finch. You know- from To Kill a Mockingbird?” You said ramblingly.

“Are you saying I’m Gregory Peck?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he had that damn smirk on his face.

“I-“ you paused for a moment before lifting the bag of gummy worms comically, inspecting the back of it. “What level of alcohol content is in this anyways?”

“Hopefully none, considering I’m driving us, and you gave me one.”

“You’re a lightweight if all it takes is a gummy worm to get you tipsy- but there is none, you are very astute, Aaron.”

By the time you guys drove up the winding lane to the cabin, you were exhausted. You planned on taking a nap as soon as you hauled your luggage in, and you had told Aaron as much about fifteen minutes before the estimated arrival time. It was nightfall anyhow.

“I’m the one who drove, and you’re exhausted,” he mused with a smile as he carefully set some luggage on the porch.

“You’re more than welcome to take a nap too, if you’d like,” you said with a soft scoff as you waited by the door for him to open the cabin, “I’m sure there’s more than enough space for you to lay your weary head.”

“I’m sure there is,” Aaron said with a small smile as he opened the door to the cabin, with the instructions that the owner had given. When you lugged the cooler and snacks in, the smell of wood met your nose.

“This makes me so nostalgic,” you said breathily, carrying your load to the kitchen.

It was a medium sized cabin, so the living room, which featured a nice fireplace, and the kitchen were all in one open space. You didn’t study it much further as you began loading your drinks and food onto the counters and into the fridge, and Aaron began pulling in suitcases and toiletry bags.

“I’ll check the layout, and you can decide which bedroom you want to stay in,” he explained.

“Be quick about it, I need to get my blanket and pillow,” you said lightheartedly.

“Yes ma’am,” he said sarcastically before venturing further.

You cleared your throat when you realized the formal address made you feel something low in your stomach, but you tried to ignore it. You continued putting things away, then you turned and Aaron was standing there, his brows creased.

You rolled your eyes as your hand landed on your chest by instinct. “God, you scared me.”

He ignored you. “We have a problem.”

“What is it? It’s not a leak, is it?”

“If only. I could fix that. No, it turns out I booked a cabin with only one bed.”

“Oh-“

“However, I can probably sleep on the couch. If it makes you feel better, we can take turns.”

“Aaron, no, take the bed. Not to make you feel old, but your back-“

“My back is fine,” he said gruffly, “I sleep on my couch at home all of the time.”

“Aaron…”

“Don’t ‘Aaron’ me,” he said with a tiny smile, “I insist. Besides, you’re tired, and it’s almost time to go to sleep for the night anyway.”

“You damn smooth lawyer fbi agent,” you muttered as you moved to carry your stuff to the adjacent bedroom, “you make a good argument.”

“I know I do. Now, go get some rest. We can start planning the itinerary tomorrow morning.”

“What makes you think I won’t just sleep in until lunch time?” you asked sassily.

“Then I suppose that’s your prerogative.”

You moved to give him a hug, setting your bags down. “We’ll see. Good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“I hope they do,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Good night.”

You thought you heard an amused hum behind you as you tote everything to the bedroom. It was cute- a queen sized bed with a nice quilt on it that had an adorable design featuring bears, a large dresser that looked hand carved, and side tables with rustic lamps that had antlers for shades.

The bathroom was a decent size, and you found that the shower looked like a dream. But when you looked out of the sliding door where there was evidently a deck… you were surprised to see a hot tub. A hot tub, but not two bedrooms, you mused.

Then you saw the mountains, lit faintly by moonlight, and you gasped, awe filling you as you studied the range, your eyes tracing every pinnacle.

But after you put on your cotton pajamas and brushed your teeth and showered, you slid under the covers, the weight of the quilt settling nicely on you, and you realized- you can hear every damn scampering and skittering creature in the woods. The crickets that once seemed to be a comforting constant now sounded more ominous, and the frogs that were croaking innocently seemed to take on an edge.

You scrolled on your phone for a while, all of the lamps turned off and your face illuminated by the screen. But your brain was not winding down, and you were not sleepy. You set your phone on the side table, and turned from the window, your face towards the door, and closed your eyes.

No bueno. Those critters and the chirping and the croaking and various skittering wouldn’t let you sleep.

It took about two hours before your resolve melted and you got up out of bed.

As quietly as you could, you padded to the kitchen- you had not made it to the fridge well before you heard Aaron’s groggy voice saying your name and then, “are you okay?”

You could barely see his head peeking over the back of the couch, pointed away from the kitchen.

“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get some water. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

You paused, wondering if you should admit the embarrassing truth. “The noises outside.”

“Someone’s not accustomed to the great outdoors and being away from highways and interstates,” he said a tad bit teasingly.

“I’m not,” you admitted as you filled a cup with water.

“C’mere.”

You sipped the water. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to help you go to sleep.”

You set your cup on the counter. “And your method would be…?”

“Stop asking so many questions and just c’mere,” he said, a tad bit exasperated.

“Okay dad,” you said sarcastically as you ventured towards the couch.

Aaron was half laying on the couch, his elbow propping himself up. His legs were covered by a thin blanket, but he was wearing a slightly tight green t-shirt with the Schweppes logo on it that made you bite your lip. You could clearly see an outline of his chest and the small chub of his belly even only lit by the moonlight through the window, and it was… well, he was an attractive man and you’d never felt a greater impulse to bury your head into someone’s chest before. You ignored your baser instincts.

“I’m here,” you say, almost sounding annoyed, your hands on your waist. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flitted over your pajamas.

“Sit on the couch with me. Maybe we can watch something until you fall asleep.” He sat up and patted the seat next to him.

“Were you not asleep when I came in?” You sat down beside him, and he threw part of his blanket over your lap.

“I’m a light sleeper because I’m constantly listening out for Jack. Or my phone, for the bureau.” He put his arm behind your head on the back of the couch. “You can lean into me, if you want, you know.”

Your head instinctively laid on his shoulder. “Aaron, I’m still befuddled why you would ask me to go to a cabin with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… our friendship is so unlikely anyways. You’re… frankly, middle aged. We’re in totally different areas of life. You have more… experience.” You cleared your throat nervously. “In life I mean.”

His eyebrows raised but he said nothing as he turned the TV on. Of course it was George Lopez.

“You make my life feel a little lighter,” Aaron said finally. “I love having you around and…” he studied his lap for a moment. “I would probably consider you my best friend. I’ve told you things I… I hadn’t told my team for… for a while. Maybe ever.” He looked up at you with a small smile. “You drag it out of me without saying a word.”

You stiffened a little at being called best friend, but you felt his eyes studying you keenly.

“And what do you want me to say? Call you my father figure?” You said teasingly.

“God, no,” he said almost a little too emphatically, cringing, “We’re definitely two adults. I don’t want that sort of… dynamic. Besides, I am way too young to be your dad.”

You grinned a little, but your eyes started to droop closed.

Aaron shifted so that you could lay more comfortably, but soon, despite the canned laughs from the TV, he too drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, you did not expect your pillow to feel so warm or firm. Your hand patted around, and you felt a moment of panic course through you.

You opened one eye to realize that your pillow was none other than the chest of Aaron Hotchner. Your face was buried into his chest and your cheeks flushed at the thought of it. You patted one more time to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Somewhere in the night, you guys had laid down, and your legs were tangled with his, your back against the back of the couch and Aaron facing you, kind of… pinning you.

“Having fun there?” His voice said softly, though a smile was evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry-“ you scrambled to sit up but he shushed you gently.

“Don’t worry about it, we were asleep. It’s not like you could have helped that.”

“Still-“

“I am not going to tolerate you blaming yourself for something so innocent and harmless,” Aaron said sternly, his voice deepened by the morning grogginess. It was too early in the morning for you to need to clutch your legs together. Your resolve or the lack thereof was embarrassing, really.

“Is this how you talk to your agents?” You asked teasingly.

“Yes,” he admits, “I have had to remind my agents that sometimes things don’t go as planned on missions, and it’s not always their fault. Some of them take it hard.”

You leaned your head back against his chest, and his hand moved to the small of your back.

“Do you think…” you started but then hesitated.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think it would be inappropriate if we flipped so that I’m… you know, on your chest?”

No words were spoken; you felt his strong arms move you, and you were laying on his chest.

“I take that as a no,” you murmured. His chuckle rumbled within his chest underneath you.

“We’re friends, we can take it, right?” Aaron said, almost cryptically.

You attempted to sit up, but when you realized how… intimate that felt, you laid back down. “I really don’t think you’ve been telling me the whole truth,” you said daringly. You looked up at him and you could see his arched eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“We have some sort of tension, and I need to know if you feel it too.”

“Tension?”

“Don’t play dumb, Aaron.”

He said your name, and it was followed by a second of hesitance.

“Aaron. We’re both adults here,” you said pleadingly.

He looked down at you, his eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t explain what you saw in those dark eyes of his, a vulnerable yet guarded fortress that you could occasionally peer into like a dollhouse. He looked so… conflicted. Like he wanted something that was well within reach, but fear or uncertainty was holding him back.

Aaron easily could have leaned down and kissed you. He knew that.

But instead he said, “do you want coffee? I brought the coffee beans you said you liked and a grinder.”

You could have pushed further but you didn’t. “I do, yeah. I probably need to change for the day anyway.”

After you awkwardly scrambled away from him, you sat in the bedroom on the bed for a couple of minutes after undressing down to your underwear to stew on what could have happened. Why didn’t he kiss you? You could have sworn he was going to but stopped himself. Why was he forbidding himself from something he wanted, that he could have enthusiastically?

When you did finally reemerge (dressed of course), you smelled the coffee perking in the coffee pot provided by the cabin owners.

“Did you sterilize that thing?” You asked him worriedly, sending a look to where he was leaning against the counter, texting on his phone.

“I did, don’t worry,” Aaron reassured you, looking up at you from his phone with a smile, “I know how you are about sterilizing kitchen items.”

“I am not risking a brain eating amoeba even for you, Hotchner.” You sat down at the kitchen bar with a sigh.

Stealthily, you scanned his outfit- a brown and orange plaid flannel shirt, rolled up to the forearms, and khaki pants. God forbid he wears jeans even away from the office, you smiled to yourself.

“Apparently everyone at the office is making bets about why I went on leave.” Aaron slid his phone into his pocket as he began pouring coffee into a mug.

“What are the reasons given by them?”

“Morgan is saying that I sprained an ankle and didn’t want to risk mandatory leave. Rossi says I’m finally gaining my wits and letting loose for a weekend and getting ‘shitfaced.’ Garcia is saying I’ve eloped and went to Paris. Emily and JJ have decided not to bet but are keeping up with the money.” He placed the mug in front of you on the bar. “Prepared just the way you like it.”

You sipped it, holding the mug with both hands. “This is perfect.”

“As many times as I’ve picked up your order from the cafe, I ought to know it by heart.” He picked up his own mug and sipped on it, his strong hand wrapped around it as though he could crush it, and you felt something filter through you. The curvature of his hands, the strength evident in the veins and his fingers- but the way they were holding the fragile mug, carefully and cautiously picking it up and placing it down again.

The way his lips rested on the rim, his throat gulping slightly with every drink- there was something so vulnerable and intimate about watching him drink, even though you’ve seen each other drink a million other times. And yet, you began feeling a little green.

Aaron lowered his mug to look at you.

“You look like you’re a million miles away. Not to mention you’re staring.”

“Mm? No, um… I’m okay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He was a profiler. Why bother hiding anything from him.

“I’m jealous,” you blurted.

His eyebrows raised until his forehead wrinkled. “Jealous?” he asked.

It was like a floodgate opened.

“I’m jealous of the coffee mug because you willingly put your lips on and take tender sips from it. I’m jealous because you wrap your hands around it protectively. I’m just… downright envious of the way you hold it, Aaron. Because I know you refuse yourself me.”

After you had said it, you covered your face with your hands. This cabin was way too small for such a confession.

And yet, you felt his hands, still warm from holding the coffee mug, tug your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Aaron said softly, “you’re… right that I refuse myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re young. I’m so much older than you, I would be holding you back. I have a lot of baggage, for crying out loud, I don’t want to haul that into your life just for you to…” his voice trailed off. It struck you.

“You’re afraid of me leaving you.”

“I know you’re ambitious,” he admitted, “and you should be with someone equally as ambitious. I’m in the phase where I could retire from the FBI to be home with Jack. I’m in my career because it’s… it’s my passion.”

“You’re still thinking about Haley,” you said softly.

“Yes,” Aaron admitted, “I won’t lie and say that what all happened with Haley doesn’t affect how I go forward with relationships.”

“I’m not so ambitious that I can’t appreciate a good man, Aaron. That’s not to say I would quit my job or my pursuits for you, but I don’t think you’d want me to either.”

He took your hands in his. “I wouldn’t. I like you just as you are. You and your work drama, the way you’re so finicky about certain things but carefree in others- driving you to the mountains may have been the highlight of the trip because as soon as ranges came into view, your nose was stuck to the window, and I’m almost certain you’d still see your nose print on the glass. The way you adore people and the little things in life… I’ve never been able to master that, but it comes so effortlessly to you.”

The revelation hit you like a nerf bullet to the forehead out of nowhere. “You notice those things?”

“I do.”

“You know… the drive up doesn’t have to be the highlight,” you said a little teasingly.

“And what are you suggesting?” A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m suggesting we either get this out of our systems and forget it ever happened, or we start something that we can’t finish without one of us breaking our heart.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron said quietly.

You didn’t have to think before you pulled him closer by his unbuttoned flannel, and your lips wavered half an inch away from his. His eyes flitted down to look at your lips before gazing into your own eyes.

“I’m so sure,” you said breathlessly.

That was the only cue he needed before he closed the distance between you, his lips landing on yours softly before they sought your lips like he was scouring for water in a desert. His arms pulled you out of the bar stool and onto your feet, his hands settling on your back on and around your waist. The old man had it in him, anyone would have to admit it.

Not too old for surprises, apparently, as he gripped you and hoisted you onto the counter. You squealed a little, and you could hear him chuckling. Your hands went to his shoulders, and your legs hooked around his waist.

His hands held your face on either side and pulled you in closer. If he could inject himself into your skin, you know he would.

You playfully nipped, pulling his lip between your teeth and sucking on it, eliciting a groan from Aaron that made you grin as you continued kissing him.

Your tongues waltzed together in intricate circles, and you felt his hands ease to your bottom as they splayed out to support you.

“What do you think you’re doing,” you murmured. He grinned like a cat who got the milk.

“I’m about to take you to the bedroom, and we’re about to make love. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“Carry on,” you said lightly, your lips against his neck as he toted you to the bedroom.

It wasn’t long before your back hit the mattress as he laid you down carefully.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” you quipped with a smirk as you looked up at him. Aaron chuckled as he tugged off his flannel and threw it to the side.

“I have to be at least a little fit to be in the FBI. Besides, I’m not that old. Now, Rossi…”

“You are not about to mention Rossi before an intimate moment,” you interjected, half incredulous and half amused.

“Sorry, sorry. But point being, I’m not exactly ancient, and my muscles haven’t completely disintegrated.” His T-shirt was soon discarded, and flung it to who knows where.

Your eyes roved over his muscles, and the sight of them made you want to salivate. He wasn’t what most would consider “ripped,” but his muscles were defined while also having a little bit of a tummy. You wouldn’t change a thing about him.

“They haven’t disintegrated,” you agreed with a small smile.

Aaron leaned down over you. “Do you mind if I relieve you of your clothes?” He asked teasingly.

“Be my guest,” you murmured lazily.

He took his time, pulling your sweatpants down and disposed of it, tugging off your baby tee shirt next. You could see him visibly gulp as he studied your bra and panties.

“Now, before we go forward…” his finger was hooked on the waistband of your panties, playing with it, “are you sure you want this? Absolutely sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure, Aaron, I swear.”

“At any time, if you want to stop, please tell me,” he said earnestly, “it’s absolutely necessary for you to know that we can stop if you don’t want to go any further. I don’t care how far into it we’ve gone, if it’s any less than enthusiastic then we timeout.”

“You’re precious, you know that?”

Aaron almost looked horrified. “You better tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this from a partner.”

You nibbled on your lip. “You’re just very thorough about it. Usually a simple “uh huh” suffices.”

“Sweetheart, like I said, I want nothing less than enthusiastic consensual sex. It’s just important to me.”

“Then you’ve got it,” you smiled up at him.

His hand fished under your back to unhook your bra, and when he pulled it away from your chest, you swore he was in awe like some people are of a sunset.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful, baby,” he said breathlessly.

You felt yourself flush and it traveled well into your chest area, and he chuckled, amused, as he kissed the nipple of your left breast, feeling the heat against his lips.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” Aaron said warmly.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and freed you of them. The cold air hit you and you squirmed, but he surged into action, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. The noises he made, almost sounds of desperation, turned you on almost as much as his mouth on your breast.

His hand began kneading your other breast, and you breathed heavily.

“Fuck,” you muttered, a shot of lightning down your back, “you’re so good at this.”

Aaron moved away from your nipple and smirked at you. “Oh, do you mean that I’m… experienced?”

“Shut up and suck a tit,” you groaned, your hand going to your face in embarrassment as he chuckled.

“Did you really think I missed that earlier?”

“Not really, I was just hoping.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

Your hand went to your clit, and you began rubbing it in soft circles with your index and middle fingers, and Aaron resumed sucking your breast, transitioning to the other one. Of course you’ve masturbated before, but the combined sensation of him on your nipples and your own fingers was sending you over the edge as you lifted your hips to ride them, moaning in his ear.

When you felt that sweet release, your head tilted back, and you relaxed. Honestly, you could have slept, but Aaron clearly had different ideas.

“My turn, pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin?” You asked in surprise.

“Listen, I was trying something,” he said a little defensively, “but the point being that I want to make you feel good. You’re already so wet.”

He took your hand, pulling it away from you, and he sucked the cum off your fingers, his larger hand engulfing around your hand. He finally pulled your fingers out with a loud “pop.”

“Sweet- just like you, actually,” Aaron said smugly.

“And I’m sure you’ve got a sweet tooth in your head somewhere,” you replied as you watched his head approach between your thighs.

If only you could tell the version of you that had seen Aaron at the barbeque and thought he was handsome “for a man his age” that eventually his black hair would be seen bobbing between your legs with his tongue delving into your pussy. That version of him that had been wearing his brown quarter zip, looking down at you while your dad introduced you two. Who would have thought?

And fuck, that man was talented with his tongue. Was tying cherry stems with your tongue mandatory in the FBI? If it wasn’t, it should be. But otherwise- that G-Man knew his way around the G-Spot.

He made your insides feel like they had been melted down, sitting low in your stomach as the coil tightened. If this was just his tongue…

Aaron lapped at your depths, making those same desperate noises he had been making earlier. You moaned, your hands searching for something to grasp, and they found his shoulders. Your hold was so strong, it left red marks behind on his pale skin.

Your own guttural noises, some you hadn’t been sure you ever made before, melded with the sound of the wet noise of him eating you out, and you were suddenly so glad that you were in a cabin on a winding road.

“Aaron,” you said breathlessly, your chest heaving beautifully, “I’m ready, I think I’m ready for… for you.”

He lifted his head up at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, although… um… I didn’t bring lube.”

“Mhm… What about protection?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Well… to put your mind at ease, I’m clean, I just got tested a few months ago as part of a physical, and it was after I broke up with Beth. I haven’t… had sex since we broke up.”

“I’m clean too.”

Aaron kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good.”

“Is it… do you think I could…”

He kissed from your belly button up to between your breasts. “Say it with your words, darling.”

“Can I ride you? Please?”

“Far be it from me to withhold pleasure from a princess,” he said smugly. You flushed.

“I’m not a princess,” you protested weakly, not even sounding convinced of your own statement.

“You absolutely are. You’re my princess, at least.”

“Then do the princess a favor and remove your bottoms,” you said coyly.

With a laugh, he stood up from the bed and began unbuckling his belt, and slipped off his pants. You hadn’t taken him for a boxer guy, but you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised. The outline of his dick was visible through his boxers, obviously hard, but when he slipped them off, your mouth gaped a small bit.

You saw the size of his shoes and his nose, you knew what the chances were of him being well endowed. But you didn’t ever really think you’d get to see for yourself. He didn’t look like he was too big, but he certainly wasn’t too small- not terribly long, but certainly girthy.

Absent-mindedly he stroked it, smearing the precum on the head. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Aaron, if you put this off one second longer-“

“Patience,” he stifled a laugh as he laid down on the bed beside her, his hands patting his thighs in a beckoning motion.

You moved to straddle his thighs, and carefully, you lined his dick up with your entrance, and sunk yourself onto it, inch by inch, taking deep breaths as he stretched you. When you fully sheathed him, he groaned as he held your hips, his hands splayed to support you, and your hands on his chest with small soft splatters of hair under your palms.

“Baby, you take me so well,” Aaron breathed. You clenched around him and he groaned again, his head tilted back.

Every time you moved your hips, every time he felt your ass bounce even slightly, he felt he had to fight from finishing right then and there. He truly wasn’t as young as he was, but… you had exceeded his expectations.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, his hold on your hips tightening as you rutted against him.

Your face held sheer determination, but Aaron could see when you were hitting a sweet spot by the look on your face- your eyes would glaze over slightly, and your lips would fall agape. He wished he could capture your likeness and hang it up beside the Mona Lisa- it was art, a wonder of the world.

“Baby, make some noises for me,” he urged, “I need to hear you.”

Your breasts heaved, and you whimpered as you moved up and down on his dick. His hips bucked, and you squeaked at the sudden shift.

“I’m almost there,” Aaron warned you apologetically.

“That’s okay,” you said in between panting.

True to his word, he painted your walls with his cum, and you felt like you were so soaked.

At one point, you stopped bouncing and thrusting, and panted, looking down at him and him looking up at you for what seemed an eternity, his dick still inside of you.

You slipped off of him, and rolled over to lay beside him. He pulled you against his chest, spooning you from behind.

“We really need to clean up,” he murmured against your neck, “but… I could lay here with you for so long, darling. You feel so right in my arms.”

“Ditto,” you said lazily.

Despite the urge to not get up, you both cleaned up and did the usual post sex hygienic stuff. You guys dressed again, and you sat in his lap on the couch, his arm circled around your waist.

“Mm… pretty good for an old man, wasn’t it?” Aaron teased you.

“Shut up, cradle robber,” you muttered, though a wide grin was on your face.

He pinched your thigh as he chuckled.

You both fell silent, the only sound coming from the AC unit whirring on. But there was a tension of a different kind between you two now, a silent undertone of questions.

“Aaron…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said slowly.

“If we could DoorDash Taco Bell?”

Aaron’s face visibly fell and you chuckled as you kissed his cheek. “It is getting close to lunch, but I’m joking. What do you think I’m thinking, hm?”

“The… the ‘what are we’ question.”

“Maybe I was thinking of asking if you would be my sugar daddy,” you said with a straight face. He rolled his eyes, clearly caught on to your sense of humor now.

“It…” he paused. “I know there’s a large age gap between us. But you are… I can’t imagine not being intrigued by your mind. You’re intelligent, and beautiful, and…” Aaron’s eye somehow meandered to your lips, “one of the sweetest women I know. And I would be honored if you would consider being my girlfriend.”

“There’s no consideration needed. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“And my job… my job doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Obviously this is a relationship we would have to take one step at the time,” you reminded him, “but I understand your job takes you away sometimes. I understand that your situation is unconventional in a way.”

Aaron kissed your forehead. “Did I ever tell you you are so sweet? When you’re not being a snark, that is.”

You blushed, remembering him calling you sweet earlier, after tasting you. “Perhaps once or twice?”

“And Taco Bell?”

“Live Mas, baby.”

“I don’t remember the terminator ever saying that.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that DoorDash would probably take forty minutes to an hour to deliver to you- you had checked this morning. But… What could you guys possibly do to pass the time?

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #dbf!hotch

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greg-montgomery · 2 months

Text

sleepover - dbf!hotch x reader

for @hotchnerholic who requested: your dad went out of town so you’re staying at aaron’s place because you don’t like being alone <3

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Honey?” a warm voice whispered in your ear, and a hand shook your shoulder softly.

Your eyes were way too heavy for you to care, so you buried your head further in the sofa cushions and tried to fall back asleep.

The voice insisted. “Sweetie? Let me take you to bed.”

“Let me take you to bed.”

The Aaron Hotchner just offered to take you to bed and you were sleeping?

Using your hand to cover up a yawn, you opened your eyes and found his beautiful brown ones already looking at you. You blinked at him slowly as if you were a cat trying to communicate that you loved him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the side of your face. “Your back is gonna hurt in the morning if you spend the night on the couch.”

“Yeah…I…I fell asleep watching TV.”

“It’s admiring that you managed to fall asleep while a thriller is playing,” he joked, and offered you a pretty smile.

You turned your head towards the TV, and caught a glimpse of a guy in a mask sharpening a knife. “Now that is exactly the reason why I didn’t wanna stay home alone.”

Aaron chuckled and placed his hand on top of yours. “You’re safe here.”

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he was this close to you, so you tried to change the subject.

“I fell asleep while watching Shrek. I guess the thriller started after that.”

“Hm…You wanna watch it with me? Or do you wanna go to bed?”

Yes to the bed option, but only if it’s with you, you thought. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen so watching a movie with him was the next best thing.

“Sure, let’s watch it.” You smiled, and he smiled back. “Only, I’m warning you, I get scared very easily.”

“You don’t say.”

“Don’t make fun.” You pointed at his face.

“I would never,” he said, and leaned back on the couch stretching out his arm.

The space next to him looked so inviting. You could just curl up in his arms and not worry about anything else.

The fact that you were staying at his house was heavenly in the first place. But watching a movie with him? That was beyond your wildest dreams. You expected him to be gone all day at work. This? This felt like staying over at your boyfriend’s house and having a movie night with him.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I have popcorn.”

“Oh…yes please!”

You followed him to the kitchen, and observed him while he was filling a big bowl with popcorn.

His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough for his forearms to drive you crazy. A man his age shouldn’t get this type of reactions from you, but he did anyway. As your father’s best friend he was forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to want him in secret.

“How was work?”

“Could’ve been better,” he sighed. And then he looked at you with a grin that made him more irresistible than you could’ve ever imagined. “But I have you here so it’s not too bad.”

What was breathing? “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe,” he said, and signaled you with a head movement to follow him back to the living room.

“I mean…you’re an FBI agent. Who would have been better for the job?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The movie had started for a while now, so it was hard to follow the plot. Not that you necessarily cared about it – the only thing that was occupying your head the entire time was Aaron sitting next to you, his cologne, and how your fingers brushed a couple of times while you were getting popcorn.

Zoned out as you were, a loud sound coming from the movie made your heart almost stop and you hid behind your hands with a squeal. “Shit!”

Things only got worse, as the killer on the screen seemed to be unstoppable, chasing one character after the other. You curled up in the corner of the couch, grabbing a cushion to protect yourself.

“Hey…” Aaron said, looking certainly amused. “Come here.”

Careful not to look too eager, you went close to him and let yourself into his embrace. His arm rested around your shoulders, and he pulled you in close enough for your head to rest against his.

“Better now?”

“Mhm…” you could only say, as your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear. “I won’t let him get to you.”

“Promise?” you whispered back and looked up at him.

“Promise,” he said and kissed your forehead.

part 2

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #dbf!hotch #hotch 🪐

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luveline · 9 months

Note

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair.

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds."

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day."

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys."

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit."

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly.

"I understand that it sounds fantastical."

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am."

"That's alright. Take your time."

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well."

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly.

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too.

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly."

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you.

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends."

"What do you think?"

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic."

"What's his first?" he asks.

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form."

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things."

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you."

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron."

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him."

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job."

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks.

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up."

"I could say the same thing."

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you."

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?"

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!"

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you.

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper.

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope.

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N,

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter.

Gratefully yours,

Aaron Hotchner.

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him.

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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hotchfiles · 3 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [MAYDAY] ❞

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: you've never seen hotchner so mad at you. but maybe it's a good thing. content warnings: power imbalance. age-gap. suggestive. most of these are more of a if you squint kind of deal. word count: 800+ a/n: not the best but i'm not gonna keep working on it whateverrrrr

you fucked up and you knew it, a terrible mistake, a rookie mistake at that. prematurely telling a victim's family the squad had found and detained the unsub and then having to deal with a father getting into the precinct gun in hand when it was leaked said unsub was getting released without any charges.

containing him took all of your strength and derek's help, but having to admit to hotch's angry face, brows furrowed, that you were the reason that it happened... that was soul crushing. your legs had been trembling from the moment he asked, his we'll talk later in a tone you've never heard directed at you doing nothing to help your nerves.

the ride back to the hotel after the actual unsub was captured was a quiet one, so quiet you almost think you're off the hook. aaron looks almost serene while driving, but you should've known better, you should've known he was just holding off.

the minute his hand gripped your wrist and followed you into your room you knew it though, he really wasn't the type to say something and not follow up on it.

"what were you thinking!?" that's probably the first time he raises his voice at you and your heart sank. what were you thinking? on how to bring some comfort to the family. so you weren't really thinking, not the way that you should have. you don't reply, it makes his eyes darken even more, as if you not trying to defend yourself made it worse. "innocent lives were almost lost today because of your lack of professionalism!"

lack of professionalism? supposed to be a nicer way to tell it was because of your big mouth, but it somehow made you feel worse. you were a good agent, you did a good job. you wouldn't have been transferred there two years prior if that wasn't true. he was making you feel small, when usually working by his side made you feel like a superhero of some sort.

"i'm sorry, hotchner, i don't know what else you want me to say." your voice is much lower than his, your arms are crossed in front of your chest as you rub your hands on them, trying to find some sort of comfort in yourself as you dealt with the disappointment coming from the man you secretly harbored only the sweetest of feelings for.

he notices it of course, aaron always notices the small ways your body shows what you're feeling, so his hands go through his hair and he's frustrated so he huffs loudly and he should just drop it off, he knows it, but you're his soft spot and he has to remind himself of that to avoid letting you slip up, you have too much potential to let it go to waste. "being sorry doesn't save lives."

"i know that i—"

"you have to follow protocol." the way he interrupts you makes your eyes water and you know soon enough you're going to be a sobbing mess if he doesn't stop talking. you're not even a crier, so that's about to become much more humiliating if it happens in front of him. "they exist for a reason, you can't just do whatever you want, especially if it's something st—" it is your time to interrupt him.

but with a kiss.

your arms are dropped to your sides, your feet slightly tipped to reach his lips with yours in a act of courage, yes, but mostly despair.

he could not see you cry. seeing you mess up so bad was enough. you couldn't let him think you couldn't handle the job, the scolding.

and that was definitely not your brightest idea, but the way he doesn't even flinch before kissing you back with much more hunger than yourself, his right hand to your throat and the left pulling your waist shows you that maybe you should've done this much earlier.

you melt into his arms and you can feel every muscle on his body tense up when your hands grab onto his waist. his lips only leave yours when he can sense your trouble breathing, but aaron doesn't do anything else that could separate you two, his hands stay glued to you, his eyes almost hypnotized by yours as you worked on catching your breath.

"you're really terrible following rules, huh?" his mockery is followed by his teeth pulling on your lower lip ever so softly, but it still earns him a quick moan from you.

"yeah but..." you stop yourself to gather just a bit more of courage before closing in on him, your lips brushing against his face as you got closer to his ear, your voice a whisper only, as if it made your following teasing less wrong. "i'm very good at following orders."

"i'll be the judge of that."

#lari writes sometimes #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

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rynwritesreid · 4 months

Text

Mind Games~Spencer Reid

Chapter one~Genius 2.O

Chapter summary: You have just graduated from the FBI’s academy and a new member of the BAU’s team. Throughout your time at the academy you had heard so many great stories about the legendary Dr Reid and couldn’t wait to work along side him. However, Dr Reid is not your biggest fan and doesn’t know how to cope with someone being smarter than him.

Chapter warnings: Mention of a case (no details though) Fem! Reader. Angst. Spencer is mean in this and hates reader (though that will change in chapter four).

A/N: This series was requested, and it’s probably going to be the only time I do a requested series “A series where reader works at bau and she's as smart if not smarter then Reid and somehow you pick they end up in a relationship with dom Spencer”. I hope everyone enjoys it, and yes there will be smut in the near future ;).

~mind games masterlist~

~Join the taglist for mind games~

While you were in the academy, you heard all the stories about the genius who worked in BAU called Dr Spencer Reid. He is a man of such high intelligence, with three PH. Ds, an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, one who was well known to show of how smart he is and one who did not easily back down. He is the stuff if legends.

You, well you, are also the stuff of legends. You didn’t believe in telling people your IQ score, because you didn’t think it really mattered, but it was high, higher than Spencer’s. You had a photographic memory, which many people often compared to Spencer’s one, but you would have to tell them the difference between an eidetic memory and a photographic memory.

You watched all your peers around you talk about what division of the FBI they were applying for, many were going for counterterrorism and financial crimes, but you had your eyes on the BAU. You knew all about how it was a close nit family, how Hotch and Rossi were like fathers to the entire group. You wanted nothing more than to be a part of that team, that family.

And so, with a determination fuelled by your own exceptional intellect and a burning desire to join the ranks of the BAU, you set out on a path that would lead you down a road less travelled. While your peers were focusing on their chosen divisions, you dedicated every waking moment to studying the minds of criminals, honing your profiling skills, and pushing the limits of your own mental faculties.

Your name was everywhere with in bureau, you were being called the newest genius, one who was going to make a name for herself, and one who was going to take the FBI by storm.

Unit Chief Agent Hotchner had heard whispers of your brilliance echoing through the halls of the FBI. He had seen your name pop up on his colleagues' reports, accompanied by glowing praise and commendations. Curiosity piqued, he decided to dig a little deeper, intrigued by the prospect of a new prodigy joining their ranks.

Hotchner delved into your background, poring over your academic achievements and accolades. He was astounded by the breadth of your knowledge and the depth of your understanding in various fields. Your impressive IQ score and photographic memory only added to his intrigue. It became clear to him that you possessed a unique blend of intellect and intuition that would be an invaluable asset to the BAU.

He knew he had to have you in the BAU, he knew that you, Reid, and Garcia would be an unstoppable force. So, when he saw your application to join his team, he knew you were going to get the job.

So, when you got the call, telling you your application had been successful, you couldn’t quite believe that you had landed your dream job.

It was your first day, Hotch was showing you around, who’s desk belong to who, where your desk was. It felt surreal, being in this building, been employed by the FBI, knowing you were going to be working alongside Dr Spencer Reid.

As Hotch led you through the bustling bullpen, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within you. The stories you had heard about Dr. Spencer Reid made him almost mythical in your mind, and now you were about to meet him in person.

Finally, Hotch stopped in front of a neatly organized desk and gestured for you to take a seat. "This will be your workspace," he said, his voice steady and commanding. "Make yourself at home."

You settled into the chair, taking a moment to soak in the atmosphere of the room. Each member of the team had their own unique personality reflected in their workspace. Penelope Garcia's desk was adorned with colourful trinkets and gadgets, her vibrant energy apparent even in her absence.

Spencer’s desk though, it was almost bare, there were a few files and books, but nothing fun, nothing that showed what his personality was like. You couldn't help but be intrigued by the stark contrast between Spencer's desk and the others. It seemed to reflect his focused and analytical nature, an embodiment of his dedication to the work they did at the BAU. As you settled into your chair, your eyes wandered over the shelves filled with books on various subjects - psychology, criminology, philosophy. Each book seemed well-loved and well-worn, evidence of Spencer's insatiable thirst for knowledge.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice that someone had entered the bullpen until Hotch's voice broke through the silence. "Spencer, I'd like you to meet our newest addition," he said, gesturing toward you.

You stood up, you almost felt star struck, but Spencer didn’t seem to care. He glanced at you with his piercing gaze, his eyes scanning your face as if studying every detail. There was an intensity in his expression that sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of apprehension and fascination in his presence.

"Hello," you managed to say, your voice filled with a nervous tremor. "It's an honour to meet you, Dr. Reid."

Spencer nodded, a slight tilt of the head that conveyed acknowledgement rather than warmth. "Likewise," he replied curtly, his attention already shifting back to the stack of files in his hands.

You couldn't help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at Spencer's aloofness. You had built up this image in your mind of the legendary Dr. Reid, someone who would be eager to share knowledge and engage in stimulating conversations. But here he was, seemingly indifferent to your presence.

Everyone else seemed to love you though, Derek had made a few flirtatious comments, Emily, JJ, and Garcia had invited you to go grab some drinks with them, Hotch and Rossi had told you good coping mechanisms, but Spencer seemed to be annoyed any time you spoke, or laughed, or really did anything. Everyone told you that’s just how he is when he doesn’t know you, but it still hurt.

You were determined to prove yourself to Spencer, to earn his respect and break through the cold exterior he seemed to present. You knew that gaining his trust and acceptance would not come easily, but you were ready to put in the effort.

Though the days turned into weeks and then into months, Spencer's demeanour towards you remained unchanged. He continued to keep his distance, always engrossed in his work, rarely acknowledging your presence unless absolutely necessary. It hurt, but you refused to let it deter you from your goal.

You poured yourself into each case, determined to prove your worth to the team. You spent countless hours analysing crime scenes, studying victimology, and delving deep into the minds of the perpetrators. Your keen intuition and sharp analytical skills began catching the attention of your colleagues.

You thought this might change Spencer’s mind about you, but it seemed to make him hate you. JJ had told that Spencer was used to being the smartest, everyone praising him, but you seemed to be smarter than him and that wasn’t something he was used too. But you couldn’t and you wouldn’t change who you are just to make someone feel better about themselves.

But the tension between you and Spencer continued to simmer beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment. It was as if there was an unspoken competition, an invisible battle of intellects that neither of you were willing to back down from.

Despite the strained relationship, the BAU team continued to function like a well-oiled machine. Cases were solved, perpetrators were apprehended, and lives were saved. But there was always that lingering tension between you and Spencer, like an unresolved chord in an otherwise harmonious symphony.

One particularly gruelling case tested the limits of everyone's mental and emotional resilience. The team had been chasing a prolific serial killer who seemed to always be one step ahead. Sleepless nights and relentless hours of research had taken a toll on everyone, yourself included.

You were at your breaking point, not knowing why you couldn’t solve this case, and Spencer’s attitude problem with you was the cherry on top of the cake. You knew you had to say something to him, because you knew you couldn’t carry on like this.

Taking a deep breath, you approached Spencer's desk after everyone else had left for the night. His eyes were glued to the computer screen, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. This was your chance to address the tension that had been building between you.

"Spencer," you began, your voice firm but gentle. "We need to talk."

He glanced up at you, his expression guarded but curious. "What about?" he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of scepticism.

“You have an issue with me, and I know you are used to being the smartest person in any room you walk in to, everyone looking up to you as a God. But maybe you should get use to someone been on the same level as you”.

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, a mix of surprise and irritation crossing his features. "I don't have an issue with you," he retorted, his voice laced with defensiveness.

You took a step closer, determined to make him see the truth. "You do, Spencer. Ever since I joined the team, you've treated me like an annoyance, like I'm intruding on your territory. But I'm not here to compete with you or undermine your intelligence. I'm here to work together, to bring justice to those who deserve it."

“God, you think you’re better than everyone else don’t you, Y/N. You’re not, you act like everyone should worship the ground you walk on. I bet you were top of your class in the academy, got straight A’s all throughout your school life, but that doesn’t matter now. You are not as clever as you think you are.”

Spencer's words cut deep, slicing through the tension between you with a sharpness that left you momentarily speechless.

“That’s what you think about me? You think I believe I am better than everyone, but I don’t. But I know you do, your outbursts are common knowledge Spencer, or that fact you love to rub it everyone’s faces that you have a doctorate.” You basically shouted this at him.

Spencer's steely gaze locked onto yours, his face a mask of disbelief mixed with anger. "You don't know anything about me," he snapped, his voice dripping with venom.

You felt tears starting to form in your eyes, you knew you couldn’t be around him any longer tonight. Turning on your heel, you made a swift exit from the bullpen, unable to bear the weight of the confrontation any longer. The familiar corridors of the BAU headquarters blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You couldn't help but feel a sense of defeat, the weight of Spencer's words heavy on your shoulders.

As you found solace in a quiet corner of the building, your tears streamed down your face, mingling with the frustration, and hurt that consumed you. The confrontation with Spencer had left you feeling vulnerable and doubting your place on the team. It was hard to fathom how someone you once idolized could turn out to be so cold and dismissive.

There was a small part of you that wished you had never applied for this job, or you had been rejected. You didn’t want to quit, you wanted to prove Spencer wrong, but you knew you couldn’t do that with the state you are in. But this wasn’t over, and you would do everything you could to solve this case, and make Spencer like you, or at least be kinder to you.

~Taglist~

@bitchassbecky691 @iluvreid @drspencerreidsthings @amatheuni@i-heart-mgg @Liidiaaag@wyntersstuff@brilliantreid @donttrustlove@btsiguess-kpop @bellesmith628 @lunaticgurly @Oureternalbond@somethingsmart123

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nicodemuslily · 7 months

Text

In daddy's arms

Because I always find this interaction ultimately cute (and sexy...), here are some sketches of Jack in his father's arms. Because we didn't see enough moments like that. >_<

The first sketch follows the Halloween episode in which Jack disguised himself in his only superhero: his father. On the road to find the rest of the team (and JJ with Henry), Jack proudly shown his father the fake FBI accredition Jessica made for him (as SSA Jack Hotchner, of course).

The second one is just a close-up of my "under the stars" sketchdump.

Under the stars This page shows illustrations from... (tumblr.com)

All the others take place at different time, not defined. Except the last two.

The second-to-last is an illustration of a scene in my fanfic "Scars".

And here is another text for my Hotch-centric... (tumblr.com)

And the last one happened during the first night after Haley's death. Aaron has to deal with this four year old kid without being prepared for it. He has no clothes for him, to toothpast, no movie and he can't cook properly. And when Jack asked again where his mom is, he has to explain to him that he won't see her again. And when Jack suddenly saw his father bursting into tears, the little kid did the only thing he thought it could help - what his mother was doing to him when he was in pain: he gave him a hug.

___

Well, I was supposed to post my entry for an october writing contest next wednesday but, due to family business, I won't be able to do so. Then, I'll probably post it the week after and the other texts after that.

___

And the DA link for a better view >> In daddy's arms by NicodemusLily on DeviantArt

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanart #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #jack hotchner #fatherhood #father #son #sketchdump #sketches #sunday sketch time #fanfic illustration

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radiant-reid · 1 year

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any fic recommendations ?? love ur blog ❤️

after the events of yesterday, i'd love the chance to spread some CM love. i tried to do fics rather than masterlists but most of these writers have their masterlist linked or in their bio. i'm missing a hundred people so send me a message if there's fics you want me to add PLEASE READ EACH WRITER'S WARNINGS/RULES. *denotes smut fics

spencer reid

Milburn Seven Months by @aperrywilliams

Here + Velvet by @wtfevenismypage

all signs point to yes the break-up box two’s a crowd, three’s a party *by @wheelsup

what happens in California* by @spencersawkward

Stumbling Home…Alone ….to end up with you (all well that ends well happy ending version) Secret Life by @reidsbookclub

Babies and New Beginnings In The Middle Of The Night * by @samuel-de-champagne-problems

Mirror* by @sinfulspencer

THE BOY’S A SLAG* GODPARENTS* + GODPARENTS II by @eideticmemory

Oh Baby! by @fortheloveofwonderland

Not Your Backup by @imagining-in-the-margins

Clean + Clean, PT. 2 by @ofwilliamandwalter

spencer reid sfw alphabet by @candlesandsoftrain

Is a Home still a Home? * Only her * by @little-diable

A Real Father's Love Drunk on You Room 405 by @smurphyse

I Would Never Fall + Unless It’s You I Fall Into by @reidscanehand

“i want to love someone and be loved” / part 2 how to ask a girl out by @spacedikut

eros & thanatos by @reidamancy

Through the Smoke by @homoose

Goodbye Forever, Until Next Time by @mercy-burning

night shift by @behindyourbarrette

loving you was red collection by @writer-in-theory

36 Questions to Fall in Love by @boldlyvoid

flick, flick, burn this vast empty space, picture perfect by @literaila

aaron 'hotch' hotchner

Fluffy Feb event masterlist by @hotchs-bitch masterlist by @doctorstethoscope masterlist by @honeybrowne

Yes, Mr President * Wonderstruck by @doctorstethoscope

In the Suburbs * by @hoe4hotchner

Ivy * enemies to lovers blurb by @greg-montgomery

On the Road Again * The Stranger Next Door * Wish You Were Here + Back to You Meet The Hotchners by @ssahotchswife

Come Back Home by @hotched

As Long as You Want Me by @spacecowboyhotch

"Agent" by @kryptonitejelly

Wasteland, Baby by @heliotropehotch

Big Dick Energy * by @maybege

Good For Him Reckless (21.7k words, go read rn) by @ptersparkers

Never Do That Again * by @fatecantstopme

delicate by @bbq-chipz

hard-headed painfully professional another man's jeans * by @honeypiehotchner

When one door closes, try to take the girl home by @azenpal

like real people do + i'll crawl home to you (you'll cry your eyes out, be warned) by @ssahotchhner

New Mom by @marvelslut16

My Love I Can't Hide + I Wanna Hold Your Hand by @reidscanehead

Rossi's Neighbour by @capturedminds

The 30th * Truth or Dare * by @little-diable

Surprise Visit * by @wheelsupkels

I Love You More* by @ssamorganhotchner

Perfect for Me Marry Me? Baby Drunk by @hotch-stufff

Aaron, I’m Pregnant by @ssahotchsbitch

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner smut

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priniya · 5 months

Text

🎥 ACTRESS’ SAVIOUR

SYNOPSIS. when doctor reid finds himself enamoured with a certain actress with bright future ahead of her, she gets kidnapped and all he wants to do is save her by any cost.

going to your father’s bureau for the first time could’ve been considered an usual experience, something that could occur on a daily basis — a daughter, stopping by her parent’s workplace to possibly drop him off breakfast he left at home.

for you, on the other hand, it was a stressful occurrence. it was one of the first times at the BAU, where agent hotchner’s been working for years. the reason behind your rare visits there was relatively simple, you weren’t aware you even had a father until you turned sixteen and your mother has passed away. it was, when the social services found out that beside her, you had other living relatives, so… instead of an orphanage, you moved to quantico. building a relationship with a man, who already had a wife and a son, and no idea that his high school relationship has resulted in a kid, was rough. but here you were, six and a half year later, nervously standing inside the elevator, hoping that nothing would go wrong.

however, it had to go, you wouldn’t be yourself if everything went smoothly. as you looked into your phone to check a notification that popped up on the screen, you were met with a person — too quickly to realise that you were bound to bump into someone. the man in front of you was holding a half–empty cup of steaming coffee that other half spilled all over his brown sweater. a flush washed over you immediately, having taken a notice of what just happened.

“i am so sorry, sir.” your nervousness reached its peak the second your eyes laid on the man in front of you. he was tall, definitely taller than you, almost towering over you, glasses were resting on the bridge of his nose as he grimaced. from the plastic plate on his chest you read his name. spencer reid.

“well, uh. it’s alright.” he muttered, walking past you to change out of his stained piece of clothing, giving you all the reasons to overthink this situation, feeding your anxieties.

the confident attitude you tried to put on was now long gone as you made it through to your father’s office. it was a struggle, because you couldn’t remember how to get there, but when you did, your cheeks flushed even more upon seeing spencer, standing next to your dad, his stained shirt nowhere to be found. “excuse me, uh–” you started, announcing your presence, earning a few curious looks. “dad, you left the breakfast at home.”

“dad?” you heared a female voice whisper, and you swore your guts to know that she looked around the room for an answer, while, unfortunately for her, being left with nothing more than a shrug. the last name on the plastic clipped onto your shirt didn’t match with their boss’, which only confused them more.

hotch cleared his throat, giving you the tiniest smile as he took the brown bag from you. “y/n, these are special agents morgan, prentiss, rossi, garcia and doctor reid. you already know jj.” he said, confusing them even more. “this is my daughter, y/n.”

“hey, i know you from somewhere.” a woman spoke out, her colorful dress catching your attention immediately. “oh my gosh, hotch why didn’t you tell me that you’re daughter is playing on the russos life? i love that show!” her words brought heat to your cheeks.

the russos life was your first bigger gig that got you a little bit of recognition in show-busines and social media. at the beginning of your small acting career, you promised yourself that you’d not go to the television, because theatre was your thing. you can’t even recall the moment when your point of view changed, maybe it was after the call from your agent suggesting you that you should take the role, because the producers were already interested. or, most likely it was when you fell in love with a role you were proposed.

you stayed in the conference room (and in the building in general) for the next few minutes. after you had left, the sweet sound of your voice was still lingering in spencer’s mind that somehow went unnoticed by the team. he was sitting at his desk, frowning over something, when the clock hit three and the decision was quickly made in his mind — go grab a sandwich or you’ll go crazy. the funniest thing for people around him (if he ever let them know) might be that he couldn’t quite grasp the reason of his interest in you. reid found his thoughts trailing off to you as he hovered over the raports he was filling out that he almost wrote your name in there. he pushed the door of a nearby cafe open, intuitively scanning the place. his eyes were all over the place until he felt someone at his back.

“shit— sir, i’m sorry, i don’t know what’s happening with me to–” you began to rumble as the man you bumped into turned to face you. your face grew redder, the second you realized it’s the same person you’d bumped into already, which only made you feel more embarrassed.

oh.

“doctor reid, i’m really sorry.” you hoped your words came off as genuine, because they were. it almost seemed like you had some sort of scheme against him that you had to bump into him whenever he’s around. “at least i didn’t have a coffee on me, right?” an awkward smile crept on your lips, trying to ease the situation.

the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as spencer was taking in your beauty. the way your eyes flickered, the way lipgloss coated your lips, the way you had your hands behind your back or the way you tilted your head to get a better view of his face. the height gap between you and spencer wasn’t a lot, but it was definitely a little troubling. “thank god, i didn’t exactly have another spare shirt on me.” his repsonse made you chuckle quietly, feeling the embarrassment wash away with each word that left his mouth.

you don’t even know how much time had passed since you started your little conversation with doctor reid. even though you were the one rambling on and on, he has asked you a few times about your job, genuinely interested in what you do on set and what is your show about. he remembered the cheap looking show lila had played in, back when the bau had her case. you told him all about the plays you partook throughout the entirety of your school year and he dumped all the facts he knew about the plays on you.

you could see yourself getting fond of his presence around you, it felt eerily comforting, which for you was strange. until you moved to your dad’s place, you had rare contact with the opposite gender outside the plays, no real father figure, no closer relationship with a guy before, you had never felt so comfortable around a man, who you just met. so… it wasn’t really strange that you ended up exchanging numbers, what could be strange (for reid’s friends) was that he was the first one to call.

he kept calling, while you kept happily responding. it grew to be some sort of your thing, almost as if each of you were one another’s happy place. whenever he got frustrated with a case, he’d call you to take things off his mind, which always went smoothly. spencer was probably the biggest fan of your endless rambling about your classes or people you found annoying during the day.

the phone calls got more and more regular with each week passed, and when you didn’t call him to say good morning one day, his conscience was going absolutely crazy, his guts telling him something was off. nevertheless, his thoughts were pushed aside as his phone rung out with a call from jj, alerting on a new case.

“NYPD asked for our assistance in a possible serial killer case.” jareau explained as she handed the case files to the rest of the team. “over the course of last few days, four females were strangled before the unsub stabbed them multiple times.” she took a long sigh. “each of the girl was around the age of twenty to twenty three, studied in the state and majored in the arts fields, lived alone, but were socially active.”

a shiver ran down spencer’s spine as he heard jennifer’s words. the victimology were too familiar to you, making the unsettling feeling come back to him. pulling out his phone from the deep of his pocket, he managed to send you a quick text, asking to call him as soon as you see his message.

but you didn’t call him back. he was thinking about you all the time they were gathering more information, but there was some that shocked the team the most. the letters craved on each of the victims’ bodies. at first it seemed… like random letters, a code maybe.

“what if it’s an anagram?”

after that, spencer wrote the letters on the board, his throat tightening when the realisation hit him. the letters could be put in as your first and last name. “hotch, uh, i– can we talk, in private?” he muttered, before leavng the room the NYPD set up for them. his hands were shaking as he paced around the room, trying to find the right words to tell hotchner about his theory.

“y/n and i have been talking lately.” spencer started. “i–i got this strange feeling today, she often texted me in the mornings, almost every day in the past few days and–and she didn’t do that today.” he took a deep breath, flattering his brown shirt. “maybe i’m biased, but i think something bad happened to her, the anagram was– it was her name, hotch.” his words were falling out of his lips almost too fast for your dad to understand.

but aaron hotchner has always been the smartest guy out there, the meaning behind spencer’s words almost immediately got to him, because once again his child was in danger, he had a feeling, when he learnt the victimology, but when spencer said those words, his suspicions were confirmed. “reid. i need you to go to her apartment, i suppose you know the address?”

fifteen minutes later, young doctor was at the door of your apartment. it wasn’t exactly the first time he was there, but it didn’t matter now, not when you could be in danger with a serial killer, looking for you. “y/n?” he knocked on the door three times, when he got no answer, he did the morgan speciality, kicking the door open.

your entire flat was quiet, completely out of place. the last time he was there, around two weeks ago, it wasn’t as neat as it was right now. you had your scripts scattered around the coffee table, pillows disheveled on the couch, dishes laying around the counter, although now, everything was clean. almost too clean. then he found it, a small piece of paper underneath a cup that you made him coffee in.

you won’t keep us apart.

he recognised the fact that your handwriting was different, even though you liked keeping your place a little more messy, often calling it ‘artist’s mess’, your handwriting was neat and precise. you didn’t write this note.

“sir? you’ve gotta take a look at that.”

the last thing you remember was walking down the street, a phone in your hand about to send a quick message to reid that you’d call him as soon as you get to your flat. it was a habit of yours, texting the young doctor to give him a notice you’d call to ramble about your day. just the thought of talking to him had given you butterflies, a thought of hearing his voice after a long day at university and on set was enough to make your day better. you were about to send the message, when a guy bumped into you with so much force you barely kept yourself on ground. before you knew it, you felt an overwhelming rush of pain, passing out soon after.

your consciousness was regained, but the place wasn’t familiar. a small room with window covered with a black fabric that didn’t let any light inside. the walls had pictures stuck all over them. pictures of you, from at least four months back. each day when you were coming back from campus, there was a photo, of you at the library, at the club with your friends, going back from school, even one that captured how you giggled at one of spencer’s facts, when he visited you.

the level of anxiety peaked, when the person who locked you up came back, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, the one you loved so dearly, the one’s your mom had always put up in vases at your house, the one you got from your manager after wrapping up the season one of the russos life. “we’re sorry.” he spoke out, his voice hoarse, cracking here and there.

“but we’re finally together, y/n/n.” he whispered, getting closer to you with each word. “no one will be able to keep us apart. we’re together, for eternity.” his hand grapped your jaw to make you look at him, his lips barely inches apart.

you could feel the overwhelming pain washing over you again, realizing that he probably stabbed you back there on the street — with that realisation, it hurt even more.

his hands were rough on your skin, almost leaving a burnt mark on your cheeks. he caressed it, trying to maintain a gentle manner, causing you to tear up. “please, let me go.” you whispered, looking at him with teary eyes. “please.” his rough, yet gentle hand slapped you across the face, attitude changing immediately.

“no.” he groaned angrily, gripping your jaw even harder than the first time. “you’re not leaving. not when we’re finally together. eternity, sun. together for eternity.” his words almost burnt into your mind.

how long were you there? days, weeks, months maybe. you couldn’t know. the lack of sun, barely any food and water was driving you crazy, nevertheless, right when he left you alone, you realized something that came up to you as a moral of reid’s story he told you about a certain case with a man obsessed with a woman. you had to play into his fantasy, no matter how it hurt and how painful it was, it was necessary to gain his trust.

and you did, played right into his delusional fantasy of you until he trusted you enough to make a mistake. leaving the door unlocked. you left in such a hurry, you couldn’t breathe. the air was suffocating, it was dark, so dark you felt scared that someone would attack you again.

“oh my, miss, are you okay? you’re bleeding.” a lady called out to you, grabbing your shoulder in a soft manner, the presence of a female soothing your nerves a little.

“i– i need to make a phone call, please, could i use your phone?” before you knew it, you were dialing one of the numbers you memorised by heart.

“doctor spencer reid, can i help you with anything?” his monotonous voice rang out in the phone, causing you to sigh in relief. “sorry?” he added. you imagined him frowning, like when he tried to teach you how to play chess and you kept giggling at how frustrated he was getting, while you pretended to not know a thing about chess.

“spence.” another escaped left your lips. “i– i don’t know where i am. i know you’re in quantico, put please help me out, there’s a guy, who—” you started rambling, your vision getting blurry.

“y/n, i know.” he whispered. “we’re in new york, garcia’s tracking your location right now, please stay on the call with me.”

“spence,” you started, holding onto the woman next to you for stability. “i– he’s done something to me, i think– i think, i might pass out.” your tone was quieter with each words, almost stuttering as you felt your limbs weakening.

your world was crushing down on you, the nearby buildings suffocating you, not letting you breathe, the stab wounds overwhelming. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital, machinery plugged into you, your eyelids heavy as you opened them.

“you’re awake.” a familiar voice filled your eardrums as you tried propping up on the bed, stopped by the ripping pain. “hey, hey. don’t move, you’re okay.” his hand was in his, holding you so gently and tenderly you wanted to cry. it wasn’t like their unsub’s, doctor reid was genuine, the way he held your hand was almost… symbolical.

you had four stab wouds on your stomach that the man wrapped into a foil to stop you from bleeding out, but it ripped when you ran away. your face was bruised, marks left by his hands visible on your upper neck and jaw.

“you’re okay.” he repeated his words almost as if spencer tried to reassure himself that nothing would happen to you anymore. definitely not on his watch. “i won’t let him do anything to you again, i promise.” he planted a tender kiss on your hand, squeezing it softly. none of you realized that the rest of spencer’s team, including your father, was standing in the doorway, observing the little moment between you and doctor reid.

the one thing that burst your bubble was derek’s laughter, after having told a joke that obviously involved you, spencer and the fact that he was the first one you called after getting out of the unsub’s place. “looks like pretty boy stole your daughter from you, hotch.” morgan’s elbow nudged your dad’s side.

aaron wasn’t dumb, and from the very beginning, he knew that there would be something going on between the two of you. hotch knew that from the way reid’s lingered on you, when you visited the bureau. how his eyes would always slip to his phone or how he had to get away from the office to make a phone call, lasting all through his lunch break, so when four days ago he told his boss about the suspicions, it all came together.

“i know it’s early, but you have to tell us if you remember everything from those days.” your dad’s tone was soft. if he wasn’t so good at this job, you’d think he tried to make you relive the moment again, but hotch has always been great and you knew it, he wanted to catch the person who did this to you.

“it was, uh.” the words coming out of your mouth was weak, which was no surprise for anyone, since you could barely have your head up to look at the concerned faces of people in your room. “a white guy, his late twenties maybe. i don't remember much beside his hands. i thought of it as something that maybe would let you catch him.”

“what about his hands, sweetheart?” morgan asked. he was standing next to prentiss and rossi, who noted all the important things you said. “did he lack any fingers? had only one hand?"

“no, no.” you shook your head. "spencer told me that, um, most of the sophisticated killers have smooth hands. his weren’t smooth at all. it was rough, like if he was working since he was a kid.” images were flashing through your mind at the speed of light. nevertheless, it didn't feel enough. “it looked like he was in the middle of psychotic break or was off meds, he kept using plural pronouns like if there was another person, but he was alone the whole time i was there.”

when the interview was done, jj stayed behind to talk to you a little. her facial expression revealing that she was interested in your friendship with the young doctor from her team. “so… spencer told you?” she lifted her eyebrows, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed.

“yeah…” your reply sounded a little sheepish. “i kind of ran into him twice, when i came to your office half a year ago, the first time i was too embarrassed to say anything other than ‘i’m so sorry, sir’, but the second time was on his break, i think and it kind of… went smoothly from there.” a blush spread over your cheeks, but jennifer didn’t comment on that.

“you’d look cute together.” her words made your brain go a little fuzzy. maybe she was right, but something in your gut told you that nothing would be happen between the two of you, spencer was the type of guy in love with his work, not a random girl he met on a random tuesday. although, his mind was an enigma, how could you be so sure of that?

“c’mon, jj.” you mumbled, looking away. “we’re friends, strictly platonic.”

the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach was there, even after the unsub was caught two days after you were free to leave the hospital. it was only growing, when you were alone with a man you weren’t exactly close with. as bad as it made you feel, being around your dad’s co–workers was almost paralysing. morgan, rossi, the cops involved in your case, who tried talking to you about the entire thing, it was making your hands shake.

“spence?” you whispered, after having knocked on the door of his hotel room, a day before they left.

he opened the door immediately, almost as if his guts told him you were on the other side. he looked like you’d just woken him up. his hair all over the place, his gaze sleepy. a t–shirt loose on his body as he pulled you inside, closing the door behind you. “hey, sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up, thought you’d be still up.” you couldn’t bring yourself to speak louder.

“i had a feeling you’d swing by.” his words made your cheek grow hotter, because to be honest… you were thinking about seeing him, laying down on the bed unable to sleep. “what’s on your mind?” he asked, bringing his hand to your chin, causing you to look at him.

“are all the profilers doing that?” you asked, mesmerised by the way his eyes roamed around your face, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“subconsciously, yeah.” you chuckled. “don’t go off topic. something is bothering you, you know i see it.”

“i just… wanted to see you.” embarrassment rolled off your tongue, knowing that probably lots of women had already told him that. mostly, because morgan told you about the time, when prostitutes tried hitting on him during one of the cases — spencer had his charm, but you couldn’t be sure if he knew. “jesus, you can’t look at me like that, when you’re all that.”

“all that?” reid’s laughter rang in your ears as he made a step towards you, reducing the distance between you two.

“yeah? have you seen yourself before you opened the door? man, i had four stab wounds and—” you began to ramble, but his smirk and the look on his face make you stop, before another chuckle left his lips. “what?”

“nothing.”

“reid!” you groaned, punching him slightly in the arm as he still held your face, tilting it upwards.

seconds later, his mouth were on your, his lips moving against yours tenderly. his free hand squeezing your waist gently, pushing you even closer. it was the first time you felt any type of comfort in the past few days. you were completely speechless as the kiss broke off, looking at him with big eyes.

“i– you–.” you stuttered.

“it’s funny, you usually can’t stop rambling, but now you’re a stuttering mess.” he chuckled once again, his arms firm, yet gentle on your waist as he continued to tease you with a smirk that wouldn’t get off his face.

“i thought if i did something wrong, i’d not see you again.” he whispered, his nose brushed against yours. your breath hitched in your throat at the proximity. “it made me realise how many things i should’ve done before, how important you became to me, y/n. i can’t go on without a thought of you in my mind, you’re like a plague that i don’t– that i’d never get rid of.”

“i know this job is hectic and that i’m a mess most of the time, but you’re the only one that keeps me sane after what i see.” his lips brushed against yours again and you didn’t protest.

“so… you’re saying that you can’t stop thinking about me.” it was your turn to smirk at him, your heart tingling with a feeling unknown, yet so familiar that always appeared around him. “i can’t stop thinking about you, too, you know. i, uh, had this feeling that if i get out, you’d be there somewhere to keep me safe.”

“i am, and i always will, promise.”

“is it you asking me out right now?” a quiet giggle escaped your mouth, earning a hum in return. “only if you’re gonna say yes.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #niki’s works 🫂

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