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hotchreidwriter · 17 hours ago

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This was beautiful

My Funny Valentine [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.9k|| AN: I have been binge-re-watching The Nanny for the first time since I was a teenager and got to the episode where Fran buys a billboard for Mr. Sheffield after thinking he was her secret admirer. I had to do this for Hotch and Reader!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, BAU reader, will they won't they relationship, Valentine's Day, mentions of Haley, mentions of a creepy police officer, based off an episode of The Nanny, fools in love.

Summary: Given your undeniable chemistry and attraction for one another, when an unsigned card with flowers and a teddy bear shows up on your desk, you assume it's from Hotch. After making a grand gesture for what you thought was in return, you both soon realize the truth.

Ever since you joined the BAU, your interactions with Hotch have been a mixture of professional respect and undeniable chemistry. Over the years, the flirty banter had evolved into a dance of “will they, won't they,” much to the entertainment--and sometimes frustration--of the team.

Everyone could see the mutual attraction except, it seemed, the two of you.

Being Hotch's subordinate, you treaded carefully, harboring feelings you dared not confess, always secretly hoping he'd be the one to break the professional boundary.

You were younger--not inappropriately so (maybe just a little)...well, enough to make you question if this chemistry was all in your head. Enough questioning to allow these feelings to remain at a standstill--or at least until he broke first.

This Valentine's Day seemed like any other day at the BAU, but when you arrived at your desk, you found a bouquet of pink carnations and a teddy bear holding a card. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the flirty message.

"To the one who captures my thoughts as easily as she profiles unsubs. Happy Valentine's Day."

You couldn't help but think it was from Hotch. Carnations and a teddy bear? Not what you would have imagined Hotch picking out, but nonetheless, thoughtful. Unexpected. Thrilling.

He was finally crossing that line drawn in the sand. The one you blurred and blurred but ultimately never swept away.

Excitement bubbling up inside you, you rushed to share the news with Penelope Garcia, your go-to confidante for all things romantic and dramatic. The one who had been arguably rooting for you and Hotch more than anyone.

Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in her, or maybe…just maybe, the proof was there in plain daylight with the way you and Hotch played your games with one another. Like a tennis match of back and forth--over and over.

“My gosh,” Penelope squealed, looking at the card, “I mean…I can’t believe it. What are you going to do? What are you going to say!?” She leaned forward, capturing your arm, almost to steady her own excitement.

“I want to do something for him…something nobody’s ever done for him before.” You thought carefully.

Many would argue that you were…of the dramatic kind. Maybe that’s why you and Penelope got along so easily. Hotch would argue that you were dramatic the most. You often used it to your own advantage with him.

You knew--although you’d both never admit it--you had Hotch wrapped around your finger so it was easy to use those puppy dog eyes when you didn’t feel like completing a case assignment or if you wanted the bigger room at the hotel.

“You know,” Penelope pondered, “Now that I think of it,” She scrunched her face, “All of these years here, I’m not sure anyone’s ever left Hotch a Valentine. I mean…I gave him a pink fostered sugar cookie once, but even Haley…I don’t think there was anything here for him.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow, “He doesn’t seem like the type that’s going to like a velvet heart-shaped box filled with fruit-filled chocolates.”

“That man is a closet sweet eater,” Penelope pointed at you, “But to your point, you’ve gotta do something…something grand. Something that will knock his argyle socks off.”

You snorted, then really thought. Grand. Grand? What would be grand? Then it came to you.

“I have the best idea.”

The two of you giggled and brainstormed extravagant ideas to win Hotch's heart, finally settling on a grand gesture that no one could ignore--a billboard confession. You found the idea so wildly romantic, the perfect way to tell Hotch how you felt.

With Penelope's enthusiastic encouragement, you commissioned a billboard on Hotch's route home.

“Be My Valentine, Aaron Hotchner! Love your Y/N”

However, as you prepared to leave work that evening, you received a call from the local police department asking if you enjoyed the flowers. Your stomach dropped as you recognized the voice--it was the overly friendly officer from your last case, the one Hotch had given a look to the entire time.

The cheesy teddy bear. The cheap carnations. The corny card. None of that would be Hotch. You wanted to die. Crawl into a ball and die of embarrassment and stupidity, but not until after you got rid of that billboard!

Frantic, you rushed to find Rossi, Derek, and Spencer, blurting out your predicament and the mistake you’d made. They erupted into laughter but saw the urgency of the situation.

"We’ve got to get that billboard down before Hotch drives home!" you exclaimed, your face burning with embarrassment. You paced around the bullpen, looking up to Hotch’s office, then to them, then back up. You ran your hand over your face, stressed.

Rossi, Spencer, and Derek gathered around you, each wearing an expression that meant business. Derek leaned against his car, arms crossed. "You know, you could just leave that billboard up. It's about time one of you made a move."

Rossi nodded, his wise eyes fixed on you. "We're all tired of the dance, kid. It's not just you suffering from all this uncertainty--Hotch is right there with you. You both need to take that leap."

Spencer chimed in, "Statistically, the likelihood of mutual feelings being reciprocated in situations like these is quite high. You might be pleasantly surprised."

You appreciated their support, but the thought of Hotch seeing the billboard without understanding the context terrified you. You grabbed your car keys and headed to the nearest hardware store. "I just need to fix this before it gets worse," you muttered more to yourself than to them.

At the hardware store, you picked up a bucket of paint and a roller, your hands trembling slightly at the thought of climbing up the billboard. Heights had never been your friend, but today, they seemed a lesser evil compared to the embarrassment of Hotch reading your unintended public declaration.

With the sun setting, you parked your car by the billboard and stared up at the looming structure. Steeling your nerves, you looked up toward the tall ladder that led to a ledge where the freshly painted billboard sat. You wished the service you paid earlier was available after hours to come and take down the work they had done so quickly.

Each step up made your heart pound louder, but the fear of making a fool of yourself pushed you onward.

Once you reached the top, you positioned yourself to start painting, but a sudden wave of vertigo hit as you peered down. The can of paint slipped from your grip, tumbling down and splattering the ground below with white paint.

You looked up to the sky and raised your hands with defeat and tears forming in your eyes, “Is this some sick joke?!”

Climbing down was even harder, with your hands shaking and tears of frustration starting to blur your vision. Just as you reached the last few rungs, a pair of steady hands gently guided you down. You almost jumped out of your skin, only to turn and see Hotch, his face filled with concern.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You took a deep breath, wiping away a stray tear, turning as you took your last step off the ladder. He steadied you on the last few steps down, his touch reassuring.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch. There’s been a huge misunderstanding," you began, your voice a mix of embarrassment and relief. "I thought those flowers and the teddy bear were from you, and Penelope and I--we…I just got carried away."

Hotch gave you a small, understanding smile. "Emily and JJ told me there was a surprise waiting for me on the freeway home. I left early to see what it was." The last thing you expected was Hotch’s calm voice breaking through your flustered apologies.

Your heart sank, imagining what he must have thought seeing that message. "I was trying to cover it up before you could see it. I didn’t want you to find out like this." You gestured up to the brightly colored billboard with what felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world displayed for everyone and their mother to see.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” His gaze softened as he looked up at the message, then back to you. "I saw the billboard," he admitted a hint of awe in his voice. "Nobody has ever done anything quite like that for me. It was...unexpected, certainly, but kind in a way only you could manage."

Your heart fluttered, surprise etching across your features. "You liked it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if your ears were playing tricks on you.

"I loved it," he corrected gently, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. "You have a knack for the dramatic, but it’s one of the many reasons I..." His voice trailed off, and he hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. The pause was palpable, every second stretching longer than the last until finally, he continued, "It’s one of the many reasons I love you."

The world seemed to stop spinning as his words hung in the air. "You love me?" you repeated, your voice a mix of hope and disbelief. Hotch reached up to brush a stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek gently. Your hand reached up to cover his, leaning into his touch.

Hotch nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him, as if it was common knowledge, like you should already know it--or maybe he realized he should have already said it.

"Yes, I do. And I think it’s about time I said it."

Emotions swirled within you--relief, joy, and a love that had been quietly simmering for too long. It all bubbled to the surface as you stepped closer, reducing the space between you. "I love you too, Hotch," you confessed, your voice steady with conviction.

His smile was all the encouragement you needed. You both leaned in and under the soft glow of the streetlights and the shadow of the billboard, your lips met in a kiss that sealed the confessions of the day. The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory as if both of you were still gauging the reality of the moment. But as certainty took over, it deepened, affirming the years of unspoken feelings and flirtatious banter.

As you both pulled away, Hotch's eyes twinkled with a mixture of contentment and mischief. "Next time," he said with a playful grin, "I'll be the one buying flowers; you’ll know they’re from me. I wouldn’t dare buy you carnations, and they won’t come with a cheap teddy bear."

Your laughter filled the air, light and free, as you both made your way back to your cars, the billboard forgotten but its message now etched in both your hearts.

The next morning, as you walked into the BAU, you stood surprised. There, on your desk, stood two dozen long-stem roses in a vase, their crimson petals vibrant against the mundane backdrop of your office. Attached to the vase was a card, Hotch’s neat handwriting spelling out a message that was both flirty and utterly him:

"For the record, I prefer dramatic gestures that involve flowers on days other than just February 14th. Here’s to many more, just the way we like them. --A."

The smile that spread across your face lingered long into the day, as did the warmth in your heart, knowing the dance of “will they, won't they” had transformed into a harmonious “finally, we did.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

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hotchreidwriter · 1 day ago

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One my headaches tonight feeling like train wreck:(

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hotchreidwriter · 1 day ago

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Part two coming later ..

Hold Onto This for Me. (S.R)

Summary, Spencer has imagined proposing to you for a long time. When he finally does, the moment is cut short by a call from the BAU. Now, with his mind stuck on you and the question left unanswered, he struggles to focus on anything but the future he wants—with you

Category, .. bittersweet… fluff angst comfort

Paring, Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Yes I came up with the , “Dialogue, "Relax, baby. Please," Spencer murmurs into your ear, his hands working gentle circles over your tense shoulders. His voice is soft, soothing—an anchor against the storm raging in your mind.

Warnings, Mild angst, emotional conflict, mentions of work-related stress, unresolved proposal

Word count , 1k

Author notes , The fact I wouldn’t even hesitate if he had asked me .

I loved writing this one it was fun to write this one .

Relax, baby. Please," Spencer murmurs into your ear, his hands working gentle circles over your tense shoulders. His voice is soft, soothing—an anchor against the storm raging in your mind.

"I—I can't, Spence," you whisper, voice shaky. The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine, but in the best way possible.

"I love the way you say my name," he breathes, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

You exhale, leaning into his touch. "I don’t want this to disappear, Spence." You turn slightly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I knew what I signed up for, but watching you walk out that door for another case... I just—"

"I know, love," he says gently, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. His gaze is steady, filled with unspoken promises. "You think I don’t worry about you, too? Every time I leave, I think about you. I think about this—about coming home to you, holding you, loving you."

"Spence, I care about you so much it hurts," you confess, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I loved you from the moment I first saw you." Your fingers brush over his cheek, memorizing every line, every feature. "I love everything about you, Spencer Reid."

His throat tightens, and for a moment, he struggles to find the words. Because this moment? He’s imagined it for so long. Longer than he’d ever admit.

"I love you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you’ll ever know. And I—I've thought about this for a long time."

He hesitates, his heart hammering as he reaches into the pocket of his nightstand. His fingers brush over the velvet box, the weight of it suddenly overwhelming.

"I want a life with you," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "A family. A home. Waking up to you every morning. I want... everything with you."

He finally pulls out the ring, his hands trembling slightly. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, tears welling in your eyes.

"I was waiting for the perfect moment," he admits, letting out a nervous chuckle. "But the truth is, every moment with you is perfect."

He swallows hard, his gaze locking with yours.

"Marry me?"

Before you can respond, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. The sound shatters the moment like glass.

Spencer hesitates before answering, his expression torn.

"Reid," Hotch says, voice instantly shifting into work mode.

"Can you come in? We have another case," Hotch’s voice crackles through the speak.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around the ring.

"Got it. I'll be there soon."

You close your eyes, shaking your head as a bittersweet smile tugs at your lips.

"See? Told you."

His jaw clenches. He doesn't want to leave. Not now.

Not when his whole future is sitting right in front of him, eyes full of love, lips parted as if you’re about to say yes.

Before he can think twice, he reaches for your hand, pressing the ring into your palm.

"Hold onto this for me," he whispers. "Because when I come back? I want to hear you say yes."

Your heart aches as he pulls away, already slipping on his shoes, grabbing his coat.

But before he leaves, he presses one last kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to remind you—he’s yours. No matter how many cases, how many goodbyes, he’ll always come back to you.

And when he does, he hopes you’ll be waiting with that ring on your finger.

Back at the BAU …

Spencer was everywhere, yet nowhere.

His mind was stuck on you, on what he had just done, on the ring now resting in your hands.

He couldn’t focus. He had imagined proposing to you for so long, but the reality of it—the way he’d rushed out before even hearing your answer—was gnawing at him.

"Everything okay, Spence?" JJ asked, her brows knitting together as she studied him.

"I'm fine," he replied quickly, though the faraway look in his eyes said otherwise. He let out a small breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just... I asked her to marry me, and now I’m here."

JJ’s eyes widened. "No way! Spence, that’s amazing!" A bright smile spread across her face.

Spencer swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he admitted, "I love her, JJ. I love her so much."

"I'm so happy for you," she said sincerely, squeezing his arm. "What did she say?"

A sheepish chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. "I—I didn’t wait for the answer," he confessed. "I got called in before she could say anything."

JJ gaped at him. "Spence!"

"What’s going on?" Derek asked as he walked up, noticing the look of disbelief on JJ’s face.

Spencer let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I just asked her to marry me."

Derek blinked. "Wait, hold up. You proposed? And now you’re here?"

Spencer nodded.

"And you didn’t get an answer?"

Spencer shook his head.

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn, pretty boy. That’s a bold move."

Spencer groaned, rubbing his temples. "I know. Trust me, I know."

JJ laughed softly. "Well, if it helps, I think we all know what she’s going to say."

Spencer exhaled, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He hoped so. God, he hoped so.

Because the moment he got back to you, he wasn’t going to let anything—not work, not fear, not uncertainty—stand in the way of his future with you.

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hotchreidwriter · 2 days ago

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This me when — I have one my migraines or if I’m really tired or when someone asked me if I’m okay , DO I REALLY GIVE THEM THE Honest answer ? — No because they really don’t care , they just ask how you are just cause they feel like they half to :( in that kinda hurts .. o well ..

I know Spencer would listen if I told him 💔😭 me need Spencer

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #i do be yapping #hoe 4 hotchner #kris writing #kris yaps #my feelings nah I don’t have feelings #I love Spencer Reid #I wish Spencer was real #criminal minds x fem!reader

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hotchreidwriter · 2 days ago

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W.T.F…S.R…

Summary : After months of silence, Spencer is finally home. You’ve spent so long aching for him, missing him, and resenting the fact that he wouldn’t see you while he was in prison. Now that he’s back, the emotions are overwhelming—love, relief, anger, and heartbreak all tangled together. But as soon as you’re in his arms, you realize one thing: no matter how much time has passed, he’s still yours. And you’re still his.

Paring: (post prison) Spencer Reid x Fem!reader (BAU)

Content : •Post-prison reunion with Spencer Reid •Reader struggling with emotions after being shut out •Spencer feeling guilt but desperately needing comfort •A soft yet emotional moment between them •The beginning of healing after everything they've been through.

warning: •Angst •Hurt/Comfort•Mentions of prison and emotional distress •Crying •Mentions of past separation •Touch-starved!Spencer •A lot of emotions (love, pain, relief, etc.)— No use of your name…

Word count : 3K

A/n sorry I craved post prison Reid tonight enjoy . It’s barely proofed sorry for any misunderstanding or mistakes if you liked please re blog it keeps me going :) .

Request are open please be kind .

It was a Wednesday morning, around 9:30 a.m. You had to see him. You couldn’t think of anything else. Spencer had been seeing others—so maybe, just maybe, he’d see you too. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You had confided in Garcia, telling her you wanted to see Spence. She hesitated, asking if you were sure it was a good idea. I am, you had insisted.

So, you went.

Standing outside the prison where Spencer was being held, you took a deep breath before asking to see him. You gave the guard your name, but before you could even finish, he shook his head.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

Your heart dropped. “W-what?” You blinked, trying to process his words.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said, his voice softer now.

“No, there has to be some mistake,” you stammered. “I’m his girlfriend. He’ll want to see me.”

The guard gave you a sympathetic look. “I know, sweetheart. But you’re on the list of people he doesn’t want to see.”

You felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. “What the—” Your voice cracked, your throat tightening.

“I know this is hard,” he continued gently. “But those are his orders.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. “Please,” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice. “Can you at least give him a message for me?”

The guard hesitated before nodding. “I can try.”

“Just… just ask him to see me,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll try,” he said.

As he walked away, you stood frozen in place, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You had come all this way, hoping—praying—that Spencer would want to see you.

But he didn’t.

You called Garcia, your voice shaky as you tried to hold yourself together.

“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” you told her. “I can’t be at the office today.”

She didn’t ask why—she could already hear the pain in your voice.

“He didn’t want to see you, did he?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No.”

There was a pause before you quickly added, “Look, don’t say I told you so, okay?

I just… I just miss him. I needed to see him, to know if he’s okay.”

Garcia sighed softly. “You already know the answer to that, sweetheart. It wasn’t his choice to be in there.”

“I know that,” you whispered. “But my heart aches for him. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I know,” she said gently. “I’m doing everything I can to help get him out.”

“I know you are, Garcia,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

But knowing it wasn’t enough. Because no matter how hard she tried, Spencer was still in there. And worst of all… he didn’t want to see you.

It had been three months, two days, and three hours since you last saw Spencer—since you last tried to see him.

Your heart ached for him. You craved his presence more than anything in the world. Every week, you went through the same routine, clinging to hope like a lifeline. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. You stood at the prison gates, pleading to see him, only for the guard to tell you the same thing:

He doesn’t want to see you.

The words cut deeper each time, like a knife twisting in your chest.

The days stretched on endlessly, each one heavier than the last. The months blurred together, time passing in a cruel, aching haze. You told yourself you would keep trying, but each rejection chipped away at the fragile hope you clung to.

And now… now you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

You were shattered. Not just by the fact that Spencer was in prison, but by the reality that he didn’t want to see you. That he had chosen to keep you away.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that Spencer sat alone in his cell, head in his hands, counting the days just as you were. Three months. Two days. Three hours. He knew exactly how long it had been since he last saw you. And God, he missed you.

He wanted nothing more than to hold you, to tell you he was okay—even if he wasn’t. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Because in his mind, he wasn’t the man you deserved anymore.

And if he saw you—if he let himself have you—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive losing you all over again.

It had been three months, two days, and three hours since you last saw Spencer—since you last tried to see him.

He doesn’t want to see you.

The words cut deeper each time, like a knife twisting in your chest.

And now… now you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

You were shattered. Not just by the fact that Spencer was in prison, but by the reality that he didn’t want to see you. That he had chosen to keep you away.

He wanted nothing more than to hold you, to tell you he was okay—even if he wasn’t. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Because in his mind, he wasn’t the man you deserved anymore.

And if he saw you—if he let himself have you—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive losing you all over again.

It was a Friday evening. You sat curled up on Spencer’s couch, wrapped in one of his blankets—the one that still smelled like him. It was the closest you’d felt to him in months. One of his books rested in your lap, something you had mindlessly picked up from the coffee table, but you weren’t really reading. Your mind was elsewhere. On him.

Then your phone buzzed.

A number you didn’t recognize.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you answered anyway.

"You have a collect call from Spencer Reid. Do you wish to accept?"

Your breath caught in your throat. Hands shaking, you pressed one.

“Spence?” you gasped, voice thick with emotion.

Tears streamed down your face before you even heard his reply.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“W-what the hell, Spencer?” you choked out, torn between relief and frustration.

“I know,” he repeated, voice heavy with guilt. “I—God, I’m so sorry.”

You wiped at your tears, trying to catch your breath. “I miss you, Spence.” You weren’t even sure what to say. You just needed to hear his voice.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I miss you too.”

Silence stretched between you, filled with everything left unsaid.

“I need you,” he admitted, voice cracking.

“Then let me see you,” you pleaded softly.

A pause. Then—

“I can’t allow that right now.”

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

“You can’t see me like this.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, raw and broken. “Look, I just… I need you to know that I love you. So much. Okay?”

“Spence—”

“We don’t have much time,” he cut in, voice urgent now. “But please—please don’t give up on me.” He exhaled shakily. “I know I’m asking a lot, especially since I won’t let you see me, but… I love you. I really do.”

Your sobs wracked your body, silent but overwhelming.

Then the call disconnected.

Your breath hitched. “No.”

The dial tone rang in your ears.

No.

He was gone. Again.

It had been a couple of months since the call with Spencer. Since the last time you heard his voice.

You had thrown yourself into case after case, barely stopping to breathe. The team had closed several, and each time, you moved on to the next without hesitation. Work was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

Emily and JJ had checked in on you more than once, their concerned looks never fading.

“Look,” you told them one evening, exhaustion lacing your voice. “I need to focus. If I don’t, I’ll break. And we don’t want that.” You hesitated before adding, voice cracking, “Spencer doesn’t even want to see me.”

JJ frowned. “You know he cares about you.”

“I know that,” you sighed. “But please, just stop walking on eggshells around me, okay? I just need to keep going until he gets out… if he gets out.”

You caught movement in the corner of the room—Garcia. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes told you something was wrong. Or maybe something was right.

“Everything okay?” you asked hesitantly.

She nodded, motioning for you to come over.

Your stomach twisted. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice soft but filled with something that made your heart race.

“We… we might have a chance to get him out.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I’m about to go get him.”

Your knees nearly buckled. “What?” you gasped again, louder this time.

Emily stepped beside you, a small smile on her face. “I told you we’d get him out.”

Tears burned your eyes. You didn’t think—you just moved, throwing yourself into Emily’s arms. A sob ripped from your chest as you clung to her.

“Thank you, Em,” you choked out. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

She rubbed your back gently. “I know.”

And for the first time in months, hope didn’t feel so far away.

Garcia looked at you with a knowing smile. “Come with me.”

You grabbed your bag without question, following her as she led you to her car. She drove in silence for a few minutes, the hum of the engine filling the space between you.

It wasn’t until you recognized the streets that you frowned.

“I thought we were picking him up,” you said softly.

Garcia’s smile widened. “Sorry—did I say that?” She glanced at you, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Look, he wanted to surprise you.” She reached for your hand, giving it a squeeze. “He’s home. I dropped him off an hour ago.”

Your breath caught. “What?” you gasped.

“He’s home,” she repeated gently.

Tears burned in your eyes as the words sank in. You had spent months aching for him, missing him, dreaming of this moment. And now—now he was waiting for you.

“Thank you, Garcia,” you whispered, voice trembling.

She smiled warmly. “Go get him, love.”

What you didn’t know was that Spencer was already home, waiting for you.

He had tried to stay awake, fighting off the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin. But after months of restless nights, his body had other plans.

He had showered the moment Garcia dropped him off, scrubbing away the feeling of prison, letting the hot water wash over him until his muscles ached from standing. He should have felt refreshed, but instead, the warmth had only made him more tired.

Now, he sat in his chair, fighting sleep, his fingers twitching slightly as he tried to keep his eyes open. His heart pounded at the thought of seeing you again—touching you, holding you, telling you how much he had missed you.

Would you be angry? Hurt? Would you still love him after everything?

He didn’t know. But what he did know was that the moment you walked through that door, he would never let you go again.

You stepped out of the SUV, barely registering the sound of the door closing behind you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands trembling as you made your way up to Spencer’s apartment.

You craved him. His touch, his warmth, the feeling of being in his arms where you belonged. But beneath the longing, there was something else—anger. Hurt. Months of unanswered questions and the ache of being shut out.

You wanted to run into his arms.

You wanted to slap him across the face.

He had chosen not to see you, not to let you in. And yet, despite it all, you had never stopped loving him. You had convinced yourself you were strong enough to handle anything—even seeing him behind those prison walls. But now, standing at his door, you weren’t so sure.

Taking a shaky breath, you turned the knob and stepped inside.

And there he was.

Asleep in his chair, head tilted slightly to the side, his breathing deep and steady. He looked exhausted, even in sleep—dark circles under his eyes, his face thinner than you remembered. But he was here. He was home.

Tears blurred your vision. You covered your mouth, a quiet sob escaping before you could stop it.

“Spence,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Your knees nearly buckled as you stepped closer. You bent down in front of him, your fingers hesitantly threading through his hair. God, you had missed this.

“Spencer,” you said softly, voice trembling.

At your touch, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looked disoriented—then his gaze locked onto yours, and his breath hitched.

“Baby…” he rasped, sitting up and rubbing his tired eyes.

It was real. You were real.

"Spence… you’re home. You’re here,” you whispered, your hands trembling as you reached for him.

Spencer stood, his tired eyes never leaving yours. “I’m home,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “I’m here.”

And then, finally, finally, he pulled you into his arms.

A sob tore from your chest the moment you felt him, the warmth of his body against yours, the way his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid to let go. You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he might disappear again.

He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in. “I’m home,” he whispered again, like he needed to remind himself this was real.

Tears streamed down your face as he held you, grounding you, soothing the ache that had settled in your chest for months.

After a moment, he gently pulled back, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. Without a word, he led you to the bedroom, keeping you close, as if afraid you might slip away.

“I’m home,” he whispered one last time, his forehead resting against yours.

And for the first time in months, your heart felt whole again.

Tags I think might enjoy this

@mggslover

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@angellsell

@hoe4hotchner

@catssluvr

@mggpleasedontlookhere

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hotchreidwriter · 3 days ago

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As soon as I figure out how to be creative about my navigation in about me I’m updating again because I wanna know how you link it in your about me in your navigation if that makes sense?

#criminal minds #spencer reid #help #navigation #about me #struggling #hoe 4 hotchner #doctor spencer reid

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hotchreidwriter · 3 days ago

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I have NO—WORDS FOR WHAT I JUST WATCHED LOL

68 kills was insane omg … Matthew gray gubler as Chip …

Wait what …. I just watched it for the first time tonight holy cow

#Matthew gray gubler #68 kills #omg #Mgg #chip

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hotchreidwriter · 4 days ago

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Look after you [S.R]

Summary: After the death of your mother, you return home to face an overwhelming grief you’re not sure how to handle. Surrounded by family, your brother Lee and your dad, you're struggling to cope with the loss, but it’s Spencer—your brother's close friend from the BAU—who stays by your side. As you prepare for your mother’s funeral, Spencer offers you comfort, helping you through the hardest moments of your life.

Paring : fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Angst, Grief, Death, Emotional , Mild Language

Word count : 4K

Content: Emotional Grief, Comfort

Category: Angst, Romance, Comfort

The song look after you by the fray means a lot to me in this fic I used little lyrics to symbolizes the words in feelings in the fic . I hope that makes since

This broke my heart. I did my best to proofread , please be kind if I messed up anything I can fix it but I had fun writing this it help me let out some emotions.

Author notes : I’m so very sorry for this one it hurt me more to write it then it was for you to read it , I can’t count how many times I cried writing this — A few years ago my grandmother had past away and her birthday is coming up soon and so I wanted to write this but in different perspective way . I still grief till this day for her — this feeling was how I was feeling during my grandmothers funeral 💔😭💗..

“If I don’t say this now , I will surely break .

You had been in the shower for what felt like forever, the water running warm but unable to soothe the cold ache in your chest. It had been thirty minutes, maybe more. You just got home from college, and everything felt like it was crashing down around you.

The year had been brutal—your mom had passed away, and now it was just you, your dad, and your older brother left to pick up the pieces.

Your brother, who worked in the BAU, was someone you always looked up to.

You’d followed his footsteps into college, thinking you could make it, just like him.

That’s how you met Spencer Reid—through your brother. You’d hit it off instantly, and over time, you’d grown close. But now, your heart was a mess, torn between grief and the overwhelming silence of your mother’s absence.

The sound of your dad’s voice broke through your thoughts, muffled through the bathroom door. “Sweetheart, Spencer’s here,” he called, his voice tight, like he was struggling to keep it together himself.

You stayed where you were, sitting on the cold tile floor of the shower, the water cascading over your head. The tears kept coming.

It didn’t matter that the funeral for your mom was tomorrow. The reality hadn’t hit until now—your world, once whole, was forever broken.

You couldn’t stop thinking about her, the memories flooding your mind.

The necklace she gave you, the one you still wore, now felt heavier than ever.

Is she doing okay? Spencer had asked your dad earlier.

“Not really, Spence,” your dad had replied. “But you can go on up if you want.”

“Thanks, sir,” Spencer had said, his voice soft but sincere. “No problem, Spence. You’re part of this family now.”

And then, Spencer came. He walked up the stairs, hesitating for only a moment before pushing open the bathroom door.

The moment he stepped inside, the sound of your sobs became audible, and he froze for a second, his heart aching for you.

You hadn’t noticed him until he was right there, standing in the doorway, still fully dressed.

"Spence?" you gasped, your voice raw with emotion. "What—what are you doing in here? In my bathroom? In my shower?"

“I just… I couldn’t just leave you alone.

” His voice was gentle but full of emotion.

“I wanted to be here for you. I had to make sure you were okay.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so instead, you just collapsed into him, burying your face in his chest, your body shaking with each sob that wracked your frame.

You cried harder, the grief pouring out of you.

“Why her? Why my mom?” you whispered, your voice broken.

Spencer held you tightly, his own heart heavy with sorrow for you.

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good with words when it came to things like this.

All he knew was that he wanted to comfort you, to let you know that you weren’t alone.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured softly, his hands gently stroking your hair.

“I’m so sorry. I’m here for you. I’ve got you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And in that moment, as you clung to him, the world outside seemed to fade.

The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but somehow, for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt quite as much.

After a few minutes, Spencer gently pulled back, guiding you to stand. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he said quietly, his tone caring and calm.

“As I'm leaving the one I wanna take , Forgive the urgency, but hurry up and wait, My heart has started to separate.

You barely had the strength to respond, but you let him help you, his hands tender as he guided you out of the shower.

He wrapped a towel around your shoulders and pulled you into him, holding you tightly for just a moment before stepping back.

“Let me help you get dressed, okay?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You shook your head weakly, wiping away more tears. “Spence… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said softly, gently lifting your chin to meet your eyes. “But I want to. I’m here for you, remember?”

With a small, shaky breath, you nodded. It was hard to think straight, but his presence, his unwavering kindness, made everything feel just a little more manageable. Spencer carefully helped you pull on a soft pair of sweatpants and a loose sweater, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was afraid he might break you.

Once you were dressed, he reached for the brush that was sitting on the bathroom counter, brushing through your damp hair with gentle strokes.

Each movement was soothing, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was trying to erase the pain from your heart.

You closed your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the kindness in his actions. "Spence... You don’t have to do all this. I can—"

“I want to,” he interrupted softly, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You don’t have to do anything right now. I’ve got you.”

When he finished brushing your hair, he carefully dried your face with a soft towel, wiping away the remnants of your tears.

Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms again, his body a quiet comfort as you rested your head against his chest.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Spencer whispered, his voice full of conviction. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to feel the warmth of his presence, and for just a moment, you didn’t feel so alone.

At that moment, you heard the soft creak of footsteps on the stairs, and your brother Lee appeared in the doorway, his face a mixture of concern and warmth. “Hey, sis,” he said gently, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

Without a word, you rushed toward him, throwing your arms around his neck. Despite his “jock” reputation in high school, Lee had grown into one of the kindest people you knew, always there when you needed him. He was everything you could have asked for in a brother, and more.

“I’m glad you're home,” Lee murmured, hugging you back. His voice cracked slightly, and you felt his own grief settle over him. He didn’t need to say anything more. You both understood.

“Thanks for bringing Spencer by,” you whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him. You could see the concern in his eyes, but his smile reassured you.

“Of course, sis. Wouldn’t leave you alone right now,” Lee said, his voice steady, like the rock you always knew him to be. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

Spencer, who had been standing nearby, gave Lee a small nod, then spoke with that soft tone you were used to. “If you want, you can grab some of Lee’s clothes. I’m sure he won’t mind, and it’ll give you time to relax while yours dry off.”

You glanced at Spencer, then back at Lee, a small laugh escaping your lips despite the heavy atmosphere. “I hope this will do,” you said with a weak smile, grabbing a shirt and pair of shorts from your brother’s closet. “I’m sure he won’t mind for now.”

Lee chuckled, his warm eyes lighting up. “It’s all yours, sis. Take whatever you need.”

As you stepped back into the bathroom, you held up the clothes in front of Spencer. “I guess these will work for now?” you said with a small grin, trying to push through the sadness.

Spencer smiled back, his eyes softening as he took the clothes from you. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’ll be quick.”

When he stepped into the bathroom to change, you turned back to Lee, who was leaning against the doorframe with a soft but reassuring smile.

“It’s good to have you home,” Lee said, his tone sincere.

You nodded, a lump in your throat as you hugged him tightly once more. “Thanks, Lee. I needed this.”

Lee squeezed you tighter for a moment, then pulled back, his expression serious but full of love. “You’re family. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And as Spencer emerged a few moments later, wearing the borrowed clothes with that familiar quiet grace, you realized—between Lee, Spencer, and your dad—you didn’t have to.

The next morning, you woke up to the soft rays of sunlight creeping through your window. It was a slow, heavy morning, the weight of what lay ahead settling in your chest. You heard your dad’s voice from downstairs, calling out to you gently. “Sweetheart, are you awake?”

“I’m up,” you replied, your voice sounding quieter than usual.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Today was the day—your mom’s funeral. You had barely slept the night before, the memories of her haunting you even as you tried to close your eyes. But now, there was no avoiding it. It was real. You had to face it.

You got out of bed, pulling the black dress you had chosen the night before from your closet. It felt like the only option. The fabric was soft but formal, the kind of dress your mom would’ve loved.

You slid into it, then spent a little extra time curling your hair, the motions almost automatic, like a ritual. You applied some light makeup—nothing too much, just enough to make you feel like yourself.

Before you could even think about anything else, you reached for the necklace your mom had given you. The delicate pendant felt heavy against your skin, and you couldn’t help but think of her as you put it on.

She had always worn it herself, and now it was yours. It grounded you in some strange way, as if a part of her was still with you, even in her absence.

As you finished getting ready, you heard footsteps from down the hall. Spencer had already gotten up and left to go get ready himself. You weren’t sure where he had gone, but you knew he wouldn’t be far.

He had promised to stay with you, to be there for you, no matter what. Your heart warmed at the thought of him, always putting you first.

You stepped out into the hallway, making your way down the stairs. When you reached the bottom, you saw your brother Lee leaning against the kitchen counter, his eyes soft as he noticed you.

"Spence is getting ready. He'll be back soon," Lee said, his voice kind but steady. "But hey, you need to try to eat something. Come on."

Your dad’s voice chimed in from the kitchen, his tone light despite the heaviness of the morning.

“I made your favorite, sweetheart. Bacon, eggs, and biscuits with gravy,” he said, his attempt at normalcy a comfort, even though it couldn’t take away the weight in the air.

You made your way into the kitchen, smiling faintly at the spread your dad had prepared.

It was always one of your favorite meals, and even though the world felt wrong today, it was nice to have something familiar. Your dad had a way of making things feel a little less heavy, even if just for a moment.

“Thanks, Dad,” you murmured as you walked over to the table, your stomach feeling uneasy but knowing you had to eat.

As you sat down, your dad reached over and gave you a tight hug. You buried your face in his shoulder for a moment, feeling the comfort of his embrace.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

"I love you too, Dad," you said, pulling back slightly but keeping close. The hug felt like something you needed more than ever right now.

After a few moments, you pulled yourself together, sitting down to eat.

Your dad had done his best to make this morning as normal as possible, and you were grateful for it, even if it felt like the world outside the kitchen was completely different from the one inside.

Your brother, Lee, walked over to you with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay, sis. You’ve got this,” he said, his voice steady, though you could see the concern in his eyes. Lee was always strong for you, but you knew he was struggling, too.

“Thanks, Lee,” you said softly, giving him a small smile in return. His presence, like Spencer’s, always had a way of grounding you.

As you ate, your mind drifted to Spencer, wondering when he would come back. You knew he wasn’t far, and it gave you a quiet sense of comfort.

No matter what happened today, you weren’t alone. You had your family, and you had Spencer, and that was more than enough for now.

The kitchen was quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft clink of cutlery and the gentle hum of your thoughts. You were trying to focus on your food, but it was hard to keep your mind from drifting.

The heaviness of the day lingered like a weight in your chest, but for the moment, your dad and Lee’s presence grounded you.

There now, steady love, so few come and don't go

“Will you, won't you be the one I'll always know? , “When I'm losing my control, the city spins around , “You're the only one who knows, you slow it down.

Then you heard the door open.

You looked up, your heart skipping in your chest, knowing exactly who it was. "Spence is back," Lee said softly, glancing toward the door with a small, encouraging smile.

You set your fork down, your heart beating a little faster. You knew Spencer wouldn’t be long, but the thought of seeing him, of having him with you through everything, made you feel like you could breathe again.

You excused yourself from the kitchen, your feet carrying you toward the living room.

The door to the front entrance was open just a crack, and as you stepped closer, you saw him.

Spencer stood there, tall and slender, dressed in a sharp black-and-white suit.

The contrast of his clothes against the morning light only made him seem even more striking.

His dark hair, usually a little messy, was neatly styled, and in his hand, he held a small bouquet of flowers.

When you opened the door, he looked up at you, a small but warm smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your own face as you saw him standing there, the nervous energy in his eyes that he tried to hide.

It was the same Spencer you’d come to know, but now, it felt like he was all that was steady in a world that was slowly falling apart.

Before he could say anything, you ran to him, and without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, holding him tightly. His body was warm and solid, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered but the quiet comfort of his presence.

"I told you I’d come back," Spencer said softly, his voice steady but filled with the same tenderness you had come to expect from him.

He carefully pulled back just enough to hold out the flowers toward you. "I got these for you… and for your mom, for today."

You looked down at the bouquet, your breath catching in your throat. It was a simple arrangement—white lilies and soft pink roses—beautiful and delicate, just like the woman they were for.

“Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It means more than I can say.”

Spencer’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his eyes dark with understanding.

“I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said quietly, his hand gently resting on your back, giving you just enough comfort to steady yourself.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together.

“I know. I know,” you murmured, your words quiet but full of gratitude. "I’m glad you’re here."

Spencer smiled softly, the weight of everything they were both carrying unspoken between you, but still shared in the tenderness of that moment.

“You’re not alone, I promise. You’ve got me."

You clung to him a moment longer, letting the comfort of his words settle over you.

Spencer didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t expect anything from you but to be there, and right now, that was everything.

The drive to the funeral was a blur. The world outside seemed distant, like you were floating through it all.

You could feel the weight of the day pressing down on you, each breath harder than the last. When you arrived, it was as though everything moved in slow motion.

The air felt thick, the sound of footsteps muffled beneath the weight of grief.

I'll look after you ,After you.. Oh, oh, oh, oh, be my baby

Oh, oh, oh.

The funeral home was quiet, solemn. You could hear your dad’s heavy breathing, his hand shaking slightly as he tried to hold it together.

Lee, normally strong and unshakable, was silently wiping his eyes, trying to hide the tears that wouldn’t stop. Your heart broke seeing them both like this.

You stood there, almost numb, as the guests slowly made their way to say their goodbyes.

You watched, unable to move at first, your body frozen in place as the reality of the situation crashed down on you.

This was it. Your mom, the woman who had been the center of your world, the one who loved you unconditionally, was gone.

You had known it in your mind, but seeing her there, lying in the casket, still and lifeless, made it all real in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It felt as though the ground beneath you was disappearing.

When it was finally your turn, you felt yourself trembling. You hadn’t known what to expect when you walked up to her, but now, standing there in front of her, it was almost too much.

Her face, so peaceful, but so still, seemed so distant from the mom you remembered—the one who had held you close when you were little, the one who gave you strength just by being in the room.

Your throat tightened as you reached out, placing your hand gently on the casket.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times, but none of those thoughts had prepared you for the finality of it all. You tried to say something, anything, but no words came. All you could do was cry.

And then, as you stood there, your sobs growing louder, Spencer was by your side, his arms enveloping you from behind, steadying you.

He said nothing—there was nothing he needed to say. His presence alone was a quiet comfort, holding you together in that fragile moment when you thought you might break.

“I’m here,” Spencer whispered softly into your ear, his voice breaking with emotion. "I’ve got you."

You cried harder, your chest aching with the weight of it all, and you could feel Spencer’s arms tighten around you, offering everything he could in that moment—his support, his love, his strength.

“I—I don’t know what to do, Spence,” you choked out, your voice raw with grief. “I can’t—she’s really gone. I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” Spencer murmured, his voice thick with sadness, his hands gently rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I know, but you’re not alone. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”

You held on to him, leaning into his embrace as if it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

The world felt too big, too overwhelming, but in his arms, you found a small piece of peace.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the comfort of his touch, knowing that, for all the heartbreak and loss, Spencer would stay with you. He wasn’t going anywhere.

As you said your final goodbye to your mom, the words finally came, though they were barely a whisper, lost in your tears. “I love you, Mom. I’ll never forget you.”

And through it all, Spencer didn’t let go. His hold on you never faltered, his quiet presence the only thing that gave you any semblance of strength in that moment of unimaginable loss.

“It's always have and never hold , You've begun to feel like home ,What's mine is yours to leave or take ,What's mine is yours to make your own

After the funeral, the day seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment heavy with silence.

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon, when the house had quieted down and the last of the guests had left, that Spencer found you sitting alone in the living room, staring at nothing in particular.

Your mind felt like it was a thousand miles away, caught between memories of your mom and the new, painful reality of life without her.

Spencer hesitated before stepping into the room, a small, unsure smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Hey," he said softly, his voice a gentle intrusion into the stillness. "I know it might be too soon, but... I was hoping we could get some coffee. Just, you know, to get away for a little while."

You blinked at him, the thought of stepping out of the house feeling almost foreign. You were exhausted, emotionally drained, but the idea of leaving for a bit and having a moment of peace with Spencer made something inside you stir.

He didn’t have to say it, but you knew. He wasn’t just offering coffee. He was offering a small escape, a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos.

“I don’t know…” you started, unsure, but Spencer was already walking closer, his eyes full of that familiar understanding, the kind that made your chest tighten.

"You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to," Spencer added, his tone soft but persistent. "I just... I thought it might help.

Just a few minutes outside, a little fresh air, and something to drink. We can sit in silence, whatever you need."

“Alright,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting slightly. “Coffee sounds good.”

Spencer’s face softened, his relief palpable, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could breathe a little easier.

"Thanks," he said quietly, as if the simple invitation meant more than just a cup of coffee—it was a promise of comfort, of space to heal.

Lee gave a knowing nod as he walked past, leaving you and Spencer alone to make your way out of the house.

@mggslover

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@hoe4hotchner

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #grife #angst hurt comfort #angst with a happy ending #look after you by the fray #i love spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fics #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #comfort spencer reid #criminal minds x fem!reader #icon spencer reid #spencer reid x you

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hotchreidwriter · 4 days ago

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The fact that Rossi is the one to always notice something first with Aaron … loved this I missed seeing this .. this series is good I love it I recommend it if you haven’t read it yet … roller coaster ride but in a good way had me on my seat..

Love reader in Hotch the best written Hotch in reader moment I’ve read in while. Much love

Chapter 13 - Rebuilding

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Dr. Jensen is back, minimal case talk….. Something really nice in the end for everyone who made it this far.

A/N: 1 chapter left + the epilogue after this! Y'all can do it, wait is almost over before the full story is out :)

Masterlist

The hallway leading toward Dr. Jensen’s office was quieter than usual. The rest of the floor was eerily silent as you made your way through the maze of corridors.

Her office lay tucked away from the bustle of agents and analysts alike, rushing around, copying reports, debriefing, and analyzing clues. You walked slowly, the weight of the past week still pressing heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't figure out why the confrontation with Collins kept lingering in your mind, it still felt just as vivid and raw as the day it all happened.

You could still sense the feeling of the cold air rising from the rink beneath your feet, hear the chaotic echoes of screams and shouts, see the flash of Collins’ twisted smirk, but worst of all—you could still hear the sounds of gunshots. When you went to bed, they were there, moving about your day, they were there. Nothing seemed to help you.

Dr. Jensen’s door was slightly ajar. You had never really noticed it, but the placard on it read Dr. Elise Jensen, Behavioral Therapist in clean, professional lettering. You hesitated, your hand hovering just above the polished wood. Your mind drawing to her name—it suited her—you knew your brain was stalling, keeping your body from pushing forward and walking into the office.

You knew you had to talk to her, if not for your well-being, then at least as a courtesy to thank her, to wrap the case up. You tried to justify that this visit was more for her than it was something you needed.

“Come in,” her voice called gently, as though she sensed your presence.

You pushed the door open to find her seated behind her desk, the space was warm and inviting despite the setting. You loved how the office had been decorated with warm tones—it made it feel safe.

A soft beige rug covered part of the hardwood floor, and shelves lined with books on trauma, psychology, and healing framed the room. A pair of comfortable armchairs sat opposite her desk, one of which she motioned toward with a kind smile.

“Good to see you again,” she said as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

You settled into the chair, the cushions swallowing you slightly, and glanced around. A calming landscape painting hung on the wall beside her desk—you always studied it when you didn't know what to say. A small diffuser on a shelf emitted the faint scent of lavender—that one was new. The quiet hum of the air conditioning was the only other sound in the room.

Dr. Jensen leaned forward slightly, clipboard in hand but her full attention on you. “How are you feeling today?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t really know,” you admitted. “It’s like... I’m here, but part of me is still back there. On the ice.” You tried to explain, hoping that she had already been briefed about what had gone down. You didn't know if you were ready to retell the story yet.

She nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “That’s a very normal response after a traumatic event. Your mind is still trying to process what happened, and it’s common to feel disconnected or stuck. Let’s talk about what’s been coming up for you since then. Have you noticed anything specific—any triggers or moments where it feels harder to cope?”

“Crowds,” you said after a moment of thought. “And loud noises. Even applause—it used to be something I loved, but now it just... it feels wrong. I can't even enjoy a movie or music if the noise is too loud.”

“That makes sense,” she said gently, jotting something down on her clipboard. “Crowds and loud noises mimic the overwhelming sensory input from that moment for you. It’s your brain’s way of trying to keep you safe, but it can become overactive, making everyday situations feel threatening.”

You looked down at your hands, swallowing hard. “How do I stop it? Feeling like this?”

“It’s not about stopping it immediately,” she explained. “It’s about retraining your mind and body to feel safe again. One of the ways we can do that is through grounding exercises. Do you know any of those?”

You shook your head.

“They’re simple techniques to bring you back to the present moment when you feel overwhelmed,” she said. “Let’s try one now.”

Dr. Jensen guided you through a grounding exercise, her voice calm and steady as she instructed you to name five things you could see, four things you could feel, three things you could hear, two things you could smell, and one thing you could taste.

By the end of it, the tightness in your chest had loosened just a little.

“That’s grounding,” she said, smiling. “It’s a tool you can use anytime, anywhere, to help you stay present and reduce the intensity of your emotions. It's ideal to inform your close ones—or generally people you're around—on how the exercise works, to make sure someone can guide you through it if needed.”

You nodded, absorbing her words.

She leaned back slightly, her pen tapping lightly against her clipboard. “Another important part of your recovery will be self-care I think. I know it sounds simple, and maybe silly given the circumstances, but taking care of your physical and emotional well-being can make a big difference. Small, consistent actions—like getting enough rest, eating well, and doing things that bring you joy—can help you regain a sense of normalcy.”

“Joy feels... distant,” you said.

“It might for a while,” she acknowledged. “But even small things— reading a book you love, taking a quiet walk, bubble baths—can start to remind you what it feels like to experience moments of peace.”

You nodded, though the idea felt foreign.

“Lastly,” Dr. Jensen said, her tone a little firmer now but still kind, “don’t hesitate to reach out for support. You don’t have to go through this alone. If you feel like you’re struggling, call me. We can schedule another session or even just talk things through over the phone if it's urgent.”

You met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes anchoring you, it felt nice. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“You’re taking the right steps,” she said warmly. “Be patient with yourself, and remember—progress isn’t linear. It’s okay to have good days and bad days. What matters is that you’re moving forward, even if it’s just one small step at a time.”

As you left her office, a grounding exercise flyer tucked under your arm, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. It was fragile and could be broken quickly, but it was there, and for now, that was enough.

The conference room buzzed with peaceful energy, the kind that followed most cases once the unsub was caught. Files and laptops were scattered across the table, and the team seated in their usual spots—although the seats weren't assigned, the agents somehow found their way to the same seat every time.

Despite the sense of relief after Collins’ capture, the room was anchored by the weight of what came next.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression composed but serious. He looked relieved. The open file in front of him was thick with documents—arrest reports, forensic analyses, witness statements—bearing the weight of how extensive the case had been. He gestured toward a chart displayed on the screen.

“Our job isn’t done yet,” he began, his tone steady. “Collins is in custody, but securing a conviction will depend on the strength of our evidence and how we present it in court. The U.S. Attorney’s office has taken the lead on prosecution, and they’re expecting our full cooperation to ensure there are no vulnerabilities for the defense to exploit.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Do we know who the defendant is?”

“Lynn Avery,” JJ replied, consulting her notes. “She’s handled high-profile cases before, but she’s meticulous. She’ll want everything ironclad, especially with someone like Collins—It beats me that she's willing to take his case.”

Hotch nodded. “Collins’ defense team will likely argue entrapment, or claim that his rights were violated during his arrest. They’ve already filed a motion to suppress evidence gathered at his residence, citing an alleged lack of probable cause for the warrant. And they're seeking compensation from the FBI since we shot him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “We had more than enough evidence to justify the warrant—Garcia’s cyber trail, the victim connections, and the physical evidence we tied to him.”

“And that’s what we’ll argue,” Hotch replied. “But the defense will push hard to discredit every step we took. They’ll scrutinize the chain of custody for every piece of evidence, claim coercion in his confession, and argue procedural missteps. We need to be ready for all of it.”

Reid tapped a pen against his notebook. “Given Collins’ personality profile, he’s unlikely to accept a plea deal unless it guarantees minimal sentencing. His narcissism and delusional sense of control will make him think he can manipulate the trial in his favor.”

“Exactly,” Hotch said. “Which means the trial will be a spectacle. He’ll want to testify, to put himself in the spotlight. We need to prepare for that, too.”

JJ glanced at the file in front of her. “Avery also requested comprehensive victim impact statements. She wants them submitted within the next five days to ensure they’re included in the pre-trial proceedings. The problem is that there's only one victim left, and I'm not sure she's ready for that conversation yet.” JJ sighed, and everyone instantly knew she was referring to you, being the last victim alive connected directly to this case.

“I’ll get the digital files ready,” Garcia chimed in, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “We’ve got detailed reports on every confirmed victim, plus notes on the suspected ones. I’ll cross-reference to make sure nothing’s missing, maybe we can use some of those, although Ms. Avery probably has a way of discrediting the evidence.”

Morgan looked toward Hotch. “And the likely judge? Do we know who’s presiding over the trial?”

“Judge Abbott,” Hotch said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “I met with him yesterday to discuss the case, but he denied my request to prosecute Collins myself.”

“Wait,” Rossi interjected, an amused smirk on his face. “You tried to charm Abbott into bending protocol? Hotch, he’s about as flexible as a steel beam.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of humor passed through his eyes. “It was worth a try. Abbott’s insistence on maintaining objectivity is admirable, but it means we’ll need to focus on supporting the prosecution rather than steering it. As I had hoped”

Garcia leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wait, wait. Did you actually, you know, smile during this so-called charm offensive? Because if so, I need photographic evidence.”

The team chuckled, their laughter breaking the tension. Even Hotch allowed a faint upward twitch of his lips before refocusing.

“Back to business,” he said firmly, though the lightness in the room lingered. “Morgan, you and Prentiss will liaise with the U.S. Attorney’s office to coordinate trial prep. Reid, review Collins’ prior legal encounters. Look for anything the defense might try to use to frame him as sympathetic or rehabilitated.”

“On it,” Reid said, already making notes.

“Rossi, you and I will finalize the timeline of events and ensure the chain of custody for all evidence is documented. JJ, work with Garcia to figure out the victim profiles and organize any possible statements.”

The room buzzed with acknowledgment, each team member slipping seamlessly into their assigned roles.

Morgan leaned back, his demeanor softening for a moment. “Gotta say, though, it’s a relief to have this guy off the streets. And to see you, Hotch, of all people, trying to sweet-talk a judge? That’s just the cherry on top.”

Hotch allowed himself a small exhale, part sigh, part laugh. “Let’s focus on making sure Collins stays off the streets for the rest of his life. Humor can wait until the case is closed.”

As the team gathered their materials and filtered out of the conference room, chatting quietly among themselves, Rossi lingered behind, his gaze following Hotch as he organized the remaining case files on the table. Rossi leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his old friend with a smirk.

“You’re not just protecting her as part of the job, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice was calm but pointed, already knowing the answer.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening slightly on the folder in his hand. He quickly recovered, placing the file down and meeting Rossi’s gaze with as much neutrality as he could muster.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hotch replied evenly, his tone betraying nothing.

Rossi chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. “Come on, Aaron. I’ve known you for years. I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?” Hotch countered, his posture straightening defensively.

“The one that says you care about her. Not just as a victim, not just as someone under your protection. It’s deeper than that.” Rossi tilted his head, his eyes sharp and unyielding. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you protecting her because it’s part of the job, or is it something more?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the weight of the question pressing down on him. “I’m... Dave! My responsibility is to ensure her safety and well-being, nothing more.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re good at a lot of things, Aaron, but lying? Not so much—at least not lying to me. You can try to convince me—or yourself—that this is strictly professional, but we both know better.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t deny it. Not to me.” Rossi’s tone softened, though his words retained their weight. “I’m not here to judge you, Aaron. But I am here to remind you of something important: life’s too short to bury your feelings. You can’t protect her from everything, but you can make her feel safe. And sometimes, that’s all someone really needs.”

Hotch looked away, his usually stoic expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch finally said, his voice low. Rossi could sense the vulnerability in his tone but decided to keep it to himself. “It’s not that simple. She’s been through enough. The last thing she needs is—”

“Is someone who cares about her? Someone who’ll fight for her, stand by her?” Rossi interrupted his voice firm, almost unkind. “Aaron, she’s stronger than you think. And so are you. Stop overthinking and start feeling.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping slightly as if the weight of his own emotions was finally too much to carry. Rossi stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Rossi said with a small, understanding smile. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t wait too long to figure it out.”

The words hung in the air like a silent command. Hotch nodded slowly, his resolve hardening as he met Rossi’s gaze.

Without another word, he left the room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the elevator.

Rossi watched him go, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go get her boy,” he murmured to himself before turning to gather the rest of his things.

The sound of your blades carving through the ice echoed faintly through the rink as Hotch stepped inside, the cool air hitting him immediately. He scanned the space, his eyes landing on you at the far end of the ice. Even from a distance, he recognized the fluidity of your movements—the same program you’d skated at regionals. It was mesmerizing, but there was a heaviness to your routine now, an intensity that spoke of your struggle to reclaim it as your own.

You were lost in the choreography, each spin and glide pulling you deeper into your own thoughts. Hotch stood quietly by the rink boards, watching you for a moment. There was something achingly vulnerable about the way you skated, as if you were trying to shed the weight of everything that had happened.

He knew you'd gone to see Dr. Jensen today, but you hadn't come to see him afterward—you usually did.

An idea—terrible, impulsive, and completely uncharacteristic of him—formed in his mind as he watched you. Without giving himself time to second-guess, Hotch turned and made his way to the skate rental counter.

The young attendant behind the counter looked up as he approached, her expression shifting from polite indifference to hesitant recognition. “Uh... Agent Hotchner, right?” she asked tentatively.

Hotch nodded, keeping his tone calm, trying not to sound authoritative. “I need a pair of skates.”

The attendant blinked in surprise. “Skates? For... you?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice firm.

Her hesitation was evident as she glanced toward the ice, where you were still completely absorbed in your routine. “I, um... are you sure? I mean, it’s not really a good idea for—"

“I’m sure,” Hotch interrupted, his steady gaze cutting off her protests.

Reluctantly, she handed over a pair of skates, her expression somewhere between confusion and mild alarm. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Hotch nodded his thanks and moved to a nearby bench, where he sat down to buckle up the unfamiliar blue footwear. It took longer than he anticipated to get the right feel—years of tying dress shoes and boots had not prepared him for this buckle mechanism that didn't seem to grip the grooves right—but eventually, he managed to secure the skates tightly enough to feel somewhat stable.

Rising cautiously, he wobbled slightly, gripping the edge of the bench for support. He glanced toward the ice, noting that you were still oblivious to his presence. With a deep breath, he made his way to the edge of the rink.

The first step onto the ice was... precarious. Hotch’s legs stiffened instinctively, his arms flailing slightly before he caught his balance. He gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing as he took another hesitant step, then another.

By the time he was halfway across the ice, he was certain that this had been one of his worst ideas to date. His legs felt like they were made of lead, every muscle locked in an effort to keep him upright. He could feel the amused stares of the rink attendants boring into his back from the offices that looked out over the rink, but he pressed on, his eyes fixed on you.

You still hadn't noticed him, too focused on nailing a particularly intricate combination of spins, you'd done it before and knew you could do it over and over. But as you came out of your final turn, your eyes caught a flash of movement that didn’t belong.

Your gaze snapped to the figure cautiously making his way across the ice, and your heart nearly stopped.

“Hotch?” you called, your voice tinged with equal parts disbelief and alarm.

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of determination and barely concealed panic. “I, uh... thought I’d join you,” he managed, his voice strained as he concentrated on not falling.

You skated toward him quickly, your movements effortless compared to his awkward shuffle. When you reached him, you grabbed his hands instinctively, trying to steady him.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He met your eyes, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Making a fool of myself, apparently.”

You slid backward a little, your skates slicing clean arcs into the ice as you circled around him a few times, studying the tension in his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. The rink was quiet, save for the faint hum of the lights and the muffled scrape of his borrowed skates against the surface. Finally, you stopped in front of him, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, tilting your head as you took him in.

“Hotch,” you start, a teasing edge in your voice. “You do realize this isn’t exactly your natural habitat, right?”

His lips twitched. “I’m well aware,” he admitted, shifting his weight awkwardly, his knees stiff as he tried to stay upright. “But I’m not here to skate. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through the lightness of the moment, and your expression softened, a little surprised. “Why, though? Why put yourself through this?”

He exhaled, his breath a mist in the cool air between you. “Because I needed to see how you were holding up. After everything—Collins, regionals, all of it—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

You glanced down, the ice beneath your skates suddenly more fascinating than the man risking his life on two thin blades in front of you. “I don’t know if I am,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like... everything’s in pieces. My career, the trial, my future—it all feels so fragile, like it could fall apart any second.”

Hotch stepped closer—carefully, deliberately— his voice low. “It won’t. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone in this.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes holding several emotions you were not used to seeing from him, and it pulled at something deep within you.

“And Collins?” you asked, the name tasting bitter on your tongue.

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “The team and I are doing everything we can to ensure he’s prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He won’t walk away from this.”

The tension between you hung in the air, stretched taut but unbroken. You nodded, your skates gliding forward just slightly as you closed the small distance between you.

“And what about you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “What about me?”

“You’ve been carrying so much—this case, the team, me...” You gestured vaguely. “How are you holding up?”

For a moment, he didn't answer, his expression guarded, but then something shifted. Without a word, he stepped closer, his movements still awkward on the ice but steady enough. His hands lifted, hesitating for a heartbeat before they cupped your face. His touch was warm, and grounding, and it sent a shiver running down your spine.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ve tried to keep this professional, to do the right thing, but I can’t anymore. I’ve fallen for you—completely. And I know it’s wrong. I know it’s unprofessional, and I’m not like this. I don’t lose control like this.”

He’s rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, without hesitation. But I can’t... I can’t stand by and pretend I don’t feel this way. I—”

You stopped him the only way you knew how. Leaning up on your toe picks, you pressed your lips to his, silencing the torrent of words falling from them. The kiss is slow and deliberate, your hands finding their way to his chest as his breath hitches. He froze for a moment, his entire body tense, but then he relaxed, leaning into you as if he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, and his expression is a mix of shock and something softer, something vulnerable.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

His hands dropped to your shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your jacket as he exhaled shakily. “Would you—” He paused, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied himself. “Would you go out with me? On a real date?”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you that no ice could chill. “Yes,” you simply said.

The tension in his posture melted away, and for the first time, you saw him truly relax, a small, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension melting as the weight of the moment gave way to something lighter. The corners of your lips tugged upward as you took both of his hands in yours, his larger, warmer palms enveloping your own. Mischief sparkled in your eyes as you started skating backward slowly, coaxing him into movement.

“Come on,” you teased, giving his hands a gentle tug. “Let’s see if you remember anything I taught you from the last time you got on the ice.”

Hotch raised a brow, his expression skeptical as he glanced down at his skates. “That feels like a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t count on much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your grin widening. “Well, you’re a quick learner. And you survived that day without breaking anything, so I’m hopeful.”

He exhaled a short laugh, the sound warm, though a flicker of uncertainty still crossed his face. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“You’ve faced armed suspects and dangerous criminals, Hotch,” you said. “I think you can handle skating with me.”

He hesitated for a beat longer before he nodded slightly, his grip firming on your hands. As you begin to pull him forward, his legs are stiff, and his movements awkward at first, the careful tension in his body noticeable.

“Relax,” you encouraged him. “Bend your knees a little, remember. Trust me—you’ve got this.”

He mimicked your instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to find his balance. For a fleeting moment, he almost glides, but the motion is shaky, and he gripped your hands tighter as his balance started wavering.

“Steady,” you murmured with a grin, skating a little slower to match his pace. “You’re doing better than I expected.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice.

You laughed, your voice echoing in the arena. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But seriously, you’re doing great.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said dryly, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Maybe,” you admitted with a playful shrug. “But it’s nice to see you out of your element for once.”

As you continued to pull him along, you could feel his confidence growing bit by bit, the stiffness in his movements easing slightly. His dark eyes flicked to yours, filled with a mixture of determination and trepidation that’s both endearing and amusing.

“You know,” you said, slowing to a stop but still holding his hands, “for someone who claims to hate skating, you’re not half bad.”

“Flattery won’t make this any easier,” he replied.

You took a step closer, your hands still clasping his, and smiled up at him. “Maybe not. But I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Hotch looked down at you, his eyes softening as his expression shifted. The vulnerability you saw earlier returning.

“Thank you,” he smiled quietly. “For not giving up on me.”

You squeezed his hands gently, your heart swelling. “I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

The sound of your skates scraping the ice faded as you both started gliding toward the edge of the rink. Hotch's grip on your waist tightened just slightly, as you guided him toward a stop.

For a moment, neither of you spoke—it was as if time itself had frozen. Then, before you could even process the thought, his hands pull you gently yet firmly against him.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Hotch tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead before he looked back at you, his expression full of love.

Without another word, his lips found yours in a kiss, slow at first, as if he was savoring the moment. Your body instinctively leaned into him, the warmth of his chest against yours melting away the chill of the rink. His kiss is tender but filled with an undeniable heat, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

As the kiss deepens, you feel a thrill run through you, an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore anymore. When he finally pulled away, you both gasped for air, but the closeness lingered. Hotch's breath was warm against your lips, and his hand slid down to your waist again, pulling you even closer. He gazed down at you with that familiar, almost teasing smirk on his lips, as he started pressing several kisses to your lips.

"So... pick. You. Up. Tomorrow. At. Seven?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded without hesitation, caught up in the moment, in him. But before you could say anything more, he leaned in again, each kiss feeling like a promise.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

#criminal minds #hoe 4 hotchner #aaron hotchner

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hotchreidwriter · 4 days ago

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Sleepy boy genius

Sleepy girl genius

Not sure if I like this one but I think I might

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid moodboard #sleepy aesthetic #i love spencer reid #moodborad #my moodboards

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hotchreidwriter · 4 days ago

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Spencer Reid Boy genius

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ cutie pie i adore him in season one eeek

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ I don’t think he knows what he does to me …

P.S: Beautiful disaster

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid aesthetic #matthew gray gubler pics #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x fem!reader #i love spencer reid #spencer reid moodboard #edit made by me #i do be yapping #aesthetic #him in season one and two I love #Matthew gray gubler aesthetic #hoe 4 hotchner #he’s my comfort character #crush

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hotchreidwriter · 4 days ago

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🌸🎀🥥🧸☁ ♡🍡♡Sweet tooth aesthetic.

🌸🎀🥥🧸☁ not my average post but I love Sabrina carpenter.

🍒💕🫶🏻She’s so pretty..

If you like this kinda content please let me know by re blogging in by supporting me through likes comments I’ll do some for Aaron in Spencer too .

#sweet tooth aesthetic #sabrina carpenter #Sabrina carpenter aesthetic #sabretooth #soft aesthetic #soft pink aesthetic #dose it come In pink #not my normal content #but I love Sabrina carpenter as well #aesthetic

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hotchreidwriter · 6 days ago

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Nothing better than hanging out with my man Dr Spencer Reid eating pizza and watching our favorite shows in reading or fav fan fics best date ever he try’s to relax me because I have one my headaches in I’m nervous cause I gotta go do a neurologist for my migraines oof 😥 scared to pieces . But glad I get to see if they can help me .

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dating Spencer Reid be like #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #i love spencer reid #i do be yapping #i do be daydreaming #one date with him #spencer reid fics #I love him #Spencer Reid dating aesthetic

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