#Sappy hotch hours

[14buddy22]

It Won’t Be Like This For Long

WC: 3K // Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader 

AN::This is mainly Aaron Hotchner as a girl dad because the CM writers missed out on such a great opportunity. Also Haley and Jack DON’T EXIST in this story. Italics in the story are a foreshadow to when your daughter is older!

Aaron had come home from a long case. It was especially long because it was the first case away from his family. He was told multiple times that it was too soon for him to go back, but to know that he was catching killers and saving lives, just so he could make the world a better place for you and your daughter, he would never stop.

Your daughter was only two weeks old, it was really early for him to go back, but you could tell he was getting antsy. You don’t blame him one bit, he was good at what he did. He’d been so careful during your 9th month of pregnancy, he didn’t work one case from a different state, he stayed home, working from his home office.

When your daughter finally did make her arrival, it was the one day he had to go into the office for a meeting. You were best friends with Penelope, so Aaron told her to come sit with you while he had gone. He didn’t want you to be alone in case anything happened. You promised him nothing would and you could take care of yourself, but your baby had other plans.

When your water broke while making lunch with Garcia, you began to freak out a little bit. You were so good with kids, being a teacher allowed you to be good with them. You’ve never done this yourself though. You haven’t gotten pregnant before, you hadn’t gone through 9 months of pregnancy until now, you hadn’t given birth. You were told to be calm and collected, and that’s what you were going to be. You couldn’t freak out.

“Um, Penelope.”

You took a deep breath through the pain.

“It’s time to have a little Hotchner.”

Placing a hand on your stomach, you watched as Penelope began to turn off the stove, put ingredients back in the fridge, and started frantically running around the house to find your hospital bag.

When you got in the car, you began to call Aaron’s phone. When you were met with his voicemail, Penelope was already dialing Derek. Derek would kick down the door just to make sure Hotch got the news he had been so desperately been waiting for ever since he found out you were pregnant.

Just when you were checked into your hospital room, you were met with a frantic Aaron, all while you were calm and collected. Penelope had left to give you two the time you needed and she’d wait out in the waiting room with Derek.

After being in labor for only 5 hours, your little girl decided to make herself known in the world. While you had just given birth to a human, you couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of Aaron in awe of the doctor’s taking your little girl and cleaning her up. She had dark hair, matching Aaron’s for sure.

When your eyes finally met Aaron’s, you couldn’t help but reach up to him and wipe the tears that had fallen. He was a father, to a beautiful little girl. All the insecurities that he had and that you tried to push aside when he brought them up, shined in the moment right here, when your little girl was put into your arms.

He immediately cradled you in his arms, sitting next to you, looking at the beautiful piece of art that you and him had created. There was so much love pouring out from you and him and your girl would forever be loved.

“What do you think, Aar? Hannah Hotchner?”

“I love it. I love you, I love her. Thank you for making me a dad. I promise I’m going to be the best Dad that I can be.”

“I know you’re going to be an amazing Dad, Aaron. You already are.”

With another kiss between you two, you passed Hannah into his arms, letting him hold the little girl you know he’s been dying to hold. You fell in love with him even more. The way he held her in his arms. The way he whispered, “Hi Hannah, I’m your daddy. You’re always going to be my little girl. I promise I will not let anything happen to you or your mommy or any other siblings you may have in the future.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard your daughter crying from her nursery, only a few doors down the hall. You knew she just ate less than an hour ago and she would fall back asleep shortly after a few cries. It was the self soothing method that you got used to when you were in college working for a daycare center. You hated it at first, not being able to grab the babies when they were crying, but when you had 4-5 other babies all crying during nap time, it was easiest when they learned to self-soothe.

You felt the bed begin to move, Aaron was up. You wanted him to get sleep. You knew he hadn’t gotten much during this last case, which explains the texts that you randomly got in the middle of the night checking in on you and your daughter, Hannah.

His alarm was bound to go off in an hour, so you wanted to tell him that you’d get Hannah and he could try and lay back down. He had a lot of stress, you’d take care of your daughter.

You heard him start his morning coffee pot and he walked back into your shared bedroom. He began to splash water on his face.

You got up, meeting him in the bathroom. You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a kiss. You felt the tension of his muscles relax in your touch. You both listened to Hannah crying across the hall.

“It’s gonna be okay. It won’t be like this for long. One day, we’ll look back laughing at the week we brought her home. This phase is gonna fly by. Baby, just hold on.”

Aaron turned in your arms and whispered, “I love you. Can we go get our little girl?”

You nodded as he kissed you once more, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nursery. He turned on the lamp and saw Hannah looking up and moving. He grabbed her from the crib and she snuggled into his shoulder.

“Daddy missed you so much, Han.”

**4 years later**

You don’t know what time it was, you just know that it was early enough to still be dark and early enough that Aaron wasn’t up and getting ready for work. You had heard the door open and saw the shadow of your oldest daughter with her favorite stuffed animal and she began to crawl into bed between you and Aaron. You looked at the clock and saw it was only 4:30am.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?”

You sat up a little bit and she said, “I want to sleep with you and Daddy.”

Aaron began to turn over when he heard the two of you whispering. He couldn’t deny that when Hannah was younger, he didn’t always listen to you when he was home alone with her and wouldn’t let her self-soothe. She had him wrapped around her finger.

“Want to sleep with Daddy?”

You rolled your eyes at him and laid back down. Hannah laid into her father’s arms and Aaron tried to pull you closer to him. When you saw the shadow of him holding your little girl, you couldn’t help but want to be cuddled up with them as well.

You didn’t blame Hannah for being a daddy’s girl. He gave her everything she wanted and more. He was never the “bad cop” in the good cop, bad cop scenario. He always played the bad cop at work, you figured he needed to be the good cop sometimes.

You knew it was only a matter of time before his alarm would be going off for work and your two year old daughter would be waking up to say goodbye to him. Your pregnancy hormones were also no match for whatever time it was. Once it hit 6 am, you were already craving food for the day. All the Hotchners would be awake at 6am, whether it’s to get breakfast, coffee, or say goodbye to their dad.

A few weeks later, you found Aaron up really early. You didn’t know why, didn’t hear the phone ring or an alarm go off, so you decided to go find him.

You were currently 8 months pregnant with your third kid, so getting out of bed was a process. When you finally did go and find him, you saw the nursery light on. Taking a peak into the room before barging in, you saw him looking through the photo albums of Hannah, and your youngest daughter, Grace. Hannah and Grace were a little over 2 years a part. Their sister bond forming immediately when they met each other for the first time.

“Honey, it’s 3 in the morning, what are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. It’s Hannah’s first day of preschool today and I just, I don’t want her to go. It means she’s growing up. Time needs to slow down.”

“Aaron, you know better than anyone that time doesn’t slow down, it sometimes feels as if it speeds up.”

“She’s my little girl. I know I still have Gracie, but Han’s, Hannah’s my first little girl, she’s the one who made me a father.”

Aaron closed the photo album and grabbed it, then walked over to grab your hand and pull you back into your bedroom. Flipping on the lamp, he pulled you down onto the chair you had in the corner of the room. That chair had great usage and for a variety of things, too. Some of your most intimate moments with Aaron happened right on that chair.

When he pulled you into his lap, he placed a hand over your bump and flipped open the album. Both of you watched as you flipped through your daughter’s life for the past 4 years. Many silly and goofy pictures taken of Hannah, and Hannah with Grace, and great photos of Hannah and Aaron and Hannah and you. You were so glad you captured these moments that you could look back on.

“I’m not ready for her to go to school yet. Can we keep her home today.”

“No, Aaron, we can’t. We have things to do today. It’s better for her to go anyway. Your little girl has to start school sometime, whether you’re ready or not.”

“It’s one day.”

“Yeah, why do you think I chose her to start school in the middle of the week? So I can actually go with you to make sure that you’ll actually drop her off. I have no meetings today, I have a substitute teacher today, I can actually take a day off from work without having to worry about too much to catch up on.”

“I wasn’t going to let her skip the first day.”

“Aaron Hotchner! Don’t you lie to me.”

You both began to laugh as he said, “Okay. Fine.”

“Let’s get back to bed. We’ll get up early, make the girls breakfast. They love when Daddy makes waffles.”

“Then I can enjoy breakfast with my three favorite girls and baby #3.”

You kissed him once more and then he helped you get up. Once back into bed, you cuddled up with him and fell asleep. You were trying to wait for him to fall asleep first, but you were exhausted.

As you had a nice family breakfast with Aaron and the kids, it was then that time to get Hannah to pre-school. You had dropped Gracie off at daycare first and then Aaron drove you to the school Hannah would spend the next 5 years before moving into junior high.

As you got out of the car, Hannah grabbed her backpack and took Aaron’s hand. As Aaron held her hand, he also held yours. You could tell he was holding in the tears. He wanted to break down, he wasn’t ready for his little girl to grow up.

As soon as Aaron let go of her hand, Hannah immediately clinged onto his leg.

“I don’t want to go Daddy. Let me stay home with you.”

Aaron knelt down, quickly giving her a hug and telling her that everything would be okay. He would see her in just a few hours. She gave him another hug and he wiped her tears. Leaving a kiss on her forehead, you also saw the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You placed your hand on his back, signaling to him that it was time for her to get going to school.

As he stood up, she held onto his leg even more. You peeled Hannah from his leg and gave her a hug. Hannah waved at you and Aaron as the teacher grabbed Hannah’s hand.

“What can I do? So it’ll be easier for her?”

“Mr. Hotchner, don’t you worry, it’ll only last a week or two. It won’t be like this for long. One day soon you’ll drop her off and she won’t even know you’re gone. This phase is going to fly by.”

You grabbed Aaron’s hand as he nodded and you both thanked her teacher. You watched as Hannah walked into school. Then that’s when you saw Aaron break down. This big bad FBI agent who never showed emotion at work, finally broke down.

As you wiped a tear from his cheek, you made your way back to your car. You had a few things you two had to get done but you wanted to hold onto this moment for a few more minutes before life continued on.

It was only a few weeks later that your 3rd baby was born, Aaron finally got his son. He was such a great girl dad, but you were glad you were able to have a boy. Both his girls could be princesses, but they weren’t afraid to get dirt on their hands either.

As you were laying in bed, trying to get some sleep after feeding your son, Nicholas, you then heard crying coming from down the hall. When you started to move, Aaron rolled over and kissed your head saying, “Get some sleep, I’ll take care of Hannah.”

“Thank you, Aaron.”

Aaron walked into Hannah’s room to find her sitting up and crying.

“What’s going on, Han?”

“Daddy, I heard a noise and it came from my closet. There might be a monster.”

“Daddy will check, I’m not going to let a monster hurt you.”

As Aaron carefully opened the closet, he saw a box had fallen down. Quickly picking it up and showing Hannah that it was just a box from one of her toys and that it was okay.

As Hannah had gone to use the bathroom and grab a drink of water, he couldn’t help that life was going fast, and that someday soon she’ll be a teenager. There won’t be this need for him anymore, no checking closets for scary monsters. He was soaking it all in. But he couldn’t help but think of Hannah as she was older.

“Dad! You’re so unfair! How come Gracie gets to go hangout with her friends but you’re keeping me hostage! Hello! Can I get the hostage hotline?”

“I’m not unfair, Grace hasn’t been drinking with her friend or sneaking out to her boyfriend’s house!”

“The only reason I’m sneaking out is because you lock me in a god damn tower 24/7.”

“Well, not really because I still let you hangout with some friends.”

She groaned at him and rolled her eyes. As she stomped up to her room and slammed her door, you couldn’t help but look at Aaron.

“Aaron, Hannah’s a good kid. She does well in school, her boyfriend treats her great.”

“She probably hates me, but that’s my little girl. I’m not going to just let her go hangout at her boyfriend’s house, who is 2 years older by the way.”

“Aaron, they’ve been best friends since she was in 3rd grade. We know his family. He grew up in our neighborhood, they played on the same soccer team since we always had her playing up.”

“I know you’re right, but it feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital and sending her off to preschool. Now she’s got a boyfriend. I don’t care who he is, no guy will ever be good enough for my little girl.”

**5 years later**

While Hannah didn’t date her best friend for much longer when they went to different colleges, she did find someone who was great, if not better for her than her first boyfriend was, and it took Aaron only a few times to recognize that.

When Hannah’s boyfriend showed up to the house, asking Aaron for Hannah’s hand in marriage, it only made him think back to the little girl he brought home as a newborn, who would cry and have him worrying 24/7.

She’s turned into a beautiful young woman, one who was smart as well and knew that her boyfriend was good for her. He was the perfect man in her eyes, he shared a lot of morals that her father had and for that, she was grateful she had such an amazing father to look up to and set standards for her boyfriend.

It wasn’t long before he was walking her down the aisle and raising her veil, giving his little girl away to the love of her life, a good man. As long as his little girl was happy, he was happy.

When Hannah got into bed, sniffles coming from her, in which he didn’t mind that it was only 4am, and he’d have to be up in an hour for work, he kissed her goodnight. He laid down beside her until her eyes were finally closed, just watching her it broke his heart because he already knows, it won’t be like this for long.

One day soon his little girl was going to be all grown up and gone. He knows the phase is going to fly by, so he’s trying to hold on. He knows it won’t be like this for long.

[silversweetpea]

Peer Review

pairing: Spencer reid x reader (gn)

word count: 1895

warning: This is probably really sappy but other than that i don’t think so?

summary: The genius and the student and the very obvious thing between them they both weren’t seeing.

author’s note: this is wildly self indulgent because I'm struggling with staying motivated with school and really just wanted to image a cute coffee date with Spencer. I have an idea for a second part so keep an eye out for me continuing to be wildly indulgent the next time I get sad about making my reference page lmao

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You weren’t hiding your college course from your coworkers. If Hotch or Morgan or even Garcia had asked you would tell them flat out that you had classes you were studying for. It wasn’t a big deal and if anyone in the world was going to understand what it was like to be addicted to working on something, it would be them.

If you were to hide it though, you would want the man approaching your table to be the last to know. 

“Hey Doc, what’s up?” Reid smiled again, a little dopey and a little bashful, the same one that you got every time you called him by the nickname. Seeing him in this moment was almost worth having been at the table since you had slipped out of the office yesterday afternoon. 

“Just, uh, you mentioned this coffee shop on the past few three cases straight. I figured I might as well try it while I had a chance.” It was your turn to smile, world suddenly a little brighter at his comment. You’d be the first to call anyone else in your circumstance hypocritical or indecisive to be so giddy over someone proving that they’ve been listening to you while trying so hard to hide something from them. Lucky for you, you weren’t anyone else and Spencer, as attentive as he was, had yet to comment on your sudden love of textbooks or attachment to your laptop.

“Good right? Have a seat, tell me what you got.” He was quick to slip into the spot across from you, long legs brushing yours under the table. You’ve never been more thankful for the close quarters as you are in that moment. Your laptop gets drawn towards you, but not quite closed. There was no telling if it would turn back on if you gave it a chance to rest.

“I have no clue. I didn’t know what most of the drinks had in them and by the time i got to the front of the line there were people behind me. Whatever it is cost six bucks.” His voice is tired and part of you longs to cup his face in your hand, to run your finger along the bags forming under his eyes. You’re not sure how tired he must be to not rehearse his order like usual but you’re not sure you could handle finding out either. It helps explain the dramatic drink - nearly half of which you’re sure is whip cream - in front of him at least. 

“Well, give it a try.” Spencer looks skeptical of the rather frilly drink in his hand but when you nod towards it, you get to see him lift it to his lips. More importantly you get to see the slight mustache that forms on his upper lip.

Your brain wonders what he would taste like if you kissed him. 

The more rational part of your brain simply leans over and uses a spare napkin to wipe the offending sweetness off his face.

It doesn’t occur to you that Reid has issues with people in his space until you’ve already settled back into your chair, napkin at your side and a dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen brown eyes so blown wide or his hands so still where they still held his drink.

“Sorry about that. It’s worth it though right?” Spencer barely blinks as you give a stilted laugh and sip at your own drink - despite the fact that its now well past its peak at hours old. 

“Yeah,” The tired edge is gone, replaced with something breathy. Whatever it is though, Spencer gets a hold of himself with a short clearing of his throat and a look to the laptop you had nearly, blessedly, forgotten about. “What are you working on?”

“Oh just, stuff,” Raised eyebrows, teasing smile. If your job didn’t kill you, if this homework didn’t kill you, it would be him. Even as you cringe you can feel the knock of his knees against yours again. “You know, organizing my email, going through old files, that sort of thing.”

Hands you would recognize by shadow alone close the distance, small as it is, painfully slow. It’s a polite way to argue, an unspoken question you answer with a resigned sigh and a sip of your drink once more as you watch those beautiful features light up with surprise.

“This is an essay.” The words aren’t accusatory like you had thought they would be, they’re not even joking, just confused. It makes looking up at him a bit easier though it does nothing to stop the way that your heart skips at the eye contact.

“In theory.” Your weak response makes him smile again, mouth faltering with no noise as you slid the laptop back towards yourself. 

“Why are you writing an essay?” It’s innocent but your eyes are already skimming through the paper again, spotting all the mistakes that Spencer’s just seen and feeling your stomach plumet at the extent of them all. The bravery that had been surging through you at his presence suddenly slipped away. 

“You have to promise you won’t laugh.” His hair falls into his eyes just a bit when he nods, face serious in a way that you’ve never seen outside of the field. Though you suppose that you’ve only ever had a good reason to invite him out alone once or twice and if he was nervous with the group he’d probably keep that to himself if possible. Your eyes drift back to your cup at your side and the finger you have running around the rim of the cup to avoid looking at him. “I’ve been doing an online class recently. Figured it was about time to start updating what I know so I don’t get rusty.”

The silence between you feels unjustly vulnerable. 

“That’s...wow.” Soft as a feather. Would that be what it felt like to feel his breath on your skin too? Not looking up means that you can’t tell what he’s trying to say with just two words and it only takes a second to compose yourself. 

“I know it’s nothing compared to your wall of degrees bu-” Your gaze only snaps to Spencer when a warm hand covers your own.

“No that’s not it. I just can’t believe you found time to go back to school with all the cases we handle. Do you ever sleep?” Silence again, as if the rest of the cafe is holding its breath too while you search for some sign of insincerity. There isn’t though, not with Spencer. 

“There’s a reason I like this coffee shop.” The noise comes back all at once when you catch the smallest bit of a laugh. You don’t mind this one though, it almost sounds relieved coming from him. “Though I like it less when I’m cut off for the day.”

“How long have you been here?” Warmth floods your veins, embarrassment catching you by surprise. The strange looks of baristas who ring you out several times a visit was one thing. Watching Spencer’s brow furrow, or his hair shift as he leaned ever so slightly towards you, was another. 

The cold air feels like a brick being dropped on your hand when you pull back into yourself. Your eyes glue themselves to the laptop screen and the blinking cursor that seemed to mock you there. 

“Long enough to rewrite this essay four times and still hate it. I meant to write it in the hotel rooms but the case wrapped early and then there was paper work and-” You hadn’t even noticed the hand snaking back in your direction until the laptop you’d been focused on was pulled from your grip.

“Let me take a look,” Spencer says as if you’re not floundering like a fish out of water. The nerves have just enough time to build in your throat, suffocating you, before you realize that you’re just as anxious about the ease in which the genius offers his help. Its the same way that he saves you a seat on the jet or offers to grab you something from the breakroom. Its the same as when you share those quiet in-between moments where you learn about his life in exchange for bits of your own and marvel at how perfect they seem to fit together despite your concerns.

“If it’s bad you can say so. I know that I’m not the best at the whole essay thing. Tests I can study for but open ended ‘explain this concept I barely touched upon in class’ moments aren’t my strong suit.” He says nothing, but you can see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s hard to tell what that means for your paper but for your heart is means another skipped beat. The words keep coming in an attempt to ignore that though. “You know maybe I should just go. It’s not fair to make you review that on your day off-”

“(Y/n), calm down,” The anxiety simmers and then evaporates completely when he looks up at you again. the smile makes his eyes shine and Spencer voice is light with a laugh that doesn’t seem quite able to break free. You’re sure in that moment that time stops, that you’ve spent an eternity just allowing yourself to get lost in familiarity. Your line of work doesn’t leave much room for domestic day dreams, nights spent at the dinner table or lazy Sunday afternoons but for a minute you can see it all ahead of you and reflected back in Spencer’s gaze. “Your essay is fine. I’m just going to leave some notes for you to review later and then you can have it back.”

“Why not just tell me now?” The words are still breathless, but when he looks back to the screen, the sound of typing filling the space between you two, your lungs seem more accepting of the air you gulp down. For the first time in your life you understand how it must feel to be a smoker, addicted to the same thing robbing you of your ability to breathe.

“Because I’m walking you home. You look like you haven’t slept since you left the office.” Easy, confident, said in the same tone of voice that he’d use to tell you the sky is blue and although you want to argue, want to insist that you stay put until the essay if finished and submitted you don’t have it in you to deny him that truth. 

“Okay, just let me grab something to drink that isn’t hours old.” 

“Here,” Spencer hands off his drink in one hand and swipes your laptop bag with the other, throwing the strap over his shoulder. “It seems like something you’d like.”

When he stands, you’re pretty sure you catch a glimpse of red in his cheeks, but you’re so busy thinking about the fact that you’re sipping from the same cup that you can’t trust your own eyes. Nor can you fathom how he knew that this was your favorite drink if slightly sweeter from the caffeine free flavoring used. 

All you know is that when Spencer almost trips over himself to hold the door open on the way out, you’re thinking again of what it’d be like to kiss him. 

[masterwords]

talk of the town

Summary: Hotch has an invite to a Christmas party at the White House and he's asking Derek to be his plus one. That's kind of a big deal and Derek might be having some second thoughts.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 8.7k

Warnings: insecurity, internalized homophobia-ish vibes, alcohol

Read below the cut or on AO3!

Notes: My 2nd entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Office Party challenge! Here I was thinking I wouldn't manage any and I wrote two. This one is pure cheesy rom-com stuff, nothing more. It's way too long and very sappy. It's the time of year when I over-indulge and that extends to my writing for sure! (I didn't exactly use a prompt so much as found inspiration in the theme of the challenge and a few of the ideas sort of mushed together in my head.)

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“What is this?”

At the sound of Derek's voice, Hotch glanced up from his desk, up from the pile of papers that were barely holding his attention and blurring before his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and felt the first tendrils of a headache beginning to unfurl. Not entirely a surprise, he’d been sitting at his desk for hours now preparing a stack of requisitions for the department that he’d have to endure a long, disappointing meeting in order to finish. At said meeting, he would present at least twenty requests (all vital to the function of the department) and be given the green light on roughly two of them. If he was lucky. At that point, he would have to figure out how to tell everyone who was turned down that they could submit their requests again in a few months and to please not lose hope. (He already had.)

It was tedious and it gave him a headache, plain and simple. He was certain that even if he wasn't prone to headaches this would be enough to do it.

“Excuse me?” Hotch asked, squinting to focus on the man in front of him. Not for the first time that night, he wished he’d remembered to grab his glasses from the console in his car. His contacts were giving him hell. Derek noted the squint and moved a little closer, still maintaining some cautious distance and an air of...irritation? Maybe. Hotch couldn't read him.

“This invitation.” Derek was standing with a small stub of paper in his hand, a gold lined envelope hanging open. The paper was thick, embossed, official White House stationary. He held it like it was fragile, like it was a bomb.

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, oh that. What's the deal huh?”

Hotch indicated for Derek to close his door and have a seat with one wave of his hand. This wasn't exactly a secret but he didn't want the whole BAU to hear their conversation. Some things, like this new relationship, were sacred to him. The BAU had a way of hurting more than helping in most aspects of his life and he was trying so hard to maintain distance here. To that end, he had hoped this conversation would wait until after hours, but then this was technically after hours for most people. Just not them.

“Each year, the White House hosts a Christmas party, I’m sure you’re aware. I somehow manage to make it onto the guest list, much to my chagrin. Normally I decline, but the BAU has had a difficult year and I thought it couldn’t hurt to do a little damage control among the people who hold the power when they have drinks in their hands. The BAU has benefited from my sacrifice on this front on more than one occasion in the past.”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll say. Mister oh let me just pick up my phone and call in a favor from someone so high up the food chain no one could even imagine talking to them…yeah, I'm on a first name basis with the Pope and the Queen of England it's cool...just tell 'em it's Hotch...”

Derek's impression of Hotch was abysmal and a little insulting but he couldn't help finding it amusing. He smiled and shook his head, knocked off his game for a moment, trying to regain some composure.

"I don't sound like that," he managed to say before letting out a small chuckle that had been bubbling in his chest. "In any case, my mother attends every year, a fact that I try not to put too much stock in, but she was insistent that I attend this year. After everything that happened with Emily and the Senate Hearing Committee, I do agree with her.”

“Okay, sure. Yeah. She’s probably right, you guys are better at the politics and playing nice than most of us...but what’s that got to do with me?” He knew where it was headed, of course, but he was going to make Hotch say it.

Hotch simply sighed and leaned back in his chair, the weight of his head on his neck becoming unbearable. The paperwork was going to have to wait, he was going to need to go home after this conversation. “I was hoping that you might come with me. As my date. If you’re free that night, of course.”

“I uh...” Derek started, temporarily speechless. Imagining Hotch’s mother and a room full of politicians and the fucking President and who knows who else...it was a little daunting. A lot of money and not a whole lot of color, that’s what he saw. And worse, was Hotch really proposing that they walk into the White House holding hands? “Look, no offense to your mom and all those people but I'm not looking to be fired yet and I’m definitely not in the mood to be the victim of a hate crime or the poster child for how tolerant and progressive the White House is.”

Hotch smiled a little sheepishly and inclined his head to the side. His contact shifted when he blinked. He blinked again, trying to move it back into place and Derek watched with an amused smile as he did so. Hotch began speaking while he worked on the damn renegade contact. “I understand your concerns, and I do share them but it isn't like that, I promise. It will primarily be a bunch of very drunk rich people rubbing elbows, trying to collect favors and stories. Your name has been on the lips of plenty of people since the bomb in New York, and when you turned down that job to stay with the BAU...let’s just say there are a lot of people who would like to meet you. But mostly I’d just like you there with me.”

“So I’m gonna be your arm candy?”

“Yes. In a sense.” Hotch smiled at the way he said that, at the implication. He couldn’t help it.

“Are you asking me out on a real official date then?”

“I suppose I am.”

“And this date...which would be our third real date ever, hook-ups notwithstanding...will involve meeting your family.” And the President. And probably all sorts of politicians he had no interest in shaking hands with. And maybe dignitaries from around the world and probably celebrities and Derek...thought he might be sick for a second. For the first time since he and Hotch had decided to really try seeing one another instead of just hooking up when the weight of the world got to be too much, he was a little scared of what that really meant. Of the ways his life would have to change to accommodate someone like Hotch who was larger than life in many ways.

“You'll meet my mother, at least,” Hotch said quietly. “You do already know my brother.” Hotch smiled uneasily at first, but a little of his easy, sleepy confidence slipped out. He didn’t pursue relationships with people he hadn’t vetted, hadn’t given a lot of thought to. Especially here and now, with Derek and so much on the line in regards to work. And Jack. The highest stakes. No, it may have only been a third real date but Hotch was already pretty damn settled. It never really occurred to him that Derek might not be on the same page. “I understand if you don’t want to go.”

Derek tried to appear nonchalant, uninterested, but he failed miserably. The offer, while scary on many levels, was enticing...and he knew his mother would probably have his head if he refused a party at Barack Obama's house. “Guess I should make sure I got a suit that still fits me huh?”

“Actually,” Hotch said, his contact finally sliding back into position. The relief was instant. It was short lived though, his head hurt pretty damn badly and without the distraction the contact provided it was nearly all he could think about. “I thought we could go shopping together. My mother will comment on what I’m wearing if she detects even a hint of…”

Derek cleared his throat. “You may be amazing at a lot of things, but you’re not a great salesman, Hotch. Just tell me you wanna take me to lunch and shopping like I’m Julia Roberts and I’m all in. I’ll be your Pretty Woman. Tell me your mom is gonna inspect every thread of your suit and I might just come down with a sudden need to wash my hair…”

Hotch, primed to comment on Derek’s lack of hair, only nodded in agreement. He understood. “I’m not good at this.”

“No you’re not. But it’s okay, because I am. Pick me up at 11:30 tomorrow, we’ll go have lunch at one of those bougie hotels downtown and get some fresh kicks for a party full of stiffs.”

“Oh, they’re not stiffs. Not when you factor in an open bar and live music.”

“See now, you coulda led with that! Alright, so now we’re drinkin’ with the stiffs...I like the sound of this.”

(x)

Hotch slept in on Saturday morning, right through his alarm thanks to the sleeping pill he’d taken much too late for such a thing. He didn’t want the day to be ruined by his insomnia and by 10pm he knew it was headed right for disaster. He knew better than to take those damn pills after 8pm, too. He woke to the sound of Jack banging around in the kitchen, trying to find himself a bowl for his cereal in the dishwasher by the sounds of it. He was groggy and his head still hurt the same as it had the night before. He wouldn’t have much time to get himself ready to go, just a quick shower to wash away the exhaustion and a piece of toast to help when he took some Tylenol for his head. (As if that was going to touch it.)

“You’re going to hang out with Spencer today,” Hotch announced as he threw his mug of cold coffee in the microwave. He didn’t have time for a full pot but he still had his cup from the day before. Ten years ago he would have been appalled by this behavior, now it just made sense. “He’s going to take you to a movie. I put twenty dollars in your wallet, do not ask him for anything. Are we clear?”

“Yes, dad,” Jack replied begrudgingly.

“I mean it. You can buy your own popcorn and soda. I’ll pick you up from his house after lunch.”

“What about candy?”

“You can do what you want with your money, Jack. If I find out you asked for more we’re going to have a problem on our hands.”

“Yes, dad.”

The hotel Hotch was meeting Derek at for lunch was only a block from the movie theater, conveniently planned so Hotch could be nearby if Spencer ran into any problems. Taking a kid to a Christmas classic double feature with Home Alone and Elf seemed like a safe bet, easy for Spencer to manage. A slam dunk, really. And Hotch could have a mostly carefree date with Derek, which would then make the party at the White House their fourth official date and that seemed much more palatable for such a giant step.

The restaurant Hotch chose was one of the nicest Derek had ever been in, and he was no stranger to eating out. The menu was full of dishes he’d never had before, including one that came with three meats he’d never had occasion to try. Rabbit, goat and duck. He lobbied back and forth on it for longer than usual, glancing first at the outrageous price tag and then the descriptions and back before deciding on the lamb risotto. Couldn’t go wrong with risotto, it was a classic and he knew he could get his money’s worth. The problem with growing up poor was that you never stopped thinking about cost and value, even when your wallet didn’t dictate being that kind of frugal anymore. Hotch ordered himself a plate of roasted beets with pecans and feta cheese, and casually pointed to the meat trio before the waiter returned to the kitchen to put in the order.

“You really are treating me like your Pretty Woman,” Derek mused with a soft smile. "Play your cards right and I'll do that thing you like later." He said that last bit with a wink, almost too quite for Hotch to actually hear but it was loud and clear. Hotch felt the flush rising in his neck. "You didn't have to order that dish though."

“You told me the last time we went out that you wanted to try duck. I gave you the opportunity by bringing you here…”

Derek feigned shock, his eyes wide, his mouth open. “You calling me a chicken, Hotchner?”

“No,” Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, maybe. A little. I think you’re afraid to bet on liking it, and then you’ll be stuck hungry because your meal isn’t good.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”

“We can share it,” Hotch offered, sipping his water, peering at Derek over the rim with a sparkle in his eye. He was already more than prepared to say he loved Derek, hell he’d probably be willing to ask his hand in marriage. Going slow had always been hard for him.

“What if it’s so good I don’t wanna share?”

“Then don’t.”

“Damn, you don’t have to be so easy. Put up some fight.”

“I’m more interested in the rabbit. My mother makes rabbit stew, I haven’t had it since I moved out.”

Derek scrunched up his nose, picturing a little fluffy bunny rabbit. He didn't think he could put that in his mouth. “It’s all yours.”

(x)

Derek had never been properly fitted by a tailor before. He’d owned plenty of suits, but he always bought off the rack and if he needed one taken in or let out, he had a neighbor lady with arthritis in her fingers who offered to do it in exchange for him performing an odd job or two around her house. Fix a plumbing issue, put in a new outlet, clean her gutters. She called him her barter buddy, and sometimes her barter boyfriend. Her husband didn’t much care for that but he benefited from the work just the same.

Standing with a tailor’s hand pressing up into his junk was uncomfortable, and Hotch hadn’t properly prepared him for that. But Hotch assured him that when the tux was finished and on his body, he’d say it was worth the momentary discomfort. Derek had his doubts, but he wasn’t about to say so. Hotch had been right about the duck (and the damn rabbit, which he did in fact try and like), so he wasn’t keen on disagreeing with him again.

By the time Hotch dropped him off at his house, full and content, Derek didn’t quite want the day to end. He was having too good a time and it wasn’t often they had a whole day to themselves. “Hey, I gotta go take Clooney for a walk...you wanna come with me? Blow off some of those calories and then maybe...have some dessert?”

Hotch looked at his watch and thought about Spencer watching Jack. Their movies were just about over and he didn't think he should put the man out any further on a rare weekend day. Jessica would be home by now though, maybe he could sweet talk her into picking Jack up and spending an hour or so with him. Derek's life was beautifully uncomplicated and Hotch's was challenge after challenge, and while Derek watched him contemplate whether he could manage some time to just go walk a dog on the tail end of a really nice date he wondered whether he was in over his head. This was a commitment unlike anything he'd ever contemplated before.

“Let me call Reid...and Jess,” Hotch said, his voice laced with guilt. Derek thought about saying it was cool, they could just go to his place, but some part of him wanted to see whether Hotch had this in him. His marriage had ended because of his inability to make time...could he do it now? Was he even able to now?

“Cool. I’m gonna go grab the dog, I’ll be back in five.”

(x)

Derek stood in front of his mirror wearing his tux, white with black pipe lining and could scarcely believe his eyes. It fit every part of him in a way that clothing never had before. He didn’t see himself stepping out on his barter girlfriend any time soon, but he had to admit that Hotch was very, very right.

He was scared, though. Staring at himself in the mirror, adding up how much money and effort and time Hotch was putting into this party, this relationship. Was he in over his head? Was he going to break Hotch’s heart? The man was made to be married, and Derek hadn’t had a relationship go beyond three dates in years. More than a decade at least. And there had never been kids involved, not once. He turned to the side and examined his profile, sighing.

“I look damn good,” he muttered sadly. He wasn’t sure what to do. He liked Hotch. Really, really liked him. But was he leading him on? He didn’t think so, but then again, was he ready to be a father? Ready to live with someone? He had some thinking to do.

Strauss’ number popping up on his phone stopped that line of thought dead in its tracks. She was assigning him to a week at the Academy working with SWAT trainees on their firearms. That was usually something she asked of Hotch and he almost said as much but he didn’t want to rock the boat, so he just agreed. It was going to be a long week. He looked at himself in the mirror one more time and then began getting the tux back into its bag.

(x)

Jessica’s face when she answered the door was about what he expected and the exact reason he’d been hoping she wouldn’t be there yet. There was anger and surprise, and something that looked vaguely protective. He grew up with a big sister, he recognized the look. That “I can pick on my baby brother but if you hurt him I’ll kill you” look.

“You’re not dressed,” she accused, opening the door. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Hotch coming down the hallway in his tux and bare feet, working diligently at his cuff links. They were giving him grief and when he stopped, Derek reached out and hooked them for him. It was such a simple act of nurturing, he didn't even think twice about it.

“You look like James Bond,” Derek said with a half smile dancing on his lips. Hotch nodded.

“And you’re not coming…” Hotch replied quietly, a little shaken but trying to hide it. Derek offered him a tired, apologetic smile.

“Today was just...it was a lot man. This crew they’re working is rough, bunch of undisciplined assholes who can’t shoot their way out of a paper bag and one of 'em said something that made me really uncomfortable. I’m sorry. You don’t need me there ruining your good time.”

Hotch had a lot he’d like to say. That he’d been looking forward to this, and maybe he’d played down its importance to the point that perhaps Derek didn’t think he was really wanted. Or maybe Derek was scared. He couldn’t read anything on his features. He was too emotionally involved and he was starting to have doubts about Derek.

Maybe he was pushing too hard.

“I understand,” he said finally, patting his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. His head hurt, he’d had a headache all week and he could feel his pulse in the hinge of his jaw. “Are you still planning on staying the night?”

“I’m gonna head home, actually. I don’t wanna be a downer, man. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Hotch nodded and said that was fine, it was about all he could do. He wasn’t going to start an argument before a party, and he certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of Jessica or with Jack right down the hall. Derek was acutely aware of the heat in Jessica’s glare but he avoided it long enough to make his departure.

“Derek,” Hotch asked, leaning out into the hallway. “If you had no intention of going, why did you stop by? You could have called.”

Derek smiled like the answer was obvious. “I wanted to see you in your tux.”

When Hotch came back in and shut the door, he stood there a moment collecting himself. Barefoot, in a tux he never wanted to wear going to a party he didn’t want to attend in the first place, it was a little too much. He needed a second to find his composure. Jessica stood in the kitchen and watched her friend’s heart break in real time.

“Let me go home and get a dress,” she said, already grabbing her purse. “I’m sure I have something in my closet that’ll work. Lord knows you’ve put me through enough of your mom’s parties over the years.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I know. But you can’t go alone and I'm a damn good date. Best back-up option on the market.”

“Thanks Jess,” he said quietly, wondering if it was too late to back out. He looked down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes in the carpet, and sighed miserably. He was going to need a lot of Tylenol to get through this night. "You've never been just a back-up, though."

"I know, but thank you for saying so."

(x)

“I’m sorry, I thought you were smart,” Penelope said loudly, announcing her presence as she walked right into Derek’s house without knocking. She had a key, after all. She was in charge of walking and feeding Clooney when the team were out of town, and if this wasn’t a perfectly good reason to use her damn key privileges then she didn’t know what the point even was in having them. “What are you thinking?”

“What?” he asked, clearly exhausted. He didn’t even sit up, just stayed laid out like a starfish on the couch, one leg thrown up over the back with an ice pack on his sore knee while the other was tucked beneath a rumpled blanket. He’d been half watching television and half zoning out. He looked broken, and under normal circumstances she wouldn’t even press. She would ask him if he needed anything and take care of him, but she couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not while he was sabotaging something pure and good and beautiful because he was scared of taking a leap.

“You just let him go to that party all by himself?”

“I wouldn’t be any fun tonight. My knee hurts, my head hurts, I’m in a shitty mood...he’ll have a better time without me.”

“No he won’t. He doesn’t go to those things. You know how many of those invitations he gets and he asks me to reply with some bullshit where he sends his regrets about being flattered by the invitation but not being able to make it? Constantly. Like, almost every day someone wants him to come somewhere. Brush elbows with someone. Sometimes the names make me want to puke. But he was going because he asked you to come with him, you idiot.”

“Mama...please…how’d you know anyway?”

“Because, you idiot, Jessica is going to go as his date now and he needed someone to stay home with Jack so she called me. Don’t you dare mama please me, Derek Morgan. Don’t you dare. I have thirty minutes to convince you that you’ve made a big mistake before I have to go hang out with a second grader all night.” She was already rifling through his kitchen, trying to find something to make him for dinner. Something that would perk him up. There was still hope. Poke some Tylenol down his throat (she knew Hotch practically ran on the stuff, he’d probably eaten a hand full for dinner that night too) and then push him out the door, that was the plan. She wasn’t in the mood to lose this fight.

“What do you want me to do? I’m exhausted. I’m not in the partying mood.”

“Did you ever consider why he wanted to take you? That his mom is going to be there? That he’s proud of you? I don’t think he’s exactly out to any of these people...and he wanted you on his arm…”

“I’m not exactly out either,” he reminded her. Not at work, anyway. Not that it was a big concern or something he was hiding, he just didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. Which was where a lot of this sudden crushing anxiety was coming from. He’d done so well never dating anyone he worked with, never even looking twice at anyone who stepped foot in Quantico. He’d been so damn disciplined...and then Hotch looked at him one day and he couldn’t help himself. He’d invited him out for a singles night Valentine’s Day dinner and realized he’d fallen right into feelings he had no intention of having.

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You coulda fooled me,” she said, sticking her hands in his face and presenting him with pills and water. “Here.”

“You don’t think I already took any?”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Cut from the same stubborn cloth, both of you.”

Derek swallowed the pills and downed the whole water before talking, buying himself some time. Sure, his knee was sore but it was always kind of sore. That was just what happened when you blew it out so young – it didn’t usually slow him down. It wasn’t that, it was just a convenient excuse. “I think he’s making a mistake,” Derek said finally, reaching out to turn the television off. “Taking me to this party, putting us out there...it’s gonna trash his career. And his mom is what, some rich white old lady from the South. Old money, which probably means..." He didn't want to say that out loud, that was too harsh. He didn't know a damn thing about Hotch's family's money and possibly he was being presumptuous and cruel, but he would have to ask at some point if he was going to live with himself. That was so far from the point right now, though. "You think she wants a gay son dating a black man from the mean streets of Chicago?”

“Oh, baby…” she said, crouching beside him and hugging his head. Kissing him over and over, leaving little lipstick marks all over. “Sweet, sweet stupid man. You are silly. He’s not worried. You know he’s already thought through every angle of this scenario and he wants to do it. Are you worried about your career?”

“I don’t give a shit about my career. I’ve got plenty of other options, I’m not gonna put my career over a good thing.”

“Okay, then it’s rally cap time. Because if you don’t go to this party, you might not get another opportunity. You might burn this good thing to the ground. You feel me sugar?”

“I do,” he replied, defeated. Was that what he was doing? Burning it to the ground? Trying to force Hotch to end it so he didn’t have to? Cutting the cord before they got in too deep? He’d always been that way, it was his signature. He’d rather be dumped than do the dumping, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d pulled every one of the strings along the way. Was he pulling the strings now? When he didn’t really want it to end? When he was really just scared that Hotch hadn’t fully thought out what he was getting into? What kind of damaged goods he was taking on? “What if I show up and he’s changed his mind? Come to his senses?”

“That man has never lost his senses. It isn’t in his nature. Now get up and put on that tux, I need to see you in it before you go meet your future husband at the White House.”

(x)

Jessica made good on her offer and found a dress that was still in its bag in the back of her closet. It was a size smaller than she would have liked, fit her less like a glove and more like sausage casing. She felt like a pot of mashed potatoes stuffed into a surgical glove, soft and poochy in places that she never had been before. Getting older, succumbing to gravity. "I need to start going to the gym," she muttered, pushing her hair up on top of her head in some sort of haphazard updo that she'd learned once and utilized her entire life. Effortless glamor, that's what her mom called it. She did another turn in front of the mirror and smiled - the sausage casing didn't look half bad, really. It was sparkly and slinky and black, a little too long but nothing a pair of heels wouldn't fix right up. All in all she was going to consider it a success considering that she hadn't been in anything but pajamas or work clothes in months.

Upon her return, the first thing out of Hotch's mouth was that she looked beautiful. The worst part was, she knew he meant it sincerely which made her feel awful about how she'd been thinking about herself since squeezing into the dress. “You’re dating a man, what do you know?” was her snippy response as she shifted painfully in her heels. The heels he told her weren’t necessary, that she could wear flats and still look gorgeous. He just smiled and nodded, accepting her dig.

“True,” he replied, “but my point is still valid.” He kept her on his arm, kept her close to him. She was a shield for him as much as he was for her. He was good at these parties and settled right in to the role he was expected to play, but he still hated them. Small talk had never come naturally to him, it was a challenge and he learned it reluctantly but managed to become an expert in the art after a while.

“I thought you were divorced,” a man said, approaching them with a small plate of food, a salmon crostini in his mouth. Jessica did her best not to pull a face but she was always shocked at how these people behaved. You would think they’d have a little more class, not speak with their mouths full, but it simply wasn’t the case. Not even at the White House. Hotch raised his chin a little and Jessica squeezed his arm reassuringly. She knew the drill. This was the easy part, the smiling and playing along like she wanted to be here. She would have made a hell of a wife for any of the politicians if she had ever wanted to settle down. But she didn’t. Not even a little bit. The little family she’d made for herself was plenty.

“This is my ex-wife’s sister,” Hotch replied confidently. They’ve done this before. “She’s a good sport.”

“Has to be, coming to one of these parties. Especially with you.”

Jessica’s eyebrow shot up and Hotch let out a soft chuckle. The man didn’t miss her hesitation.

“No offense to Hotchner,” he said, backtracking a little. “You’re just in the spotlight when you’re around this guy. He’s no wallflower. Everyone here wants a shot at his attention. You came with the Prom King.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, as if that made it clear. She had noticed, she’d always known. He may not ever seek the spotlight but it always finds him anyway, and his particular brand of power was enchanting to everyone. She just felt bad for him, though, because he wanted to share the spotlight with Derek tonight. He’d had big plans for how the night would look and now he was stuck with her, playing their silly little teenage games, joking under their breath about the ridiculous things they saw.

“Champagne?” a waitress asked and Hotch looked at Jess and nodded his head. He wasn’t drinking, not with the headache he’s been battling all week, she she grabbed a flute happily. The waitress offered it to him again and he politely declined.

“It’s not business hours Hotchner, lighten up,” Axelrod said, taking a flute and offering it to him like he couldn’t resist it now. Hotch smiled and handed the flute to Jessica who took it gladly. She needed all of the alcohol she could get at this point.

“I’m driving,” was his reply, because it was easier than admitting that he’d been plagued with chronic migraines since an explosion years ago, and that the medication he had to take since Foyet’s attack didn’t exactly play nice with alcohol either. He’d had a beer with Derek and Penelope two nights ago and fought vertigo that made him sick to his stomach for hours after. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his time at this party.

“Straight as an arrow,” Axelrod huffed. Jess smirked. Straight as an arrow, gay as fuck. That was what she wanted to say, but she just offered him her flute as a cheers and sipped, the bubbles going up her nose instantly. She hated champagne.

“Let’s dance,” she said, turning to Hotch suddenly bored of Axelrod’s conversation. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or with Hotch, maybe both. Hotch nodded and Axelrod reacheed out to take Jessica’s empty flutes from her. Definitely flirting, she thought to herself, and she would probably not say no if he asked her to dance, but she was going to have some fun. Slowly she walked away, slinking beside Hotch to the dance floor to join the other very drunk politicians and spouses as they danced badly to live Christmas music. They fit together effortlessly, it wasn’t hard to see why they worked. He leads, she follows, they smile and make sarcastic little quips about the song or the party. They communicated easily without words, and to anyone looking they probably looked like they’d been married for a century.

“Axelrod...he’s the NSA guy, right?”

“Right,” Hotch replied, sliding them easily through the foxy like it was second nature. Step, step, sway. Step, step turn, dip. Jessica always loved being dipped, the way gravity left her and she was held by nothing more than Hotch’s hand at the small of her back. She tilted her head back and smiled at Axelrod as he watched them with a little jealousy in his eyes. Step, step, sway. Step, step, twirl. She felt like a princess, his arm high above her, her hair flying around her face in loosely pinned curls. He’d taken years of ballroom dancing classes with Haley. He sort of liked the fact that no one would ever expect it, that people probably assumed he had no rhythm. Surprising people was fun and Jessica...well just loved to dance. All kinds of dance. She didn’t like to be still, her body needed constant motion.

As the song slowly drifted from one into another, something Christmas music did effortlessly, Hotch felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Jessica’s eyes lit up, she didn’t even try to mask the surprise on her face that melted into a huge smile.

“May I cut in?” Derek asked, and Hotch felt his stomach drop. The breath hitched in his chest and he felt suddenly lightheaded. She searched his features for his reply before he turned and she released her grip on his waist. Penelope had told her she was going to try, but Jessica wasn’t holding her breath. Derek was stubborn, and he really did look bad. She didn’t hold it against him, not really. But he looked better, and god that tux...she wanted to dance close to him first. She controlled herself, though. This time.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she said casually, like they’d planned it. Like he hadn’t broken Hotch’s heart and walked out the door. Derek nodded and smiled.

“Sorry. Sometimes it takes me a while.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what’s important. I’m going to go get another drink and see if Mr. Axelrod wants to take me on a trip around the floor…” she said confidently. Hotch smiled at her, wondering how he got so lucky. What he ever did to have her in his life.

“I expect you’ll find him waiting for you near the chocolate fountain,” he replied coolly.

She nodded, her blonde curls falling around her face. “Perfect. Decimating that fountain was on my list for the night anyway.”

Hotch turned to Derek and smirked. “She’s never been able to resist chocolate. I knew I would eventually lose her to the fountain.”

Derek wanted to reply with something witty but he was so overcome with how handsome Hotch looked and how stupid he was to decide staying home was on the table that he couldn’t seem to form the right words. He felt so stupid, so so stupid. He was in love and being scared was not a good reason to do what he did.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice rich and sonorous as he took Hotch by the hand. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot. Can you forgive me?”

“No, it’s alright. It was unfair of me to put you on the spot like this tonight. I’m not upset and you don’t need to apologize.”

“I wanted this too, Aaron. I wanted it so bad, and when I finally got it...I got scared that I’d lose it. Sometimes it’s easier to cut and run before getting in too deep than it is to lose something so...good.”

Hotch slid effortlessly into the role of lead on the floor, Derek following his every move. He could feel people’s eyes on them while they stepped and swayed just as easily as Hotch had with Jessica. Hotch was showing off a little and Derek was no slouch, he managed to follow with minimal effort. Being so close to Hotch was all it took to be comfortable. He rested his cheek against Hotch’s, relished the warmth and the scrape of his evening stubble. “You better want more than a couple dates with me, Aaron, because I’m in too deep now.”

“I do,” Hotch whispered, breathing in the scent of Derek.

“Who’s going to say something first?” Derek was still worried. Not about Hotch, but about everyone else. He could feel eyes on them. No one stopped dancing, no one said a word, but he could feel it anyway. Stolen glances, little knowing smiles.

“Most likely Axelrod,” Hotch replied. “And then my mother.”

“Where is she anyway?”

“Dancing with Senator Kramer near the Christmas tree,” he said without looking. He could feel her wherever she was. Derek glanced and smiled at her, a move that she took as an invitation. As if Grace Hotchner needed an invitation.

“She’s watching,” he said and Hotch nodded.

“I know.”

“Does she know about us?”

“She does. It was my mother that insisted I bring you tonight. I told her it would be cruel of me to invite you to a party this boring and she said the only way to make these parties less boring is to bring fun people.”

“She said that?”

“She did. She’s not actually the cold fish I make her out to be, we just have a complicated relationship.”

As the song came to an end, Hotch took Derek by the arm and led him to where his mother and Senator Kramer were dancing. Axelrod would talk to them, Hotch knew it, but he was otherwise occupied by Jessica and he was going to take the initiative and give the first dibs to his mother. She deserved it. She stopped in her tracks when she saw her son coming near and quietly left the Senator in her wake, approaching them with a smile.

“I thought perhaps I scared you off,” she said, eyeing Derek warmly. Hotch was the spitting image of her. Taller, by just a hair, but thin and pointy and a little scary. “I can only imagine the stories he tells people. And when I saw him walk in with Jessica Brooks, well...a mind does wander.”

“It took me a little too long to come to my senses. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hotchner,” Derek said, taking her hand and kissing it gently. He wasn’t going to offer any excuses. Hotch smiled, a flush rising in his cheeks.

“And you, Agent Morgan.” She waited on her son to interject, but Derek took the lead. He was starting to warm up, become comfortable, find his confidence.

“Please call me Derek,” he offered and she nodded, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin.

“And you may call me Grace.”

Hotch and Senator Kramer made eye contact briefly, amused at having been forgotten. Hotch was fine with it, fine with his mother and Derek making each other’s acquaintance, but the Senator seemed a little put out. He stepped in, leaned around Hotch and grabbed Grace’s eye contact for just a moment. Long enough to ask if she would like another drink anyway. “I’d kill for a strong manhattan,” she moaned, practically wilting at the thought.

“Hey, that’s my drink,” Derek replied casually, switching quickly into flirt mode. “Aaron prefers an old fashioned.”

“Aaron and his bourbon. Some things never change. The stories I could tell you…” her voice drifted off and she looked at her son pointedly, a little smirk dancing on her bright red lips. Derek couldn’t get over how alike they looked with their hawk eyes and aquiline noses, the smirk that made them look a little scary. It was the same, and he wondered if Sean looked like their father. That wasn’t a question he was too keen on asking. “Don’t let this prim and proper facade fool you. He’s a rebel under all of that expensive silk.”

“Senator, I’ll join you at the bar,” Hotch muttered, leaving his mother and Derek to visit and dance. She was going to tell Derek stories that he would rather not stand around and listen to, stories he’d rather not hear at all. He’d already lived them once and that was plenty. There were countless mistakes he’d made growing up and his mother had cataloged them all with precision. She never had much occasion to share them with Haley, she’d been there for many of them in person, but with Derek...well, the possibilities for his humiliation and shame were endless.

Derek held her gently and they swayed beside the Christmas tree with its glittering lights and great red and green and gold decorations. Velvet ribbons tied into perfect bows, shiny balls you could see a thousand reflections in, rocking horses and angels and elves gilded and nestled into the needles of the tree. It was unbearably tall, brightly lit and covered in such ornate decadence that it hurt to look at it too long. Hotch turned back to watch while waiting at the bar. Derek was smiling, laughing easily while his mother spoke, her pristine brow knit in concentration as she recalled story after story.

“How long have you and Agent Morgan been seeing one another right under all of our noses?” Senator Kramer asked, his hands in his pockets. He, too, was watching them dance but with his interest in a different place altogether.

“Long enough,” Hotch replied with a smirk. The Senator nodded and ordered the four of them drinks before Hotch could get a word in. He had no plan to let anyone in on the secrets of their relationship. Being visible was one thing, but he was still intent on maintaining privacy.

“Kudos to you. I’ve always been of the mind that things get too messy when you involve yourself with co-workers, but then you don’t strike me as a messy kind of guy. In spite of our recent struggles with your department, you seem to run a pretty tight ship. Your crew is a little wild and you manage it better than most.”

“My house is in order,” Hotch replied coolly ,”and my crew are among the best in their field. It isn’t hard.” The Senator nodded in agreement. Despite the hearing regarding Ian Doyle, he’d had no reason to concern himself with the BAU prior to the investigation into their conduct. Now of course, he had to keep a close watch on them, but with Hotch back on US soil and Doyle six feet under...things were quiet. He wasn’t really sure what Strauss was always barking about – they may do things a little unorthodox, but then wasn’t that why they were put together in the first place? Still, he was fascinated by them in some way. Didn’t mind being tasked with keeping an eye on them.

“I believe you. So, how many people here knew prior to tonight?”

Hotch glanced around and scanned the crowd, made a show of checking out everyone. “Two,” he said confidently. The Senator laughed heartily, lifting his drink to his lips.

“Your mother and the woman you brought as your date and then ditched when Agent Morgan showed up?”

Hotch nodded, smiling. He was holding a drink for himself and one for Derek, but he had no intention of consuming it. He would have to find Jessica and see if she wanted to take it off of his hands. The problem would be finding her, she could get herself into all sorts of situations quickly. Trouble found her and she’d never been one to turn away from it. For all he knew she was smoking a joint in the women’s bathroom or climbing the limbs of the Christmas tree. She was a wild card.

“Your mother is a hell of a woman.” the Senator said, picking Grace’s drink up too. He wasn’t quite finished with her yet.

“Be careful Senator,” Hotch warned. “Many people here might say I’m scary, and I’m sure you can imagine she played a rather large role in that.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree?”

“Not far, no.”

The Senator smiled. “I do enjoy a challenge. Merry Christmas Hotch.”

“Merry Christmas Senator.”

(x)

Hotch had been at the party hours now, which was longer than he’d ever bothered in the past. His normal routine involved showing up fashionably late, making the rounds, collecting a few favors (while offering none if he could help it) and bowing out before anyone got too drunk. There was a line he never liked to cross, sides of people he preferred not to see. It kept him sane at work, he allowed him to keep trusting these people. Himself, he would carry around the same drink all night so no one would try to get him liquored up, he would smile and play nice and then disappear. The key to a successful party, he knew, was not to overstay your welcome or usefulness. You never wanted to be the one people talked about the next day.

But he knew, as he danced with Derek, that he would be the one people talked about the next day this time. He knew it and he stayed anyway, because Derek came and he wasn’t about to waste that.

“What happened to your knee?” Hotch asked, noting the gentle limp every few steps. Mostly when they stepped to the left and turned. He stifled a yawn, exhausted. His head hurt. But chest to chest, cheek to cheek, none of it really made him want to go anywhere.

“I ran the master gunner course three times today,” was Derek’s groaning reply. “Any of these guys get picked for SWAT, my faith in the system is gone.”

“What was your time?”

“Fourty-eight fourty. Why?”

Hotch smiled and Derek didn’t like that look one bit. In fact, he hated it.

“What? Why?” he asked again.

“Nothing. Just that I ran it two weeks ago at fourty-eight thirty-seven.”

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Man. I just said my knee was all jacked up…”

“Before you started? Or after doing it three times in a row? Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“I’ve never made an excuse in my life. You wanna try me? Give me a week. My knee stops hurting, we get JJ to proctor the course for us...I’ll kick your ass.”

“Are you asking me out on another date?”

“Guess I am.”

(x)

Lying in bed at Hotch’s apartment, Derek a little drunk and Hotch so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, they both played the night over and over in their minds. Derek decided he would stay the night after all, he couldn’t just cut and run after the party, he felt too good, too high on adrenaline. Penelope had taken Jack over to his house so they could be with Clooney and the two of them could have the rest of the night to themselves. The pounding in Hotch’s head had quieted considerably and he found himself nearly asleep while Derek was buzzing, wide awake, his thoughts rushing a mile a minute. They were out now. Together and out, not just at the FBI but at the damn White House. Their pictures would be everywhere by morning. He could hardly wrap his mind around the magnitude of the night.

“You really did that…” he mused, staring up at the ceiling and Hotch hummed from somewhere beneath the blankets.

“What?”

“Took me to the damn White House Christmas Party and danced with me…right in front of everyone...”

“And kissed you,” Hotch reminded him, yawning and curling around Derek. “Don’t forget that part.”

“How could I?”

“What made you change your mind about coming?”

Derek let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Penelope talked some sense into me.”

“Smart woman.”

“Yeah, she is...I’m sorry I almost screwed it all up. I was really nervous about tonight and it made my bad day at work seem so much worse than it was. If she hadn’t come over and yelled at me I woulda really messed up everything.”

Hotch smiled sweetly and kissed Derek’s warm skin, the soft space between ribs, the mound of his shoulder, anywhere he could reach with minimal effort. “It’s okay. You came."

“What do you think tomorrow’s gonna be like? Word spreads fast.”

Hotch hummed low and sweet, smiling and dusting lazy kisses over Derek’s chest. He couldn’t stop himself now. He was tired, delirious, and in this state he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. This was still all so new, them sleeping in the same bed, them kissing for any reason and no reason. It was all new and yet it felt comfortable and worn. “Intense.”

“Yeah. Probably right. Maybe we’ll get a case…” Taking Hotch’s lead, he began slowly dragging his fingers up the ridges of Hotch’s spine, trailing down then up again, flooding his skin with goosebumps. “I’m not tired…”

“You’re not?”

“Not even a little…” He was fishing, and Hotch...well he was damn tired, but he could hardly say no, not now. Slowly, he reached up and touched Derek’s chin, tilting it toward him and kissing him on the lips. Derek could feel his smile there and couldn’t help the way his whole body shifted into position expectantly, wanting, almost desperate.

“Mmm...wanna fool around a little?” Hotch asked, rocking his hips against Derek’s, letting one hand slide down his spine until it rested against the curve of his tailbone.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

[5ivebyfive]

March Madness Prompts; jemily

March 7: cherry blossom

JJ and Emily sat against a cherry blossom tree. There wasn’t an inch of space between them and they were holding hands. They had fallen quiet for some time, casually sipping at their coffees. Finally, JJ sighed. “This was a good idea. We needed to get away from the BAU for a few days.

“I give it two hours before Hotch calls us for a case,” Emily said gloomily.

“All the more reason to make the most of it,” JJ replied.

“Does that mean we can go back to my place?” Emily grinned. JJ playfully rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t we just come from there?”

“Yeah, but I’ve had enough fresh air.” She squeezed JJ’s hand. Had they actually been at Emily’s high rise, she’d have nuzzled JJ’s ear. That always seemed to get her what she wanted, but she wasn’t much for public displays of affection. Not more than holding hands. A gust of wind came through and knocked the cherry blossom petals on and around them. They both looked up, watching the blossoms fluttering about. They smiled.

“This is nice,” JJ said, still looking up.

“Except now I’m covered in plant matter,” Emily deadpanned.

“You look good in pink,” JJ teased. “And come on, they’re pretty.” She raised her brows and smirked slightly. “You’re pretty, too.”

“That won’t get me back into bed.”

“Hmm. You’re sexy?” Emily tried.

“Yeah, you told me that this morning.”

“You can’t remind me of this morning and not take me home.”

“Keep it in your pants, Prentiss,” JJ said dryly.

“I don’t have anything to keep in my pants, Jereau. I mean…it’s at home.” Emily smirked. JJ rolled her eyes.

“Can you go five minutes without thinking about sex?”

“With you as my gril? Not happening,” Emily replied. JJ turned to look at her and picked a blossom off Emily’s shoulder and held it out for her.

“Make a wish and blow it away,” JJ said.

“Isn’t that for eyelashes?”

“I say it’s for this, too. Want to fight me on it?”

 Emily closed her eyes and thought, ‘Let this last.’ Then opened her eyes and blew it away. “Happy?” She asked.

“Extremely,” JJ said softly.

“Oh, Jage,” Emily sighed. “This is getting sappy,.” Her voice was soft, but she hoped JJ understood that she was saying, ‘me, too’.”

“When we first met…” JJ licked her lips and took her hand from Emily’s and wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulders. “I never thought I’d…” She bit her lip.

“Never thought what?” Emily asked gently.

“That I’d fall in love with you,” JJ said, looking down at her lap.

“You’re in love with me, huh?”

“You doubt it?”

“Well, it’s nice to hear,” Emily said. “I, uh…you know. Me, too.” It had never been easy for her to share her feelings, and she knew the same was the case for JJ so she felt honored that JJ had told her. JJ looked up.

“Look, they’re falling again,” she  said. Emily looked up, too. The falling blossoms could almost look like fat snowflakes. One landed on her nose and JJ laughed and picked it off. “Thet like you.”

“So do you,” JJ replied with a smirk.

“Don’t go around telling anyone,” Emily warned playfully.

“I hate to tell you, but Penelope already figured it out.”

“I’m not surprised,” Emily replied. “She’ll keep her mouth shut.”

“This is Penelope.”

“She knows how to keep an important secret,” Emily said. Both of their phones suddenly rang. She looked at her own and saw ‘Hotch’ pop up. “It’s Hotch.”

“Morgan,” JJ said.

“I guess we have a case.”

“I guess so,” JJ replied.

“We should get back.”

“We should,” JJ replied.  They looked at each other with a long silence. Emily wanted to kiss her, but she couldn’t. Not there.

“Come on.” Emily stood up and held out her hand. JJ took it and Emily pulled her up. They stood toe to toe, almost nose to nose. “We’ll pick this up later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” JJ said, smiling softly.

[letarasstuff]

She makes me a better Man

(A/N): Yeah, I wanted to write this in so long and here we are. It's a little hearwarming something for the dropping temperatures outside

Summary: Spencer talks to a stranger about his daughter (and it's totally cute)

Warnings: Mentions of food and irregular eating/bad diet, Mentions of childhood traume, sappy feelings

Wordcount: 1k

✨Masterlist✨ ______________________________

At this point Spencer already is awake for well over 24 hours. The only thing he wants at this point is sitting at home with his one year old daughter, playing with one of the many toys Penelope (and Derek) gifted to her or reading a book with her sitting in his lap and drooling all over his sweater vest and cardigan. Instead he is out in Kansas City in the middle of the night, freezing and asking high risk people if they have seen something suspicious happening on the streets. So far, being out there for several hours, they were unsuccessful.

It's what feels like the hundredth prostitute Spencer talks to that night. "And are you sure you haven't seen anything odd around here?" He asks to make sure they don't miss anything and maybe it does call something in the lady's memory. "No, I would remember, just like I would remember seeing you around. Maybe I can show you what I will do to someone handsome and cute like you when you get off duty?" Hotch has to bite back a laugh, since this isn't the first woman to offer her services to the young genius this night. Once again tonight Spencer turns beet red and tries to stumble out a respectfully No.

"Uhm, thank you, b-but I got someone at home, who, who calls me Daddy and waits for me as-as soon as I get, uhm, off duty." Now Hotch can't help himself and has to turn around in order to conceal the laugh as a cough (and fails miserably). The lady looks impressed. "A bit Kinky, aren't we?" She chuckles.

At this moment Spencer realizes how his words can be interpreted without providing any further context.

"No! No, not like that. I'm talking about my daughter, who is in D.C. with her babysitter and I can't wait to see her again. M-my daughter, (Y/N), I mean, not her babysitter, even though she is a wonderful and ambitious young woman trying to get through life on her own. B-but I love my daughter dearly, she may be only a year old, but in the whole time of her existence she has already made me a better man. Thanks to (Y/N) I was finally able to get my priorities right and sorted and I still do. I know now that time spent with my family is invaluable and that the 20th book of the day can wait, because my baby girl is only, well, now a baby. She just started talking. Nothing major, just simple words like Papa, Dada and Daddy as of last week and it's my favorite sound in the world. I can't get enough of being called Papa by my daughter, it's the best kind of addiction I can have. Also thanks to (Y/N) I learned to take care of myself. There is someone depending on me, someone completely helpless without me. If I am not able to function fully and properly, I’ll put her in danger. And I promised to her the day she was born to protect her until the day I die and beyond that. I intend on keeping that promise. I also get the recommended amount of sleep at night. I started eating more and better, expanding my diet beyond sugary coffee and an occasional donut or take out. I started doing light exercises. I go to therapy, because I have to work through my own trauma. I am the one to break the circle in order for (Y/N) to be able to thrive to her true self later in life. I lay the foundation for that in her early childhood, so I have to be in balance with myself and my own childhood.

"So yeah, my daughter made a better man out of me and she still does every day she exists and smiles at me. That's why no, I don't want you to show me anything when I get off duty, because I can't wait to get back to my (Y/N)." Spencer finally finishes his minutes long monolog and takes a deep breath.

Hotch has to turn around again. This time to hide the tears glistening in his eyes. He feels every single word his youngest agent (and kind of child) said deep in his bones, knowing the sensation of emotions coming with the whole child package. The lady on the other hand doesn't even try to hide hers.

"You are the most honorable man I have met. Please, get home to your baby girl safely. Give her a kiss from me." She blows her nose with a tissue while walking away, no doubt trying to look presentable again for the next men.

Spencer and Hotch go back to the regrouping spot in silence, sharing the mutual feeling of not talking about the heartfelt moment. That is until Derek asks them if they were more successful than the others.

"I don't think so, but Reid made a prostitute cry and he wasn't talking about the UnSub by that." This is all Derek needs to be able to tease his pretty boy the whole remainder of the case and the following plane ride.

But Spencer doesn't care if it means he was able to boast about his daughter to someone.

Given the fact that they landed the next day in the early evening, he rushes home to (Y/N), who is waiting for him while her babysitter watches her. "DADDY!" She screams as her father opens the door. As fast as her chubby baby legs are able to carry her she runs towards him. He immediately falls down to his knees and opens his arms. "Ahhh, incoming!" He acts like the force of her colliding with his chest brings him down, rolling around with a giggling (Y/N) in his arms.

Spencer is sure that her laughter is his second favorite, but not less addictive by any means, sound in the world.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[strawberryspence]

A Dinner and A Future

Fluff | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer just wants your first date to be perfect and surprisingly, it goes really well.

Word Count: 3,7k.

Warnings: some cursing, first date nerves, but that's it. just pure mindless fluff.

Writer’s Note: Hello! I've been going through a writing dry spell and the thing that solved it was writing this. I've been seeing a lot of edits on tiktok about Spencer's traumas and I just wanted to give him something simple and happy. I was also listening to Kodaline on repeat while reading this, so yeah it's going be hella sappy. Enjoy! <3

Gif is mine. Lesley Smith-Juniment, you have my heart.

Spencer is nervous.

Wait no, scratch that, nervous is not good enough. He was brimming to the edge with worry and queasiness. What other synonyms does nervous have? Spencer was antsy, anxious, perturbed, uneasy, at this point he can recite the whole thesaurus.

Spencer closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe. He can do this. He has waited for this for a long time and he won’t waste it because of burnt pasta.

Okay, he looks back at the note that David Rossi himself wrote in his own special handwriting.

1. Cook 1 pound pasta until Al Dente. Boy Genius, Al Dente should be firm when bitten. You cook it on a boiling water with salt and oil. SALT AND OIL.

2. While that’s cooking, do nothing. LITERALLY DO NOTHING. Watch it. Do the sauce later. In some miraculous way, if you don’t watch the pasta you’ll burn it.

A grin spreads across Spencer’s face as he puts down the paper and reaches for the fettuccine pasta and dropping it on the boiling water (which he measured with measuring cups he borrowed from JJ)

“Okay, now I wait for it to boil.” Spencer stares at the pasta as it cooks. Did he buy enough parmesan cheese? or enough pecorino cheese? Oh no. He looks over the other side of his counter where all the (complete) ingredients sit and he sighs in relief as if he hasn’t checked it 15 times since he started.

The pasta was still cooking and isn’t going to be firm anytime soon. Spencer ponders if he should just cook the sauce while waiting but he knows he’s going to mess it up if he doesn’t give it his undivided attention.

He looks at the watch on his wrist as it ticks to 5:21. He has one hour, thirty nine minutes and forty six seconds. He still has time before the date. The date with you.

It took him nine months, Derek and Emily annoying him to death to just ask the pretty librarian out, one extensive background research from Penelope, two separate talks of the “You deserve to be happy” advice from JJ and Hotch and one lecture about marriage from Rossi to finally ask you out.

He’s kinda annoyed really because he spent so much time thinking about you and thinking of the perfect way to ask you out but he shows up at the library you work at one day with a cup of coffee in hand and his heart on the other.

You didn’t even hesitate. There was no pause to process what he asked, there was no questions following the embarrassing stumbling of the words, “W-will you go have d-dinner with me? L-like a date... Date?” You immediately said yes with a small hop and the biggest smile on your face.

This date has to be perfect. He asked you to come to his apartment at 7. Spencer would’ve picked you up but he was making you a home made dinner and the date was taking place on the rooftop of you apartment, which Penelope and Derek helped him decorate with lights.

He tries the pasta and when its finally firm to the bite, he takes this as his queue to read the paper again. Of course, he can remember all of the instructions but Rossi still wrote it down and reading it calms his nerves.

3. If its cooked, drain your pasta water but leave a little pasta water on the side. Then you can continue.

4. In a pan on MEDIUM heat (just around 2-3 on the stove setting) cook one pound diced pancetta and 1 cup chopped onions in olive. Put this down and chop chop!

Spencer puts the paper down as he follows the instructions to drain the pasta. After he was done with it he puts the pan on the stove and starts chopping up the ingredients he needs.

Cooking is strangely calming. He never thought he’d find it calming. He always found himself burning stuff. So he sticks to the microwaveable meals and fast foods, even if he knows the statistics about these kinds of food.

After finishing the chopping he reaches over the paper and reads it again.

5. Are you done? Okay. Put the chopped stuff on the pan with olive oil and cook it until the pancetta is browned and onions are soft.

He immediately follows the instructions written. The onion and pancetta create a silent hiss as it hits the pan. As it cook he looks down again.

6. That’s going to take a while, so leave it but stay by its side. I am giving you permission to do two things at once. Dr. Reid, please be mindful of it.

Spencer rolls his eyes before proceeding to #7.

7. Combine the two cheeses. Then divide it in half. Then pour the half into 4 egg YOLKS. Just yolks! The yellow ones! Then beat it lightly until its really combined.

He has already separated the egg yolks from the whites (a job he didn’t think would be that hard but was surprisingly very hard) before he started cooking. He adds the combination of cheeses to the eggs and lightly beats it as he watches the pan of onions and pancetta sizzle.

When done with the egg and cheese combo, he gives the pan a stir before looking back down.

8. Is the egg done? Yes? Good. Is the pancetta and onion good? Yes? Good.

9. Okay, now you put your pasta in the pancetta pan.

10. REMOVE IT FROM THE HEAT! REMOVE IT!

Spencer follows the instructions to the T. He puts the pasta on the pancetta, gives it a stir and immediately removes it from the heat. He sighs in relief. He hasn’t burned anything yet.

11. You haven’t burned anything yet? I am proud of you.

12. Now, pour the egg mixture into the pan and toss the pasta until coated. TOSS IT GENTLY. If you’re scared use tongs.

13. Pour about 1/4 cup of the pasta water I told you to set aside earlier. You don’t have to pour all 1/4 cup, just until you get the creaminess you want.

Spencer reaches over the nearest tongs. He’s not going to toss anything tonight that involves pastas or pans. He’s taking the safe road because he wants everything to be perfect.

14. Add the rest of your cheese! Toss some more and then add salt and pepper as NEEDED!

15. You can serve it with parsley.

16. Now, go take a shower and change into some cleaner clothes.

17. Just be you and have fun, Spencer. Goodluck! :)

Spencer smiles as he puts the paper down and makes the finals touches to the pasta. He starts doing what was instructed and it surprisingly, ends up in the perfect texture. Just like the one he tasted when Rossi had a pasta night.

He was proud of himself as he takes it off the stove and makes sure that all the stoves are turned off. There was this report he read in 2018, that cooking and leaving the stove open was the leading cause of home fires.

He takes the food, puts it into a fancy tupperware (another thing he borrowed from JJ) and puts it in the microwave. He cleans up a little and stuffs the pans and pots to the dishwasher, because you are coming in his apartment even for a second.

He starts getting himself ready for the date with a shower. As the warm water glides through his body he thinks of how funny life could be.

Spencer first meets you in the library. He has not slept well in weeks so instead he opts to go to the library to get some reading done. But as soon as he sits in one of the (surprisingly) comfortable leather chairs, its as if sleep knocks him out. It wasn’t until the closing time that you wake him up and he thinks that you were an angel sent for him. This elicits a giggle from you.

“I am sorry, I am not an angel. I am just the librarian and we’ve been close for over an hour now. I just didn’t want to wake you up. You looked like you really needed that sleep.” Spencer immediately jumps to his feet as he apologizes profusely to the kind librarian, “Oh, it’s okay! Don’t say sorry. I was also reading so I didn’t mind the peace and quiet.”

That’s how Spencer meets you. He comes back a few days later after a case with coffee, croissant and an apology. You immediately become friends and thats how all of this started. Spencer finds himself falling in love with the kind, gorgeous, clever librarian faster than he expected.

Every week after that, Spencer comes to the library with pastries and coffees for his favourite librarian and every week, you welcome Spencer with a warm smile and a new book for him to read. He can read it in one sitting but he reads it in the slowest pace he could so it can last for a week.

Spencer comes out the shower and stares at his closet. Should he go casual or formal? Casual or formal? Its just dinner, he’s chill and casual is the way. He picks one of the few plaid shirts that he has and puts it on with a white shirt underneath. He tries to brush his hair, it sits for a moment before it starts curling again. He cringes but leaves it be.

Spencer proceeds to the kitchen to start packing the food into a wicker basket (that he also borrowed from JJ, he basically borrowed her whole kitchen). He packs the utensils in a table napkin that comes with the basket. The main course for the date was the carbonara, and the dessert was a tiramisu Penelope made.

He reaches over his sofa where the bouquet of paper flowers are. He made it a few nights ago with Penelope’s help. He stayed up to make more of it with old books he found in the BAU.

Because what kind of flowers is the best flowers for librarians? Origami flowers made with old book pages.

He shouldn’t be nervous. You’ve been friends for all the months that he didn’t have enough courage to ask you out. You’ve taken trips to old bookstores together for book hunting. This shouldn’t be different from your other trips.

The pitter patter of rain against his window takes him out of his thoughts.

“Shit! Is it raining!?” Spencer yelps, before opening the closed curtains. Beads of water runs down his windows and if its any other day he would love it. But not tonight, when he planned a rooftop date. He cringes as he thinks of the fairy lights hanged up and the table set up that is probably soaked now.

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Think, Spencer, think.” Spencer thinks fast. He finds the extra table cloth that JJ gave him because “Just in case.” He reminds himself to buy her a bottle of wine as a thank you. He places it in his small kitchen table before taking the utensils out of the basket and placing it on the table in a fancy way.

Candles. Does he have candles? Spencer scrambles around his kitchen, like a chicken without its head, looking for candles and he finds it underneath the kitchen sink. He lights some of it up and props it into some glasses (he doesn’t have a candle holder he realizes after lighting it up).

With the lights dimmed down leaving the light from the window and the light from the candles, his dark apartment gives off a romantic, kind of comfortable, vibes. It was kind of perfect because with the books on his shelves and the lighting, it actually has the same vibes a library gives off.

He was ready now, bouquet of paper flowers in hand. He can’t believe how smooth things are going, minus the damn rain. Only thing that’s missing is you.

A knock comes to the door and he instantly opens it. There you were, hair a bit wet and messed up from the rain.

His future was bundled up in a cozy cardigan and a pair of jeans right in front of his eyes and he didn’t even know it.

“Hi.” Spencer smiles.

“Hi.” You smile.

-

“A little to the right. No. No. Too much right, now give it a little bit to the left.” You sigh, your hand under your chin, “No, no, baby, its crooked.”

“Love, can we do this later? The pancetta is going to burn.” Spencer laughs as he climbs down the ladder with the frame.

“But you said you’ll help me with putting up the frames!” You pout at him, Spencer chuckles before kissing your nose, “I know but you also asked for my famous carbonara and I can’t do both at the same time.”

“Hmmm. I still don’t think you can call it yours when its originally Dave’s.” You follow him to the kitchen, zigzagging through the boxes of books you’ve both barely opened.

“What he doesn’t know, won’t kill him.” He winks at you before giving the pancetta and onions a stir.

“It already smells good, love.” You snake your arms through his waist and lean your head on his back. Spencer lets go of the spatula and spins around to face you.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Go unbox some of the books and I’ll call you when its cooked so we can fix the frames. Okay?” Spencer kisses the top of your head and lets you go.

You walk out of the kitchen to the hallway full of boxes full of books. You chuckle as you open the nearest box and its just full of chemistry books. You push it to the room where Luke, Derek and Spencer has built shelves for all of your books. An olive green couch sits in the corner beside the built in fireplace.

Hmmm. This is your home library but as a former librarian the dewey decimal is calling you. But then again, the books you and Spencer have doesn’t have classifications on them. You began unpacking the chemistry books and placing it on the shelf. You can hear the distinct hiss of the pan and Spencer humming Kodaline’s The One.

You push in another box from the hallway to the room and its another one of Spencer’s, this one full of philosophy books. You start unpacking it to the shelf below the chemistry books before stopping as you pull out a book that doesn't belong with the philosophy books. A smile graces your face as your hands glides unto it. It was the book Spencer bought for you on your first anniversary.

The Peter Pan cover is a bit tattered, it was an older edition he found in your favorite old bookstore. You open the book and Spencer’s messy writing greets you with nostalgia.

“We are most alive when we are in love. Thank you for making me feel alive everyday for the past year. Happy Anniversary, love. I live a full life as I love you fully.”

You smile at the book before hugging it to your chest. You sigh deeply as you looked around the room and how it felt so surreal to be in the new home you share with Spencer.

“Love, I am finish. Come meet me in the hallway!” You leave the book on the shelf as you hear Spencer calling you.

“Are you helping me with the frames?” You clap, excited to finally put up the frames. Spencer smiles as he sees you excited to put up the pictures.

“Yes, okay you need to tell me if they’re straight okay?” He instructs before climbing the ladder.

“To the right, just a bit. Oh! Perfect!” You scramble to reach for another frame as he comes down the ladder to move it, “Here! This one.” He climbs again and you instruct him with directions for the frame again.

After a few more frames, he finally comes down and looks at the frames you asked to be put up.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Spencer smiles down at you and gives your cheek a kiss as he wraps his hands around your waist, “It is. Thank you for framing them.”

The frames comes in different shapes and forms, the biggest one in the middle is the picture of your wedding day. Your wedding took place in a library you immediately fell in love with when looking for places to get married at.

In the picture, you were smiling, your head rested on Spencer's shoulder as he reads a Harry Potter book he found in the kids section. It was a candid moment, both of you running to the back of the shelves to get a moment to yourselves after the wedding and the photographer snapped it before leaving the two of you in peace.

Beside it are pictures with the team on the wedding day, some on thanksgiving, christmas, new year with the BAU team, some with your family, some with Diana and in the corner is a shadow box containing the paper bouquet that Spencer gave you on your first date, the same exact flowers that was in your hands as you walk down the aisle to him.

“So, how's the first six months of officially being a Reid-Y/L/N?” Spencer teases as he lets you go from the back hug to face you and you roll your eyes at him, “Oh very hard. They hear Reid and they immediately expect greatness.”

Spencer laughs, “Same as the last name Y/L/N.” This time your the one who laughs at his statement, “Uhhh. I am not the one with 3 PhDs and 3 BAs.”

“And I am not the one whose a New York Times best selling author.” Spencer laughs even more when he sees your nose crinkles, making his heart dance and swell in glee.

“Hey, let’s dance.” He takes your arms and leaves it on his shoulders as he wraps his arms on your waist.

“We don’t have music, you silly goofy boy.” Spencer rolls his eyes at the endearment used, “I’ll sing.” He hushes you down.

“You make my heart feel like it's summer when the rain is pouring down.” Spencer’s singing voice was soft and sweet in the edges. Most nights you lull him to sleep with your humming to keep the monsters at bay and some days, his better days, he’s the one who sings and these were the days you treasure the most.

“You make my whole world feel so right when it's wrong, that's how I know you are the one... That’s how I know you are the one.” He sways you to the gentle buzz of his voice. You close your eyes as he sings the same song he sings to your ears on the dance floor for you first dance as a married couple.

“When we are together, you make me feel like my mind is free and my dreams are reachable hmmm.” Spencer hums as he runs his hands on your back. Your head on his chest and your ear listening to the way his heart is beating for you.

“You know I never ever believed in love, I believed one day that you would come along and free me.” Spencer feels at ease as he sways and sings, knowing that he’ll have you in his arms for the rest of his life.

The song ends but you and Spencer continue to sway to the music of silence.

“Can you believe its been 4 years since our first date?” Spencer asks, in disbelief of how fast time is running when he’s with you. You pull away from his chest so you can face him. You find a small spark in Spencer’s eyes as he thinks fondly of the night.

“Really? 4 years since our first date got rained on and Penelope cried because we broke all her fairy lights?” Spencer laughs before protesting, “Hey! I paid for that!”

"4 years later and I still can't get enough of that damn carbonara." Spence cackles, like an evil villain, "Don't tell Rossi that I stole his recipe for my beautiful partner."

"4 years later and I am still completely in love with you." Spencer smiles as he leans down to place a small kiss on your temple.

"4 years since I almost completely lost my mind because I was so nervous about our date." You roll your eyes, "Love, our first date was perfect. We've had this debate how many times now?"

"19 times." Spencer answers and you pinch his nose before looking around the room that’s still full of unopened boxes, “See. We should probably eat lunch and unpack. Why do we even have so many boxes of books?”

“Honey, you were a librarian and you are a writer. I am a professor and FBI agent that can read 20,000 words per minute.” Spencer answers as he looks around the unpacked house.

You smile fondly at him before standing on your tiptoes a bit to reach him and give him a kiss and he immediately steadies you with his hands. Kissing you was intoxicating and Spencer loves every bit of it. You only pull away when the kiss finally takes away your breathe.

“I love you, Spence.” You smile as you hold his face in your hands, “I love you more, sweetheart.” He smiles at you as you untangle yourself from him.

“Let’s eat your famous carbonara and unpack the rest of our house. It doesn’t really feel like home when all we can see is boxes.” You giggle before dragging him to the kitchen, making Spencer sit on the island as you prepare the pasta he cooked. Spencer watches you as you sing and dance through the kitchen in one of his old cardigans.

He doesn’t say anything but you were wrong. Home is not four walls with unpacked boxes and hundreds of books.

Home was when you showed up bundled in a cardigan, wet from the rain for your first date with him and home is still you, four years later, bundled up in his old cardigans and singing songs that magically fills and heals the crevices of his heart.

-

the recipe i copied for the famous carbonara!

taglist (if you want to be added, please message me 🥰): @all-tings-diego @shemarmooresfedora @averyhotchner @samuel-de-champagne-problems @bingereid

[dungeons-are-too-cold]

Coming Home: Aaron Hotchner and Matilda by Harry Styles

Aaron was a mess when this song came out.

It had been a while since he had been back to Virginia to visit everyone, and was feeling really tired all the time. He couldn't quite place what was off until he heard this song.

He has never sappy with the BAU team, but he sends the link to the song in their group chat and just says something simple like "I love you all and will see you soon," and leaves it at that.

Aaron missed his family.

He planned to take Jack back to Virginia for the summer. He needed to see everyone, and it would be good for Jack to see Henry and Michael again. He missed Reid's rambles, and hopes to meet his new girlfriend Max. Morgan has long been gone from the team, but Hank is growing up to be quite the kid and he misses the whole Morgan family. He's heard Penelope and Luke are together now, and he is very happy that she seems happy. Matt has seemed to settle in well from what Rossi has told him, and he's grateful that his hard work and talent has not gone to waste after the IRT was disbanded. Aaron has yet to meet Krystall, or Joy for that matter, and he misses Rossi's carbonara at team dinners. He knows Emily has been doing an incredible job as unit chief, but can't wait to see her become directory someday. Her and Tara have since gotten married, and have adopted two teenage girls, just around Jack's age. JJ and Will have been meaning to tell people that they are pregnant again, and Hotch was the first person she called, hoping it might persuade him to visit. She said everyone misses him. He tells her he's coming home soon.

That summer, when everyone is celebrating at JJ's baby shower, preparing to welcome their little girl Rosie, named after Rosalind, Aaron announces he's moving back to DC. A small family home was on the market not far from Will and JJ's, and after talking with Jack, who desperately missed his aunts, uncles, and cousins at the BAU, he decided it was time to come home.

The weekend they move in, he visits Hayley's grave. Bringing her flowers from her favorite shop near the old FBI headquarters, he sits and talks with her.

He talks to her for hours. He tells her that JJ asked him to be Rosie's godfather, and that Jack is excited to meet her. He tells her all about the new house, the yard, how he thinks they might be able to get a dog, which Penelope has already offered her services in rescuing. He tells her all about the team helping move them in, how Reid is babysitting right now, helping Jack with his summer reading list and his college applications. As much as he loves what his dad used to do, Jack wants to save people in a different way, wanting to become a doctor. Aaron plans to talk to Savannah all about what Jack needs to be ready for.

His life has been domestic for some time at this point, but he's been away for so long he had forgotten that his family was bigger than just Jack and Jessica. The move is really good for him. He has to learn to open up all over again, but the homecoming makes him long for the closeness he never seemed to dream of growing up.

His father had somewhat tarnished his views of the future, the way he despised his mother and hated his own children. Aaron was scared to grow angry and bitter just the same. But he is settling into his new life with the help of his found family. He's looking forward to his front porch swing and his son's high school graduation. He loves Hayley even after all these years apart. He has JJ who come over for coffee on Sunday and Spencer who can help when Jack's math classes reach far beyond what he was taking at his age. He has Morgan who will come build furniture with him and Emily and Tara who are always ready for a night in with a good bottle of wine. Penelope and Luke never fail to show up for movie night, especially since they love Russel, his new beagle. Rossi and Matt come by often to drop off books for him, and he never fails to take their suggestions.

Its a simple life, but its a good one. Its the one he needs.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Hi friend! If you feel so inspired, how about a little blurb about a Reid/Hotch proposal?

Okay so... I’m so sorry this is like four months late, so you don’t just get a blurb you get a oneshot. Because you are one of my favorite and most dear supporters and I love you -- and also I’ve been dying to write a proposal for a while so here we go 💕 To everyone else who knows my obsession with Hotch’s line about the Moongate Gardens at sunset: I finally wrote a fic about it. I can die happy now and shut up about it.

Rating: PG for smooches and mentions that they sleep in the same bed

Warnings: none really, just super sappy and mushy like... really really stupidly fluffy. Gag worthy. I love it and hate it and love them even more than I hate myself so just enjoy the gooey lovey-dovey stuff.

Pairing: HotchReid

Word count: 2,401

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33276190 

–

A Year in the Making

–

“At this rate, you’re going to make us late to dinner,” Spencer scolds, arm linked with Hotch’s in a way they don’t usually get to enjoy. Shoulder to shoulder, his arm woven through the older man’s, holding his forearm and feeling the solidarity there. Firm and comforting, confident -- Spencer adores it. Isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it. “Our reservation is at 6:30.”

“And Antonia will hold our table, no matter how long we want to take,” Hotch points out, a small smirk of a smile turning at his lips handsomely. They had spent the whole afternoon at the Smithsonian's newest exhibit, Spencer reading every place card and notating his own past studies in between. Hotch getting the tour of a lifetime, as he always does. They are season pass holders to all the museum buildings, and usually they make a day of it with Jack, but today Hotch had brought them there mere hours before their dinner date. With access to the new permanent “Time and Navigation” exhibit at the Air and Space Museum, which he knew Spencer would be dying to see. They take the long way back to the parking lot; exit through the back of the Smithsonian Castle where the Enid A. Haupt gardens are, which is always Hotch’s favorite place. 

Specifically the Moongate Gardens: a Japanese-style courtyard named after the circular stone archway, mirrored in shape by a fountain inlaid into the same pale stone, and surrounded by blossoming Sakura trees. It’s a chilly evening for that time of year, and they enter just before sunset -- another favorite event of Hotch’s. He’d brought Spencer there on one of their very first dates. At sunset, just like this, when the light colored stone soaks up the last golden rays of the sun, painting the whole courtyard as vibrant as the sky. It was one of the most beautiful sights Spencer had ever seen, told Hotch so that first time -- one year and three months ago. Hotch hadn’t answered with more than a soft, affirmative hum of agreement, but when Spencer had looked to him he saw that Hotch hadn’t been watching the sky or the scenic gardens around them at all. He’d been looking at Spencer.

They’d kissed until the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Ever since, the Moongate Garden has been a special place for them. Something they saved for the most special occasions, when it was appropriate to have emotion swallow them whole and they could savor the moment as long as needed.

Today was no such occasion; Spencer was sure of that.

And yet, Hotch was being unusually quiet. Not in the sense that he wasn’t talking, because their silences were always warm and companionable, but quiet in his mannerisms. Not revealing much of his thoughts or sentiments, keeping himself reserved -- and he only does that when he’s attempting to hide something. To keep it a surprise. Spencer was becoming just as good a profiler as Hotch is, as Gideon was, he can catch on to even the smallest hint of secret from the smallest micro-expression; but Hotch is also very skilled in keeping his emotions in check. An unspoken battle of wits that Spencer hadn’t even known he was a part of until they ventured into the garden. Mildly surprised at the turn, and somehow feeling he must have missed something --

But today isn’t anything special. It’s not an anniversary of any sort: it’s not their first date, their first kiss, nor the first time they said ‘I love you’. Spencer had been living with Jack and Hotch for less than six months, so that wasn’t it either. He remembers every date, every moment, with precision and accuracy and cherishes them beyond measure. He remembers all of it -- every date there is to remember.

.

Except for one. 

There is one date Spencer doesn’t know, because it had only occurred for Aaron. But it changed his life, everything big and small, and he wants to make it just as important for the man on his arm. Holding his heart, without really knowing just how much.

“You’re really not going to tell me,” Spencer murmurs with a half smile, glancing at Hotch as they pass a couple leaving the garden, now having the space entirely to themselves.

“Tell you what?”

“What today is,” Spencer prods. “I don’t forget dates, so I’m sure you’re having fun holding this close to the chest.”

“A little bit,” Hotch admits, bringing them to the far side of the fountain, where a circular inlaid bench is set into the stonework. 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs a bit, letting go of Aaron’s arm to take up his usual spot on the bench. “So out with it, enlighten me,” he teases further. A spark in his eye Hotch can never tire of, that never fails to steal his breath.

“You didn’t forget anything,” Hotch says with a small chuckle, as Spencer sits down. Hands on the edge of the bench in an endearing posture. Hotch sidles up to him, all warm dark eyes and secretive smiles. “We’ve been together 18 months.”

“And six days,” Spencer smiles fondly, curiosity in his gaze.

“But we’ve known each other much longer.”

Spencer pauses at that. His mind flipping through his mental rolodex calmly, that fond smile ebbing to something full of much more, love and time past and everything in between. 

“Eleven years, five months, thirteen days,” he murmurs, and Hotch’s smile is so wide and adoring it captures all of his attention. Warmer than the last rays of the sun. 

“That long?”

“The first day I saw you was in August, when Gideon got me into the FBI Academy and I was still technically a candidate,” Spencer says, a flush highlighting his cheeks and matching the hues of the sky. That had been a long time ago. He’d barely completed his third doctorate, had just decided to switch from sciences to humanities and pursue a career with the FBI. Aaron Hotchner had been the first person he met that embodied what an FBI Agent was supposed to be, in his eyes. 

“There’s a lot of milestones I don’t remember with such accuracy,” Hotch says low and quiet in contemplation. Leaning against the stonework next to him, inside the circular design and close enough Spencer could knock his converses against his wingtips if he so desired. “I don’t remember what day I learned that you were joining our team, that you could do what you do, and how much it impressed me. But I remember the moment.” It had been the first time Spencer had taken his breath away, and made him smile, but he used to smile much more easily back then. “I also don’t remember the day I first looked at you and saw you differently. It feels like it should have been an epiphany, but it was a creeping thing that grew over… all those years,” he says, a little stunned it had really been that long. The astonishment echoing in his voice.

Spencer smiles and Hotch can’t help but reach out and take his hand, still standing beside where he sits on the stone blocks, the world around them turning rosy reds and oranges like it always does at sunset. But neither are looking at the sky. 

“I don’t remember which day I decided I was going to ask you to dinner, because it took a very long time to gather the courage to do so.”

“I remember,” Spencer says with a breathless laugh, eyes bright. “You tried and backed out twice before you finally asked me. I was ready to say yes from the moment I realized what you wanted.” 

Because of course he was. When words fail them, Hotch and Spencer always understand each other -- and it’s not often that words fail them. Hotch squeezes Spencer’s hands in his own, and doesn’t let them go. Once again working up the courage to speak what’s been on his mind and in his heart for the longest time. 

“But there is one day that I do remember, with very precise accuracy.”

“This day,” Spencer elaborates, soft and still looking at him. A slight squint to his eyes as he tries to wrack his brain. “This day… last year?”

“Yes,” Hotch admits.

“We were… working, it was a Wednesday, we went on a trip together to the penitentiary upstate for an interview, and didn’t get back until late,” Spencer says, pulling the memories from thin air. “You -- you were worried we wouldn’t be able to work alone together, while being together, and we did very well that day. Got our interview, no incidents.” He gives him a slight look, the reminders of Chester Hardwick hanging over their heads and Hotch ducks his head a bit in admonishment. That had also been a very long time ago. “We did it, we were able to work together, and we went to our separate homes that night.”

“We did,” Hotch says, rubbing his thumb along the ridge of Spencer’s knuckles lovingly. “Do you remember when we left the BAU that night, in the hallway outside my office door?”

Spencer’s smile goes a little dazed, as his perfect memory recall brings up every frame of that moment.

“How could I ever forget?”

.

Outside Hotch’s office that night, he’d closed the door and was locking it as they were leaving, when he called to Spencer by his first name. They were one of the only remaining people on the floor, barely a soul around to hear him.

Spencer turned back to him, all unruly curls and his oversized sweater hanging off his shoulders. Soft and exhausted and ready for home. Aaron had felt an overwhelming urge to ask him to come back to his place. They spent all day together, but not ‘together’ like they’ve become so used to, and Aaron realized then that he doesn’t want to go home without Spencer. Ever. That what they have at work and what they have outside of it is a separate dynamic, and that they could handle this.

Could handle more. 

Aaron thanked him, for everything that day, and Spencer only blinked once in mild confusion before he realized what Aaron meant. ‘Thanks for proving me wrong. Thank you for not tempting our predilections or our instinct to gravitate closer. Thank you for being you, unequivocally and earnestly you.’

And Spencer smiled at him, soft and tired and more in love than he probably meant to look. They hadn’t said it yet, wouldn’t for a few more weeks. 

“Always.”

There was no specifics mentioned. Nothing narrowed down, just a feeling. A feeling Aaron doesn’t want to live without another moment longer.

“Good night, Aaron,” he murmured, barely contained longing there in those three words, and Aaron watched Spencer walk away with his heart thumping heavily in his chest.

.

“It was the first time I realized that I wanted to hear you say that every night. Beside me, in my bed -- our bed.” Spencer smiles even softer at Aaron’s words, because moving in with the Hotchners had been the best decision he’s ever made. 

“It was the first time I saw… a future beyond next month, or next year. The first time I looked at you, walking away, and thought to myself --”

He sighs deeply then, head tilted and just looking at Spencer, and finally says the words he’s thought to himself over and over, moment after breath-taking moment, for the past year.

“I’m going to marry him, one day.”

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to let it go again.

With Aaron’s hands still holding onto Spencer’s, he kneels down from where he stood, and grasps those slender palms tight, and asks --

“Dr. Spencer Reid, will you marry me?”

Spencer is floored. Feels the words wash over him like a tidal wave it’s so all encompassing, he had -- not expected the question in the slightest. Hadn’t been sure Aaron would want to marry again, had only hoped and kept contingency plans, but Spencer had been content to love him and live with him and build a family even without a marriage certificate.

But the question surges through him, drudges up every longing look and fleeting thought and romantic notion. 

There is nothing in the world he wants more than to marry Aaron Hotchner.

“Yes,” he gasps out. “Yes, God yes!” And then Spencer’s all but tumbling off the stone bench and right into Aarons arms. Sending them both crashing onto the cold ground beneath them. He takes Aaron’s devastatingly handsome face in his hands and kisses him with so much fervor and passion it leaves them both gasping for air. 

And then -- he smiles; bright, unbridled, kisses Aaron again so the man can taste it, feel it pressed against his own.

“I have a ring,” Aaron tries to tell him, between Spencer’s frantic, endearingly passionate kisses.

“So do I,” Spencer admits, and it stuns Aaron as Spencer kisses him slow and simmering. Wonderful. “At home, in my office, I didn’t know if you’d ever…”

“How could I not?” Aaron says, still stunned. “I love you,” he tells Spencer, low and spoken like Gospel. Like Scientific Fact. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it, and I intend to keep you in it. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“The rest of our lives sounds about right,” Spencer answers. His gaze follows Aaron’s hands as he reaches into his coat pocket for a small velvet box, reveals a silver banded ring, and puts it on Spencer’s finger. The young doctor watching as if in a trance.

When he looks back to Aaron, his eyes swimming in unshed tears, he kisses Aaron once more. Heavy and purposeful, so they feel every second passing slow as lost breath. As skipped heartbeats.

“I love you, too,” Spencer answers, as if it needs to be said. As if he doesn’t tell Aaron every day, every morning, every night.

And will continue to do so, every day that follows.

They stay there until the streetlights come on, wrapped up in one another, and the sun sets on the gardens surrounding them. They are very late to dinner. But Antonia does understand, and their table is indeed waiting for them when they finally arrive. And it continues to do so, every year on this day in early spring, for many, many years to come. 

-

fin

[thewhitejournal]

“The Intern” Part Six

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

(not my gif)

hey guys! i know i haven’t been active in awhile and i apologize, but i hope this final chapter (unless y’all want like an epilogue or something of that nature) of ‘the intern’ makes up for it. i’m so sad to see this series go because it was one of my favorites to write but we got more series, one shots, and all that good stuff on the way!

please enjoy my loves :) <3

content warnings: cursing, super fluffy and sappy towards the end

thewhitejournal’s masterlist

“the intern” masterlist

-

The past four weeks have flown by quickly. You were out of the cast and back on your feet in the bullpen. You were helping out everywhere; between running errands for Garcia and helping out with the rest of the team, you were dead tired by the end of the day. But it didn’t matter to you. You were finally getting a taste of what you loved, even with school and classes still a part of your daily routine. You were eternally grateful for the geniuses you had on hand when you were doing homework in between tasks. Everything be damned if you didn’t take advantage of it.

A groan slipped from your lips, filling every nook and cranny in Garcia’s office. It broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, other than the sound of her fingernails clicking away on the keys at record speed.

“What’s a matter, babe?”, she asked, gaze never wavering from the work in front of her. Your head now rested on your arms on the table in front of you. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I hate math.”, you stated simply, earning a chuckle from her. She rolled her chair over next to yours, placing a gentle hand on your back.

“Let me see it.” You sat up so she could look over your work. The page was littered with dozens of scratch work equations that were slightly visible from having been erased. Most of the questions had half-completed answers or none at all. She shook her head.

“You should ask Reid. Why do they change the way people do math every year?” You sighed again as she rolled back to her desk. You gathered your book and assignments up in your arms and carried them out into the bullpen, eyes falling on Dr. Reid scribbling away on a file.

“I’m glad I caught you here, I need the help of a genius.”, you explained, pulling an empty chair up to his desk after having sat your things down on it. He looked taken aback by your sudden approach. He didn’t say anything at first, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re too busy right now, then don’t worry-“, you started, but were cut off by his stammering.

“N-no, I’m not too busy for you, (Y/N).” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say a slight blush crept upon his cheeks. “What’s the w-work?”, he asked you, clearing his throat and meeting your eyes for only split seconds at a time. You smiled and shook your head at the awkward doctor, letting him take a look at the papers. He quickly realized what you were working on, then tried helping you, going on ramblings about the equations and variables you didn’t understand. Eventually, you could form answers to your questions on the pages.

“You’re a lifesaver, Spencer. Thanks.”, you said, flashing him a bright smile. He offered you a small smile and minimal eye contact. You just turned and left, satisfied with the completed worksheet. You returned to Garcia’s office to see Hotch there, standing over her. They were talking about something; pictures of criminals and crime scenes flashed the screens on the walls as she clicked around and typed. You froze in the doorway.

Aaron Hotchner was a wonderful boss and an amazing man; he thought of you as an outstanding addition to the team, so you had no reason to be so intimidated by him. But you couldn’t help it. Maybe it had something to do with the way you’d seen him interrogate suspects so intensely, or maybe with the fact that you had a bit of a crush on him. You’d never admit to the latter though. It was unprofessional and wrong, but it felt so right all at the same time.

Almost as if he could sense your presence, he called you in the room without ever turning to face you. You moved towards him, setting your things down on your desk. You stood next to him in the already small, getting smaller space. His body heat radiated onto your skin, cologne filling your senses. You swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t hear it.

“(Y/L/N), see if you can help Garcia find a connection between some of these victims. If you find anything, just drop by my office and let me know.”, he stated, turning to face you. There were only inches between your bodies; you couldn’t meet his eyes. You could feel his gaze looking down on you, so you looked up, ready to maintain composure.

His brown eyes looked black in the minimal light of the room. “Yes, sir.” You could hear your voice waver slightly and you kicked yourself internally for it. You couldn’t help but think that if Garcia weren’t here, this would be a very different story. He looked in your eyes a little longer than might’ve been necessary, then gave you a smirk before leaving. He shut the door behind him.

You exhaled immediately, nearly doubling over. You hadn’t realized you’d barely been breathing.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you right against that wall!”, she hissed under her breath, in case he was still in earshot. You gasped.

“Garcia!”, you exclaimed, lightly slapping her shoulder.

“You could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife!”, she retorted. The two of you made eye contact.

“Really? It’s not just me?”, you asked with full sincerity.

“Hell no! You need to get on that, (Y/N).”, she said with a knowing smile, sending you a wink. Your cheeks flushed hot red and you rolled your eyes.

“Garcia, I can’t do that. You know it’s wrong.” As much as you wanted to pursue anything with Hotch, you were telling her the truth. It was wrong. You walked over and sat in your seat, sighing and starting to work on your homework again.

“Honey, love is never wrong.”, she said in that soothing and comforting voice. You knew that, on some level, she was right. You dropped your pencil, unable to focus on your work. You swiveled to face her.

“Yeah, cause that argument would go over well with Strauss. Or whoever is above her.” She sighed. She knew you were right, too.

“Just don’t count him out yet. You two…deserve happiness. I think you could give each other that.” You knew she was serious. She placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it.

“Thanks, PG.” You gave her a half-smile. She shrugged.

“What’re friends for?” She flashed you a huge smile, and the two of you returned to your respective workloads.

-

Nearly four hours later, you’d long ago finished your homework, and now you were helping Garcia with the workload provided to the two of you by Hotch. The two of you agreed with each other that you’d need some eye bleach after this; the images flashing on the screen were those that most people could never stomach seeing.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking afterwards. Your eyes physically hurt from staring at the screens for hours. Suddenly, a pattern caught your attention. “Garcia, do you see that?” Your finger prodded the screen. She pulled her glasses so that they’d rest on top of her head, and leaned closer to the screen. She pulled a window from the top left corner so it would sit next to the one you two were looking at. Then, she pulled another picture from the fray of images and documents.

“A signature…”, the two of you muttered in unison. You locked eyes and shared a laugh.

“We finally found a pattern!”, you exclaimed, the life returning to your body as the joy flowed through you. Maybe it was because you were new, but making a connection like this and getting one step further to a solution felt so good. Garcia chuckled. You knitted your brows, looking over at her. “What?”

She gave you a sly smile. “You know you have to report to the boss, right?” Your heart sank in your chest. She was right. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall.

“It’s kinda late, do you think he’s even still-?”

“(Y/N), you know damn well he’s still in his office. If he could, he’d live here. Now go!” She ushered you out the door, almost by full force, but not before trying to undo a button on your top. You swatted her hand away and left the room, the sound of her laughter fading with every step you took forward.

Entering the bullpen, there were few agents left for the night. Dr. Reid still lingered, hunched over and lost in his paperwork. He looked up when you walked in, eyes following you as you walked and ascended the stairs to Hotch’s office. Not that you knew his gaze tracked you; you were too nervous about being alone with Aaron in his office to notice anything other than the floor beneath your feet.

Your knuckles rapped softly on the door and you heard him call you in from the other side. You exhaled, trying to get yourself together. It was ridiculous, the effect he had on you. You wondered if he knew.

You turned the knob, pushing the door open and shutting it behind you. The desk lamp illuminated a stack of papers, his pen scrawling what was likely his signature on the bottom of a sheet of paper. He looked up momentarily, then his gaze fell back on his desk. “(Y/L/N). Did you and Garcia find anything?” The sound of your heels echoed in the room as you carried yourself to his desk. You took a seat in the cushioned leather chair that sat spaced evenly from his desk and another chair that looked exactly like it.

You cleared your throat before saying, “We did find a pattern, a signature on all the victims.” He perked up, raising an eyebrow at you. You presented your findings to him, careful to keep your voice steady and not make eye contact with him for too long. It then occurred to you there was really no reason to try to hide your feelings around him; he was, after all, one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen. You were sure he already knew. Worth a shot to try and keep it hidden, though, you figured.

After your rant was over, he nodded approvingly, a small smile on his lips. “Great job, (Y/N).” Your heart pumped quicker in your chest at the sound of your first name on his voice. But his voice was different than usual, so was his tone. He was tired, resulting in his voice being barely an octave deeper. Which didn’t help your nerves settle.

“Thank you, sir.”, you said with a twinge of confidence in your tone. It made you happy to impress him; his validation made it feel like you were getting better at your job every day. He suddenly chuckled, and you weren’t sure why, until he spoke up.

“I told you, (Y/L/N), you can call me Hotch. Or Aaron, if you’d like.” He leaned forward in his chair more, dark amber eyes burning a hole through you. Did he ever offer anyone else to call him Aaron? You weren’t sure you’d ever heard anyone else call him that – not to his face, anyway. Other than Rossi, maybe. But they were close friends.

“Thanks, Hotch.”, you spoke softly, stifling a small yawn. You’d play it safe for now, but the gesture itself meant everything to you. He smiled, almost satisfyingly so, leaning back in his office chair. He raised his right wrist to look at his watch, noting the time, before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s late, (Y/L/N). You should head home. You’ve been a lot of help today, as usual, of course.” You would never get used to hearing him compliment you. Your eyes flickered between the stack of paperwork and him. You’ve spent enough time at the BAU to know that those files needed to be reviewed, signed, and done by the end of the weekend, which crept closer with every passing second. As amazing at his job as he was, there was no way humanly possible he’d finish it in time and get a wink of sleep at the same time.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.”, you noted aloud. He nodded, likely knowing where you were going with the words that would follow.

“It is.” His eyes narrowed at you, a small smirk playing on his face as he awaited your question.

“You can’t finish all of that and still have time to sleep.” He was silent. He knew you were right. “What can I do to help?”

Hotch just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll burn yourself out, you know.” Nevertheless, he passed you a black ink pen, your fingertips brushing each other’s hands in the process.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He chuckles deeply and shrugs. You smile to yourself, successful in making him smile, which is a rare accomplishment for most.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as hours pass and the pile dwindles to only three or four files. The two of you migrated to the leather couch in his office, a more comfortable place to work on a tedious assignment for hours. You’d lost count of the yawns you’d let slip from your lips. Even Hotch seemed to have trouble staying awake. You glanced at the time. You’d been in his office for almost four hours. Your mind wandered to what Garcia will have to say about ‘what really happened last night’. The time slowly crept into the early morning hours of the next day.

“(Y/N)”, Hotch begins, breaking the silence. You look up at him, waiting on him to continue. “I’ll drive you home if you’re too tired to drive. And a ride back to the office in the morning for your car. But you can’t oversleep.”, he jokes. You hit his arm lightly.

“I don’t oversleep!”, you exclaim, trailing off. “That often.” You stifle a yawn before answering, “Let’s just finish these last few and I’ll drive myself home. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

His mind was filled with one thought: “How could you ever burden me, (Y/N)?”. But he didn’t answer you. He just handed you a file and took one for himself, the two of you finishing the workload quickly. On your last one, it took all your strength to focus on the words on the paper and your handwriting. It felt like the couch was pulling you in. The cushions wrapped you up, softer than how you’d imagine a cloud would feel. You didn’t mean to, but your eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way as you drifted to sleep.

Aaron didn’t even notice at first that you’d fallen asleep. He continued working, lost in the papers and his mind. He got so enveloped with the case, he hadn’t noticed the slow rise and fall of your chest and your body relaxed into his chest. Once he did notice though, that he wasn’t just being used as a cushion, it was all he could pay attention to.

It wasn’t that you always looked stressed, but it was a nice sight to see you so relaxed. He kept thinking about how you deserved it, what you might be dreaming about, even. Thinking about if it might’ve been him. A dread grew within him, knowing he’d have to wake you. He didn’t want to; you just looked so peaceful, angelic. Beautiful.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he draped a blanket – which he happened to have, thrown across the back of the couch, in case he had a late-night himself – over your resting form. He made sure to cover you fully, from below your neck to your toes, without waking you. Another thought soon crept into his head: he couldn’t just leave you here, overnight, alone.

He evaluated his options. He could try to sleep in his office chair, which he’d done before. It wasn’t the most comfortable. There was no room to lay down on the couch, for obvious reasons. He had a couple of chairs in the office, but…

His gaze fell upon you again. Was it risky, waging a war with fate in the chance that the two of you might be caught snuggling on the couch together? Absolutely, it was. But he was willing to take that chance. Besides, who could tell him, their boss, that he was wrong? Sure, the two of you may never quit hearing about it, but he wouldn’t mind. And something told him you wouldn’t either.

After doing a quick scan of the bullpen for remaining agents, and finding none, he shifted his weight ever so slowly, letting you fall gently onto the couch. He stepped quietly over to his desk to flick the lamp off, then closed the shades slowly, and shut the door, careful not to let the door handle click too loudly. He shrugged off his suit jacket and shoes, draping his jacket over your already-covered body.

He got as comfortable as possible on the cushion that he’d previously occupied, slowly, as to not shift the cushions and risk waking you. His eyes were trained on you; you never moved as he settled himself down. As cliché as it was, he seemed to fall asleep faster with you in the room.

-

The sun woke you up, in a disorienting way. The simple fact that the sun had woken you was strange in itself since the sun rises on the other side of your apartment complex. Suddenly, you remembered, you weren’t in your bed. The surface you were lying on was comfortable, but not your bed comfortable. The strangest thing was that your pillow was uneven. And warm. With a pulse.

Your eyes opened, and you instantly snapped them shut. Bad idea. The sun hurt your sensitive eyes, and a groan involuntarily slipped from your lips. You sat up, stretching out all your limbs. You looked over at your ‘pillow’, putting a heartbeat, chest and a smell to a face. The blanket and jacket you were covered with smelled of him, so you didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was.

“Aaron?”, you asked in a sleepy voice. Your eyes finally focused, the sun losing its effect on you. He was awake. How long had he been…?

“Good morning, (Y/N). If you want a ride home to change out of yesterday’s clothes, I can drop you off on my way home.” A small smirk danced on his pink, soft-looking lips, the sun sparkling in his eyes like rays of light through a glass of whiskey. You started panicking. What if the team caught you like this? Would they tell Strauss? What if you lost your job?

“(Y/N).” You’d broken eye contact with him. He knew you were freaking out. You met his gaze again. “Nobody’s here. It’s eight o’clock, on a Sunday morning. Calm down.” Regret started flooding his mind. Should he have just taken you home? You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. “Are you okay?”, he asked you.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You rubbed your eyes, realizing too late you were wearing makeup, smearing it over the rest of your face. “Oh, shit.” You looked down at your hands, laughing at yourself. “I probably look a mess.”

Hotch laughed. “No, you don’t.” The words slipped from Aaron’s tired lips, no thought behind them. But it was true, it was how he felt. A blush crept up your neck and to your cheeks. Suddenly it was harder to meet his eyes. You chuckled nervously.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You wrung your fingers through your hands. A truthful atmosphere fell over the room, it seemed. “That was the best sleep I’d had in a while.” Hotch was a little taken aback at your honesty but flattered. He blushed a bit himself. He cleared his throat, then laughed.

“Me too, honestly.”, he muttered in a deep morning voice. Your eyes met. There wasn’t much space between the two of you in the first place, but you could’ve sworn he leaned forward to close the distance. His huge hand gently caressed your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. You could feel the blood rushing to your heart; you wondered if he could feel it running through your veins against his fingers.

His lips brushed against yours when suddenly, the alarm on his phone went off. The two of you jumped back like you’d been shot, your heart rate climbing. “Jesus Christ, Aaron.”, you exclaim, laughing to try and hide how startled you were. You hear him curse under his breath, digging his phone out of his pocket and silencing it. He sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled at himself, you assumed.

“I’m sorry.”, he said lowly. The apology wasn’t very specific towards anything; if it was, it wasn’t clear to you. How many things was he apologizing for? What thoughts were running through his head? He was hard to read, but maybe he liked it that way.

“For what?”, you asked softly, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your hand, then relax. He looked up at you.

“For ruining that…”, he trailed off as his eyes met yours. He searched your face, trying to understand exactly what feelings you were experiencing. Hopefully, he knew you weren’t upset with him. Your hand snaked down his arm, taking his hand in yours. Now it was your turn to cup his face in your hand; you felt his five o’clock shadow prickling against your fingers, but his cheek was soft as you smoothed it under your thumb.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”, you whispered. His eyes were a dark brown, despite the sunlight coming in. The rays were softer now, an orange color. His dark eyelashes shone under the light. He was enthralling in every way. You felt yourself falling harder and harder for him every second, especially now, but you’d never change that.

Your thumb lightly brushed over his lips, taking him in. He watched your every move, just as entranced with you as you were with him. You felt his hand behind your neck, pulling you closer to him until your lips finally touched. His lips on yours were better than you could’ve ever anticipated. He was slow, soft, gentle, like rain in the spring. Then again, there was a need behind it. A longing; he’d been waiting for this as long as you have, maybe even longer.

You wanted to kiss him all day, be in his arms and wrap yourselves up in each other. You were falling, hard. Harder than hitting every branch on the way down, harder than the way the first boom of a firework echoes in your chest.

Both of you were breathless by now, but neither of you seemed to care about the lack of oxygen. The kiss was deeper now, hotter, needier, messier. You’d thrown a knee over his lap, your hands fisted in his white button-up. His hands rested on your sides, dangerously low past the waistband of your pants. His lips suddenly broke from yours, the sound of your heavy breathing filling the room. He never stopped for a breath; his lips were making up for lost time, trailing from your chin, down your neck. He took his time with you, as you’d always imagined he would.

You’d barely caught your breath when you whisper his name in his ear. He stopped, pulling back. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” His concerned eyes searched your face. You didn’t answer him with any words, just by kissing his lips again but only for a moment. The single kiss took a lot of your self-control, but you knew you were moving fast.

“I’ve never been better, Aaron. But…”, you said in a low voice, trailing a finger down his neck until you hit the first button on his shirt. “I want to take it slow with you, Hotch. I want to know all your little quirks and I want to be there for the stuff that you don’t do in front of anyone else because you trust me that much. I know how sappy it sounds…”, you paused, watching for his reaction through your spill so far. He watched you move and speak like you were the most important thing he’d ever had to pay attention to. And that’s exactly what you were to him. “Aaron,” you started again, running one of your hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you. And here you are, everything I’ve ever wanted, right in front of me.”

How did he feel? He answered you with a kiss, one more passionate than any from earlier – if you could believe it, that is. “(Y/N)...you’re everything I’ve been waiting on. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without you.” You chuckled, earning a small smile from him.

“Well, good luck getting rid of me now, Aaron Hotchner.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

-

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[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 16 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Reader is trying to go back to her old life, which includes the life she led before she met Spencer. Category: Angst. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Drug mention, addiction, jealousy, arguing, death mention Word Count: 9.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

“Don’t wear that tie, wear the other one.”  

Spencer turned to look at me curiously, his little grin the first signal that he saw right through me. “Why?” He asked, taking off the tie he’d only just finished putting on to swap it for the other one hanging in my closet.

It’d been a week since Spencer all but moved into my room, refusing to leave my side for even a second longer than necessary. Aside from the freshly healing bullet wounds, it had been one of the best weeks of my life.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying and failing to hide my smile. “I just wanted to watch you take it off.”

My boyfriend pointed an accusing finger at me as he approached the bed, using it to poke my nose before retreating. “You, my dear, are a troublemaker. I’m going to be late.”

It was hard to believe that life could resume so quickly for everyone else when it felt like I was still on my knees on the cold tile floor of the bank. I tried not to think about it, acutely aware of the terrible things that could happen when PTSD was left unchecked.

I wanted to think about nice things, instead. Like how cute my boyfriend was, acting like it was my fault he’d be late while he took his time tying his tie over and over again. He’d say it was because it wasn’t perfect, but we both knew he didn’t care about that. He just didn’t want to leave yet.

“If you’re going to be late Dr. Reid, it’s because you refused to get out of bed until I gave you a kiss for every hour you’ll be gone today.” I reminded him, joy filling my chest at the small combination of a smile and a pout I received in response.

“You still owe me two.”

“Do I?” I responded, reaching out to grab his hand and pull him back to my place on the bed. “Then please, let me remedy that.”

Not wanting me to move any more than I already had, he quickly came down to place a chaste kiss on my lips. But I didn’t let it end there, holding onto the newly secured tie and tugging him closer.

Now it might be my fault, I thought, but I didn’t care. With one hand on the bed to steady himself and the other carefully caressing my cheek, he put all of his love into one little kiss. I felt like I was going to explode with the pent up desire that had accompanied being with him for so long without being able to show him how much I loved him in a physical way.

He insisted that he didn’t need sex, that it didn’t matter to him, but it mattered to me! I didn’t have a way with words like he did, and while he was content with curling up by my side, it left me wanting more.

The doctor kept telling me it would be soon, that the time will have passed quickly in hindsight. I didn’t understand half of what he said— he was just trying to get me to accept the narcotics in hopes that I wouldn’t end up back in his hospital.

I was doing it again. I was thinking about things I didn’t need to think about instead of the way Spencer bit down on my bottom lip when he paused to let me breathe. The smell of his cologne filled my lungs and I remembered how much I used to miss it. I’d stopped appreciating it when it was around me all the time.

It wasn’t until his phone rang that he left completely, tearing himself away from me like he wouldn’t be able to stop himself any other way.

“Hello?”

There were only a few reasons they would be calling him right now, and I didn’t like any of them.

“Oh… Alright.”

It was that exact tone, that terrified, pitiful grumble that told me what I needed to know. He had to go somewhere, and he wouldn’t be back today. He’d retreated from me, turning his back to me like I wouldn’t be able to tell what was happening just because I couldn’t see his face.

His voice was hushed. “Hotch, are you sure that I…”

The hopelessness hurt. I wanted him to go back to work; I knew he needed to. But it was so hard to let him go.

“Understood. I’ll be there soon.”

“How many more kisses do I owe you now?” I asked with a nervous laugh, fiddling with the sheets between my fingers.

“I don’t know.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like that voice.” I tried to keep my tone playful, but it wasn’t enough.

“I have to travel.”

The fact that he wasn’t looking at me made me more anxious than the fact he was now grabbing all the clothes he had in the closet and dropping them in the suitcase.

“Where to?”

Spencer paused, staring at the floor so that he could see me from his peripherals. He was torturing himself by forcing himself to see my reaction, but he wasn’t strong enough to look directly at me.

“Alaska.”

“Oh... wow.” I didn’t know how to respond, my body freezing as I tried to conceptualize just how far away that was. Far enough away that in maps of the United States, they had a separate area designated for it since it couldn’t fit.

It was too far, that’s all I knew.

“Hey, that’s fine! I can still call you.” My voice sounded foreign and the hopefulness was poorly performed. I wasn’t sure calling would be enough, but it apparently didn’t even matter.

“Not really. They don’t have service out there. Garcia is coming with us.” His packing got angrier, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from me.

“It’ll be fine, Spencer.”

His hands, unable to find any more clothing to grab, found purchase in his hair instead, running through them roughly. “What if something happens?” He asked as he finally turned to face me with a seriousness that was unbecoming.

“Nothing is going to happen. I have tons of friends who can help me. I’m just going to be sitting here on my ass all day watching bad TV.”

I gestured to the television that my friends had been nice enough to set up in my room, sighing as Spencer sulked in the other corner. It took a few waves of the hand, but eventually he dragged himself back to my side. Opening my arms to him, I took him in when his head dropped against my shoulder once more.

“I-I’m not ready to leave you yet.” The vulnerability shook in his voice, and I could feel the insistence in his grip denting my pillow.

“Well, too bad, superman.” I teased, pulling him away enough that I could show him my smile, hoping that it would be enough to calm his mounting fears. “You’ve got lives to save.”

He looked at me, his eyes still welling with tears despite the smile he now wore. He took my hand and heldit against his cheek. He closed his eyes; taking a deep breath, he mumbled, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me fall more in love with you every single day.”

I had to laugh, and I cursed him for it. It hurt so badly to laugh still, but the look on his face was worth it. No matter what, Spencer Reid had to be a romantic, and I loved him for it. It was so very much unlike me.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, old man.” I chastised him lightly, “You’re going to be late.”

He wasn’t done yet, though, that protective glimmer in his eyes returning with a vengeance. He held tighter to my hand and bit his lip.

“Promise me you’ll be safe. Don’t do anything you aren’t supposed to. Please.”

It sounded like a beg, a desperation that I wasn’t used to. Up until now, it always felt like I was the one who was seeking more information and assurance. But now he sat before me, practically broken at the thought of not seeing me for a few days, pleading for me to take my own life seriously.

I hated the attention, but couldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t understand; it would only make him worry more.

“I promise.”

He didn’t believe me, but he accepted my answer, anyway. Lunging forward, his lips crashed into mine without any reservations. I laughed into the kiss, tangling my hands in his hair so that he’d have to fix it again before he could leave me.

It was only funny until I remembered how long it might be until I see him again. I held onto him, deepening the kiss just to drag it out. He was also looking for an excuse, still refusing to part all the way when our lungs had nothing left.

“I love you… so much.” He whispered, resting his forehead against mine for a moment longer.

“I love you, too.”

I’d said it so many times in the past few weeks, but the words still felt new on my tongue. I wanted to say them more, to shower him in my affection, but I didn’t know how. Love was just another language he was fluent in, and I decidedly wasn’t. All I could do was wait for him to translate the thoughts to me whenever I got lost.

“I’m going to try to set up something so I can talk to you, okay? I can’t promise it’ll work but I’m going to try. You remember what I said about the last time I couldn’t reach you.”

Memories of papers scattered on the floor ran through my mind. I could practically feel his hand wrapped around my neck for the first time, holding my life in his hand because I’d trusted him to keep me safe. The vision of waking up in his bed, only to have him lower himself below the sheets, pressing kisses down my stomach.

Things had been so different then. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Those thoughts were suffocating and overwhelming and painful, and I shoved them back into the deepest recesses of my mind. It was too early to be emotional.

I took a deep breath, patting Spencer’s cheek with a soft palm before I summoned all the sarcasm I could in my voice. “I’ll always be with you in your heart,” I joked, smiling as he cringed at the sound.

“I mean it, little girl. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re in for it when I get back.”

Feigning shock and a gasp, I brought my hand to my chest just in time for him to step away from me. The absence of him was colder than it should have been. At least he appeared to be in better spirits, and I wanted to keep it going.

“Dr. Reid, has that ever worked to make me not do something?”

Spencer shook his head with a chuckle, grabbing the rest of his things with more pep in his step. The closer he got to the door, the harder my heart beat. It was deafening and mind numbing in its volume.

Was this how love was supposed to feel? Or had I just grown so spoiled and accustomed to him being here, that I was being entirely selfish? I would no doubt have days to think about it.

He returned to me one more time, running his hand gently through my hair and granting me one more soft, serene kiss in the pale morning light.

“Take care of yourself.” He whispered, the begging bleeding back into his voice. “For me.”

“I will.” I promised before closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see him leave. I still heard him hesitate at the door, and I felt his eyes linger on me for a few seconds longer. But then the door clicked shut, and I was alone again.

—————————————————

Nine days. I’d been gone for nine days. It might as well have been a lifetime, because that’s exactly what it felt like. Even worse, I was only able to call (y/n) a whopping three times, each one shorter than the last. We’d only talked for a total of 14 minutes and 29 seconds. And considering that nine days is 12960 minutes, that’s a pretty abysmal fraction.

But it didn’t matter, because as soon as that stupid jet landed in Virginia, I was on my way back to her. Thankfully it was still a normal hour and the sun was still out, albeit quickly setting.

She wasn’t answering my calls, and I tried not to think too much of it. During our last call, she’d told me that she started a new medication that made her sleepy. In fact, our conversation had been so short in part because she fell asleep halfway through the call.

I didn’t mind though, listening to the soft sound of her breathing until the signal went dead again. I’d played the audio over and over again in my head to help me sleep that night, knowing that she was hours away but still dreaming with me.

I was so ready to see her again, that I’d barely knocked on her door before the keys were already in the knob. I didn’t want to wait, I didn’t want to spend another second longer than necessary before I could see her.

But before I could turn the handle, the door swung open and away from my hand.

There were a few people I’d expected to see; (y/n), her roommate, or possibly one of the other female friends the girls had mentioned that I’d yet to see. Unfortunately, it was the one face that hadn’t ever crossed my mind that appeared.

On the other side of the threshold was the man I’d only seen in pictures. To be more specific, one picture, months ago, sent to me from (y/n)’s phone in an attempt to keep her from answering my call.

I recognized him immediately, but realized I’d never actually heard his name.

We stood there for a long time, staring at the other with the utmost hostility in our eyes and postures. I hated the fact that I felt the need to compete with him, but found myself acting out of instinct. I just hoped that he wasn’t as smart or perceptive as her, and wouldn’t notice the insecurity and jealousy that immediately emerged.  

“So you must be the cop.” He drawled, leaning against the doorframe to prevent my entry. The action alone pissed me off, but I bit my tongue in the hopes I could deescalate the situation, despite how much I didn’t want to. There were many things I wanted to say to him, but only a few words came out.

“I’m not a cop.”

“Yeah, she said you’d say that.” He chuckled, rubbing his chin as he recalled a memory of her. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

“That makes sense. It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering it’s not my job.” I stated matter-of-factly, trying to remind myself that the two of them were friends. She’d known him for a long time, and he probably felt just as possessive of her as I did.

The only difference was that I had a reason to believe she was mine.

“Let me guess, your sense of humor is her favorite trait.” The sarcasm dripped from his tongue. Normally I’d say that was my role, but right now all that I had to spit back was venom.

Retrieving my key from the door, I contemplated barreling past him to get to her quicker, but realized he was probably hoping to provoke that exact kind of reaction.

“You’re funny.” My face steeled and my fists clenched in my pockets, I peered around his head to the empty hallway behind him. “Where is she?”

“Sleeping.” That stupid smirk was back, his eyes trailing after my every movement, waiting for me to snap. When I didn’t, he escalated his antics further.

“I was about to go join her.” He said, licking his lips and standing up in an attempt to match my height.

But it wasn’t size or age that distinguished the two of us. It was our priorities. Because while he was here, trying to prove himself to me, all I could see was a young boy standing in the way of me seeing her again.

“No need. I’m here now.” I took a step forward, unsurprised to find that he didn’t immediately move out of my way.

He narrowed his eyes, grasping at straws to try and prolong this interaction. I couldn’t understand why, really. He couldn’t honestly believe I’d try to start a fight with him or leave, could he?

“Does she know you were planning on coming by?”

“Why does it matter to you?” I responded with a bored tone, staring him down until I saw his stance falter. It wouldn’t take much longer of this standoff for him to finally recede far enough into the apartment that I could just ignore him.

“Just wondering.” He mumbled, finally taking a step backwards and to the side so that I could enter. He shut the door behind me, but clearly wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Figured she wouldn’t have asked me to come spend the night with her if she knew you were coming. So she must not have expected for you to show up.”

I turned around to face him, knowing that I was playing into his games but unable to resist the temptation.

“She told me you got jealous last time. I would hate for you two to fight again if you found us in bed together. That would be so upsetting for her.”

“Well, you’re off the hook. No miscommunication. No worries at all.” It was times like these that I was grateful for my training, because it was the only thing keeping me from lunging at the boy and slamming him against the wall. I knew he could see it in my eyes.

He clearly had an idea of me in his head, one that was honestly probably pretty accurate. He wanted me to lose control and show that side of me, to prove that he was the better man. But he wasn’t. He’d had several years with her now to prove himself, and she’d still chosen me.

She chose me— that’s all I needed to remember.

“What if I want to stay?” He teased.

“We’ll let her decide.”

That was the first thing I’d said that struck a nerve in him. He resumed his previous stance with his back straight and arms crossed over his chest. “You’re a bit full of yourself for a dude who’s never here.” He spat, puffing his chest. The longer the bravado continued, the less intimidating it became. “You barely even know her.”

I was transported back to when (y/n) and I first started dating, when Morgan had accused me of the very same thing over lunch. My heart wrenched in my chest, because so much of me knew that it was still true.

She’d only just started to share information with me about her past, and still she spoke in vague generalities and half-thoughts. There was so much she hid from me, and I just… let her. I let her hide from me because I was scared that if I pressed her, she would leave.

At least, that’s what I’d thought. But each time someone pointed out how little I knew her, I was forced to consider the possibility that she was keeping me away for a deeper reason.

“I know all the parts of her that she doesn’t want to show you.” He taunted, sensing my anxieties that were clearly written across my face.

“Are you done? I’d like to go see her now.”

He didn’t respond, shaking his head. But I only got a few steps before I heard his voice again, this time louder and angrier.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Knowing that I’m here, in bed with your girlfriend while you’re on the opposite side of the country, not even answering her calls?” He remained rooted in his position at the end of the hall.

I lost the battle of keeping my eyes on her door, ripping them away so that I could turn to face him. My breathing got heavy and my hands finally left my pockets. “No, it doesn’t bother me,” I said, my voice falling quieter instead of growing, “You want to know why?”

The grimace on his face was the only answer I needed. I brought a finger to my own chest, not trusting myself to touch him. I barely knew this guy, and I wasn’t about to start a fight with one of (y/n)’s oldest friends to prove my manhood, especially if that was exactly what he wanted.

“I’m not worried because I trust her.” I practically whispered to him, “And even if I had some reason not to, I’m not intimidated by you.”

A fire appeared in his eyes, the desire to bite back stifled by the knowledge that there was nothing he could say to make me doubt her. He’d already tried and failed every time so far.

“I don’t care what parts of her you think I haven’t seen. Because I get to have the parts of her you wish you could. And she gave them to me willingly and without regret. Over and over again.”

There was so much more I wanted to say, but I was thankfully cut off by the hoarse, familiar voice in the backroom.

“Spencer?” She called, groggy yet excited. There was no way she could hear me from the room, which told me that she’d probably just woken up to my texts and hoped I was here. It told us both that when she woke up, the first person she thought to call was me.

“Yeah.” I said, a soft, genuine smile crossing my cheeks at the thought of her. “Like I said… I’m not worried.”

He didn’t follow me then, staying in the hallway to stew in his anger over the fact that this hadn’t gone at all how he’d planned. But I couldn’t think about him any longer, because as soon as I turned into her room, my heart melted.

She was sprawled out on her bed, hugging a body pillow like her life depended on it. Her hair was a beautiful disaster across her pillow, and the blanket had fallen far enough to see that she was swamped in the same Caltech sweatshirt she wore every time I was gone.

“Hey little girl.”

She slowly shimmied her way up the pillows, clearly surprised at my appearance despite having called me in. With half shut eyes, she spoke through a yawn, “What’re you doing here? You look like you haven’t slept in a week!”

“I missed you.” I admitted quietly, finally bridging the gap between us and climbing onto her bed on top of the covers. I couldn’t even bother taking off my blazer or my shoes; I needed to be close to her now, without any other unnecessary delay.

Despite curling up against me immediately, she still found a way to whine. “You better not have skipped out on anything for me. We know I’m not doing anything worthwhile in here.”

I leaned down to kiss her forehead, my hands holding her against me so that I could breathe in the familiar scent of her hair and perfume. “I strongly disagree.” I sighed, happy to hear her hum and giggle at the way my breath tickled her face.

I didn’t even hear the door open, but she tilted her head away from me to see her friend. I stayed where I was, not wanting to take my eyes off of her again for as long as I didn’t have to.

“I’m gonna head out. Let me know if you need me again.” He said, his voice full of repressed anger and sadness that I understood but didn’t particularly care about right now.

“Thanks for coming! I’ll probably see you next week; I’ll text you!” She chirped, waving to the man who’d already left.

His absence eased away the last remaining bit of tension in my shoulders, allowing me to bury myself in her neck while she continued to laugh. I heard the soft sounds of the tv for the first time and mumbled into her skin.

“What are you watching?”

“Just a sitcom. You wouldn’t be interested.”

She sounded... defensive, if not a little ashamed for her choice in shows. I had to laugh, realizing that she was still unaware of the shows my mom and I used to watch when I was a kid. The asinine, cheesy soap operas that taught me the dorky, awkward way to love that she constantly mocked me for.

I would save that piece of information for later, though, and instead, I chose to show her my own interest in the things she loved, or in the very least found comforting. “What’s it about?”

Apparently, it was the right question to ask. Over the course of the next thirty minutes she tried to condense the entire nine season series of The Office into one barely coherent rant. Eventually, she realized that I wasn’t following along as closely as she’d hoped, and just decided to start the show over.

I didn’t mind. She chastised me a few times for not paying close enough attention after catching me monitoring her reactions more than the show itself. But eventually she fell asleep on my chest, still murmuring about Jim and Pam until the words were just gibberish.

Without her commentary, I was forced to pay attention so that when she undoubtedly woke up and quizzed me, I wouldn’t just be repeating words I’d heard in the background. Somewhat unsurprisingly, I found myself swept up in the romantic storyline of her two favorite characters. So caught up, in fact, that when she woke up, it took me a moment to notice.

“What did I miss?” She grumbled, trying to force her eyes open while she turned to see the tv that displayed the immediate results of a very poorly timed love confession. “Oh, Casino Night.” Her voice was nostalgic and a bit solemn while she spoke. “This is one of my favorite episodes.”

“Why? It’s so sad.”

Without looking up at me, she pondered the question. It was obvious she’d never really thought to question why she was drawn to it. Her answer didn’t provide any comfort or explanation.

“I guess I relate to it. Loving someone like that.” She shrugged before turning back to rest her head against me. She’d said it so easily, like it wasn’t something jarring for me to hear. I realized then that she’d never told me about her past relationships. In fact, I didn’t even know if any existed.

She sensed the anxieties that were building and brought a hand to my cheek to reroute my gaze to her. “What’s wrong?”

“You… You never really talk to me about your life.” My voice was so pathetic, the pout on my lips so childish in its sadness. Because although I told myself I was only upset she hadn’t told me about it, another part of me was also jealous at the idea that anyone else ever got to hold her.

And what a stupid thought that was, to be jealous of men who didn’t get to keep her. I should have been hoping that she had people who loved her and held her and made her happy, not wishing none had existed.

“What are you talking about? We talk about it all the time.” She chuckled, clearly unaware of my inner debate and turmoil.

“I mean your life before me.” I clarified, taking her hand into mine and watching as she carefully wound our fingers together.

“Oh, well… Who cares? It’s in the past.”

She was using that voice that warned me that she was about to try and change the subject. She hadn’t meant to get this conversation started, and now it was quickly getting away from her. But I wasn’t ready to drop it—especially now that I was aware of a huge, life altering event that she’d managed to keep hidden until now.

“I care. If it’s important to you, it matters to me.” It didn’t seem to reassure her, a lopsided smile covering her cheeks before she tried to maneuver away from the topic again.

“What time is it? Shouldn’t you be going to sleep?”

I held up the small notepad that rested on her nightstand, displaying the several timestamps that I could tell were meant to signal the last time she’d taken painkillers. “I was waiting so I could offer you medicine.”

“Ugh, yes please.” She groaned, moving herself off me so that I could grab the bottles beside her bed.

But there was something I’d noticed before, which only became more obvious once I picked them up. I looked past the orange plastic, my mind straining to count the number of pills inside. The date didn’t match the amount.

“Did you fill the narcotics?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that why he was here?”

“No.” She responded swiftly, shaking her head and rubbing her temples.

The mention of him brought out feelings that I’d almost forgotten, and with those feelings came stupid worries and questions. “...Why was he here?” I mumbled, turning the pill bottles in my hand like I didn’t already have them memorized.

“Are you jealous?” She teased, poking her tongue out at me. It worked to turn my pout into an awkward half-smile, but I was still sulking.

“Would he have really stayed in the bed with you?”

“What? No!” She shouted, sitting up fast enough that she winced, her hand grabbing her stomach but still talking through clenched teeth. “Did he say that?!”

Her reaction alone made me laugh, easing the tension and reminding me it was stupid to worry about it in the first place. “He might have implied it.” My hands started to sort through her tangled hair, gently arranging it back to its rightful place.

“Ugh, he’s such a fucking dick.” She grumbled, wiping her face to try and get rid of the sudden anger.

Meanwhile, I was once again distracted. It was obvious in the way she struggled to keep her eyes open and preventing her hands from turning to fists. She was in way too much pain for my comfort, and it was partially my fault for getting her riled up over something so silly.

But she hadn’t told me she filled the narcotics, and she didn’t tell me where they were. I needed to respect that, if only because I was scared that it might make her doubt me. When she turned to look me in the eyes, I held her cheek that fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me where they are. I understand.”  

“No, it’s fine. I trust you, Spencer. It’s…” The troubled look shifted to a shaky smile. “They’re in my bedside table. I don’t think I can get them myself.”

I tried not to look excited by the reveal in case she misinterpreted my happiness. It wasn’t the drugs I cared about – it was the fact she trusted me with the fact that they existed. That was enough to carry me through any cravings that popped up. They were few, but like always, they were there.

I funneled those feelings into my caretaking, grabbing her a water bottle and helping her ease back down onto the pillow after she’d down the pills. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, listening to soft sound of the theme song in the background.

Just as I shifted my focus back to the TV, she brought me back to her with a tiny whisper.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.”

I looked down to see she still had closed eyes, now accompanied with a genuine smile. I laughed at the sight, and her eyelids fluttered open at the sound. She narrowed her eyes into a suspicious glare.

“Yeah, I... may or may not have said that.” I admitted, wiggling my fingers between hers.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Very cocky, Dr. Reid.” She chastised, squeezing my hand tighter and bringing it up to her chest. I could feel her heart beating softly against us, her chest slowly rising and falling as she started to try to drift off again.

“What else did you guys talk about?”

“Nothing that matters. Let’s go to sleep.”

It was a suggestion that didn’t need to be made, because she was basically already asleep by the time she replied, “Okay. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little girl.”

—————————————————

The best part of the week was waiting for the chance to spend two uninterrupted days with (y/n). But this time it was different; when I left her house this morning, she told me she wanted some time to herself.

I tried to ignore the fifty alarm bells that rang in my head, convincing myself that she just needed a break from entertaining me. We all needed alone time sometimes, right?

No, that was a lie. I didn’t ever need a break from her, and it worried me that she needed one from me. Was I stressing her out? Were there more secrets she was keeping from me? It had to be something heavy if she didn’t want me to know, but that’s exactly the time she would need me most, right?

It was times like this when I wished that I had more experience with relationships; I was panicking and I didn’t want to ask anyone for help. I didn’t want to. I was scared that they might tell me the wrong thing, or the right thing. I was worried they might talk some sense into me and tell me that waiting outside my girlfriend’s apartment was creepy, stalkerish behavior.

I knew it was. I tried to justify it with a present that I was going to leave on her doorstep and leave. But when I got to her place, a dread filled me. I shouldn’t have come. She deserved her privacy and my trust. She’d earned it, and it wasn’t right for me to doubt her.

So, I turned my car back on and prepared to leave. But before I could, I saw her. Alone.

We’d talked about it before, and she’d promised me she wouldn’t go anywhere alone. The risks were too high – not just that she might fall or get stranded, but that something could go seriously wrong. Her stitches could tear, or she could overexert herself. She could get into a car crash and no one would know about her already existing internal damage.

She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere alone. She’d promised me. But there she was, climbing into her car after suspiciously glancing around. Her car left so quickly, I barely had time to think about the ethics of following her. After a few seconds of wrestling with myself, I decided to just do it and worry about the consequences later.

I’d admit it to her later, when she was safe and sound. Maybe it would be good, too, to see that she was fine without me. I just wished she’d told me so I could come to her aid if she needed me to.

After nearly twenty minutes of driving, I still had no idea where she was going. I was a little surprised she hadn’t noticed me yet, which just goes to show she probably shouldn’t have been driving.

Actually, was she on narcotics?

My mind was spinning, my hands shaking when she finally pulled into a small, unfamiliar cemetery parking lot off the side of the road.

For all her paranoia leading up to this point, she didn’t check the other cars in the lot when she got out. Instead, she put her hand on her stomach and slowly made her way through the gate, hobbling off into the field.

And then I felt terrible for so many reasons. I selfishly felt awful that she didn’t want to bring me here. It hurt that I was violating her trust like this, but it hurt worse to know she was going through it alone.

Leaning back in my seat, I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm down the emotional disaster of my mind. I didn’t need to follow her, I thought. She would come back in a little while, and I could watch her get back in her car. She would make it home, and I could call her and ask her how her day was. Maybe she’d even tell me herself.

God, I was such an idiot. I shouldn’t have come, but now I was here, and I couldn’t leave, either. This was the time she was most likely to be in danger, since the cemetery was relatively empty.

Just as that thought occurred to me, another car pulled in. it wouldn’t have mattered much to me, but the thing that followed caught my attention.

The woman inside the car climbed out and made a beeline to (y/n)’s car, peering into the windows and taking photos of the license plate. At first, I did nothing, trying to keep track of everything that was happening, noting the unfamiliar woman’s license plate number in turn.

But then she took off in the same direction my girlfriend had left in, and I realized that I couldn’t just wait here. This woman clearly knew her, and from the looks of it, it was not going to be a friendly encounter.  

This is why, I thought. This is why I made her promise.

I couldn’t just run out after her yet, so I followed as closely as I could without being clearly visible, relying on sounds, instead. But what I heard was somehow even more distressing than when I could see.

“What are you doing here?! You aren’t allowed to be here!” A scratchy, unfamiliar voice rang through the air. Even if I didn’t already know, her tone alone told me that a fight was about to follow.

I bit down on my tongue, trusting that (y/n) could handle herself. She’d done it before me, and she could do it now. The only thing worse than revealing my presence would be doing it while also discrediting her.

“Mrs. Loughton! I can explain!”

At least I finally had a name for the face, but that was about as far as my thoughts went before they turned to red. Because the only thing I could hear after that was the sound of skin against skin, and the gentle thud of someone hitting the ground.

“Get the hell out of here, you bitch!” The woman screeched, and by the time I came into view, I saw my girlfriend on her hands and knees, holding the very visible red mark on her face. Neither of them saw me, too caught up in each other to notice.

It was the panic on her face, the way she lifted both hands to cover her head when the woman grabbed a fistful of her hair that broke my silence.  

“Hey! Get away from her!” I shouted, running over to the two women. Mrs. Loughton released (y/n)’s hair, causing her to drop back onto her hands and knees while she looked up at me with an angry, frazzled stare.

“Spencer?!”

“Who the hell are you?” The woman spat, redirecting her anger towards me. I much preferred it this way.

“I’m a law enforcement agent, and you just assaulted someone.”

“Assault? Ha!” She laughed, talking over me as if she’d heard the speech a million times before. I got the impression this wasn’t the first time the two have had a showdown. “That’s funny, considering.”

“Spencer, please leave.” The fear overtook any other emotion, and the tears welled so quickly in her eyes it hurt my chest. I couldn’t leave. There was no way I could leave her on her knees in front of this woman.  

“Let me guess, are you one of her dad’s friends?” She sneered, but all I could hear was (y/n) continuing to plead.

“Spencer. Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I couldn’t breathe, my chest heaving with unbridled rage, confusion, and something else I couldn’t even place.

“Oh I bet you are one of his friends. Always protecting her. You’re all a bunch of pathetic, power-hungry lowlifes.”

(Y/n) stood up now, neither of us paying any attention to the raving woman while I tried to help her up. “Please, I want to leave.” She pleaded, grabbing my hand so tightly that it trembled.

“Are you a murderer, too?”

“What are you talking about?!” I snapped, my arms wrapping possessively around (y/n) like I could shield her from everything that was happening. But I couldn’t, and I heard her soft sobs while she pulled on my shirt, now wet with her tears.

“That stupid, selfish little bitch knows exactly what she did, and she knows that she’s not allowed anywhere near here!” Her face was red, her arms waving and tears sprouting in her eyes while she ran out of breath. Then, deathly quiet, she pursed her lips and tried to bite her tongue. But she couldn’t, the words bursting through when she saw the way I held (y/n).

“If you really are a law enforcement agent, then get her the fuck out of here! She’s not allowed on this property!”

“She hasn’t done anything!”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she let me know swiftly and with full force.

“She’s the reason my son is dead!” She shrieked, stepping towards me with an accusing finger in my face. “It was her friends, her drugs, her horrible decisions and now my baby is gone!”

I hated this part. Because as much as I loved (y/n), it was impossible not to hear the absolute devastation in this woman’s voice. And the longer she talked, the more I understood what was happening. Not enough to argue back, but enough to feel sympathy for them both.

More than anything, I wanted to protect (y/n), but I didn’t know how. I held her tighter, trying to show her that she was safe. I’m afraid it had the opposite effect, and she started to fight my embrace.

“It should have been her! She should follow in her father’s footsteps and do the world a favor and...” She cut herself off, knowing the weight of her words and contemplating them a moment longer before making her decision. “And just fucking disappear!”

The shock of it all caused my arms to loosen – just barely. It was enough, though, and before I knew it (y/n) had burst from my arms, taking off at full speed through the headstones.

“(Y/n)!” I choked, going to run after her, but I was stopped one final time.

“Yeah, get the hell out of here.” The woman behind me softly sobbed, trembling as the fight left her. “Go protect her like you always do. They always do.”

I couldn’t stay on the thought; I’d have to come back to it later, because there were more pressing concerns for me than a stranger who’d just hurt the woman I loved. So I turned around and booked it after her just as she slipped through the gate and disappeared into the cover of the woods around the cemetery.

Naturally, she couldn’t stay on the level, manicured grass. My heart was pounding not just at the energy exerted to follow her, but from all the different things that could go wrong. She could fall, she could run into something, she could get lost.

But luckily, even the adrenaline couldn’t stop the pain in her stomach, and she’d barely gotten anywhere before I caught up to her. I loosely caught her wrist, pulling her gently back to me before she nearly collapsed in my arms.

“(Y/n), where do you think you’re going? You can’t be running like this! Especially not here; it’s way too dangerous!” I said through my labored breaths. Then we stopped, and she protested at my touch.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked calmer now, lifting her back onto her feet. “Did she hurt you?” When I went to lift her shirt to inspect her wound, she brought her hand down in a hard slap.

“Stop, Spencer! Just fucking stop! Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”

The venom dripped from her tongue and burned my skin, my hands jumping back away from her as I took a step back. All the negative emotions that I’d just watched her go through were growing and morphing into a painful anger, and it was all aimed at me.

I deserved it.

“Why the fuck are you even here?! I told you I wanted to be alone today, a-and now you’re what, y-you’re following me?!”

I wished I could just shut up, but the words flowed out of me like I had any right to be angry with her over a promise that didn’t even seem to matter anymore. “And it’s a good thing I did. That woman could have seriously hurt you!”

“Who cares!”

“I do!” My voice strained at the volume I used to match hers. Our angry shouting disrupted the wildlife and broke through the sounds of cars traveling on the highway on the other side of the trees. “You might not care about what happens to you, (y/n), but it matters to me!”

“Why the fuck are you yelling at me?!” And then the sniffles turned to outright sobs, her whole body shaking, her hands cradling her face while she struggled under the weight of everything that had happened so quickly.

I shouldn’t have come here, but I was glad I had. I wished none of this had happened. I just wanted to hold her, but she stepped away when I got closer, defensively covering her head. My heart shattered at the thought of her being scared of me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I said genuinely, my voice still breaking, but now at an acceptable volume. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling, I-I just… I got scared. I thought you were going to get hurt again and I—“

“Sometimes I’m going to get hurt, Spencer. I can’t put my life on hold for your comfort. I’m only twenty years old. I’m not ready to be a housewife waiting at home for you!” She was quick, stumbling over her words and waving her arms between us in the hopes it would force me to keep my distance.

I didn’t want to hurt her, I never wanted that. And right now, it was very obvious that’s exactly what I was doing.  “Of course. I want you to have a life, but you…”

Her hand was back on her stomach, and the action caused a sudden panic that overwhelmed the logic and sense. “You were shot!” I cried, “You almost died in my arms! I thought I was going to lose you, forever.”

She couldn’t reply yet, her lungs too busy trying to take in hungry breaths without irritating the hardly healed skin.

I clenched my eyes shut, unable to look at it any longer. “It’s been barely a month, (y/n). A-And you’re already sneaking around behind my back and putting yourself in danger and I don’t know how I’m supposed to just turn a blind eye to that.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” She panted; the words hardly audible. Her skin was damp with sweat from the pain that was obviously written all over her.

This time, when I stepped closer, she couldn’t move away. I didn’t hold her yet, opting instead to place one hand on her hip and the other on the side of her face. She sighed, resting her head against my hand. She said she didn’t want to talk to me, but the way she closed her eyes and her heartrate immediately calmed down with the simplest touch told me that she wanted nothing more than for me to pick her up and take her home.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from whatever the hell just happened out there, but you don’t have to do that.” I whispered, gently wiping away her tears with my thumb. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“Oh, you’re just going to let it go?” I couldn’t decide what was more simultaneously heartbreaking and adorable, her pauses to sniffle, or the way she pouted as she spoke. “You aren’t going to ask me every night until you get an answer?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to trust me again, then yes. I’ll let it go.” I reassured her. She took the answer with an immense amount of relief, leaning forward to rest all of her body weight against me. I tried to stop her from falling too far or too hard, hoping to ease the pain that was already wrecking her.

But she didn’t even seem to notice, rubbing her face against my shirt and further soaking it with tears. I just wanted her to be okay, and I wished I could do it faster. For now, all I could do was pet the back of her head, rocking just a bit to the side in a soothing manner.

We stayed like that for a long time, and I occasionally pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering soft apologies to her and telling her that I loved her, no matter what. Eventually, she responded, her voice filled with guilt and shame again.

“I was going to tell you eventually.”

“I believe you.” I immediately responded, pulling her back to look at me to know that I was telling her the truth. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She gave the tiniest, saddest nod back.

“I would never try to hurt you.” I promised, earning a slanted smile. I mirrored it back to her, which made her laugh.

The sounds of the highway paired with the rustling of the leaves, and the two of us shared a quiet moment of understanding. Because I knew I shouldn’t have come, but I was glad I was there, and she felt very much the same.

“I’d like to go home, please.”

“Okay.” I agreed, taking her hand and maneuvering the woods that didn’t seem nearly as dangerous when her hand was in mine. “Let’s go home.”

—————————————————

“Hotch, I need to ask you for a favor.”

The man didn’t even look up from his desk, and I could tell from his posture that he wasn’t in the mood for the conversation he expected to follow. I couldn’t blame him; I hadn’t been the easiest employee to have for the past couple of weeks.

“Reid, we’ve talked about this. You either have to come back completely or—“

“No, sorry, this… isn’t about that.” I corrected, trying to ease the tension before it got any worse. Unfortunately, he still seemed combative, although there was now a guilt mixed in the frustration.

“I need to talk to you about (y/n)’s father.” I clarified, my voice breaking mid-sentence. I cleared my throat, trying to make eye contact despite the nerves gnawing at the little self-esteem I had.

But after a brief moment of thought, Hotch waved me forward, gesturing to the seat in front of him. He shoved the papers to the side and I wondered what it was he was working so hard on. I had a feeling it had to do with her, but I wasn’t going to ask.

“Does she know you’re asking me about this?”

It was the first question, and although I fully expected him to ask it, I still choked on an answer. He sighed deeply, his hands folding on his desk. He wasn’t able to look at me, either.

“Reid…”

“I-I’m really worried about her.” I needed him to hear the desperation in my voice, to feel just how scared I really was. I didn’t want to come running to him for every little thing involving her — he’d already done so much for her just fending off the prosecutors.

I knew we were both tired, but I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his tone when he talked about her that she meant something to him, too. Even if it wasn’t nearly as much, he’d known her when she was a kid.

Well, I guess to Hotch, she still was. I hated to exploit that knowledge, but I needed answers now. Before something else went horribly wrong. So I broke into a rant, my hands running through my hair and down my legs as I tried to prevent them from turning to fists at the memory.

“The other day she did something and she got into a physical altercation with another woman a-and she told (y/n) that she should follow her father’s footsteps and…” The word caught in my throat. He narrowed his eyes, and I suspected he already knew what I was about to say.

“Disappear.”

Across from the desk, he tensed, bowing his head to look at the files lining the surface in front of him. Every single one of them contained a plethora of information about someone’s family. Someone’s everything.

“What did she mean, Hotch?”

“Reid, the information in that file is not only classified, it’s extremely personal. I’m sure she doesn’t know all the details herself. I think it’s best for you to hear it from her.” He explained it so robotically, I could tell he didn’t want to be saying it. The way his jaw clenched told me that there was a lot he wished he could discuss about whatever the hell happened.

It must be a lonely way to live, I thought. And then I thought of her, carrying the weight of uncertainty on top of whatever Hotch held. She was strong, but she was young. She had been even younger then, and she wouldn’t have had the one man who’d taught her to survive to teach her how to handle what came next.

I wrung my hands together. I didn’t mean to be manipulative, but tears stung at my eyes. They were real, and they were persuasive.

“I just need to know that she’s safe.” I begged. “But your reaction isn’t telling me that at all. In fact, it’s telling me the exact opposite.”

Now that I’d started, the words wouldn’t stop.

“If my girlfriend is in danger, I need to know. It’s not like I care about the mission or whatever her father was wrapped up in — I-I just want to know what happened to him. This woman knew, so apparently it’s not that classified!”

My voice grew in volume, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I could feel his face morph into a scowl even as I clenched my eyes tightly shut. There was so much I hated about this, but nothing more than knowing that despite everything I’ve done, I still couldn’t reach out to her and help her when she needed me.

I was still failing her, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

“Reid, stop.”

Hotch must have been able to read my mind, because something inside of him also snapped, the tension releasing from his shoulders and his jaw. I wondered if it was because he trusted me not to give it away, or if it was because he trusted her.

Either way, he spoke, his voice low and hushed.

“I need you to understand that what I’m about to tell you has never been confirmed, and should not be shared outside of this room. Even with her.”

Sitting up with a straight back and a heavy swallow, I nodded.

“I understand.”

��————————————————

| Part 17 |

[halloweenhoneylover]

bewitching

summary: spencer and the reader have the best couples’ costume, and they like to slow dance (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i’m uhhh not super happy with this but whatever it’s halloween babey!!! the song is i love you (for sentimental reasons) by nat king cole and you’re legally obligated to listen to it while you read. also, morticia and gomez addams are peak romance <3

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Count of three?”

“Count of three.”

You both burst from behind your respective doors and gasped. A smile crept onto your face and stretched until you grinned from ear to ear, and with an appraising eye, you scanned him from up and down, trying to take it all in. Spencer’s usually unruly mane was combed neatly and gelled back with a precision you hadn’t known he was capable of, and his already lengthy limbs seemed to stretch on for miles in the pinstriped suit he donned. You had to laugh at the fake mustache he had placed on his upper lip; it looked fairly realistic (his application was superb) but was incredibly amusing all the same. This style was different, but you had to admit some welcome warmth began stirring in your stomach at the sight. With a breathless laugh (a weak attempt to disguise the full extent of his effect on you) and a wild amount of sincerity, you murmured, “You look good.”

His face flushed with your comment, but his pink cheeks paled in comparison to the fact that he hadn’t recovered enough from the sight of you to even shut his mouth, so he just stood there gaping at you, mind utterly blank. This outfit was certainly an impressive debut for you as well. Spencer was always so enamored with the amount of color you could fill your daily outfits with, but he couldn’t deny that you dazzled just as spectacularly in noir as well. Unfamiliar sleek locks of raven hair spilled over your shoulder, and your dress, Spencer prided himself on being a man who very much respected women and refrained from letting his eyes wander, but he couldn’t have stopped them if he had tried. 

Black velvet that was simply begging to be touched, black velvet that fell just right. And a devilishly plunging neckline that made his mouth go dry. While he was well-acquainted with the gentle planes of your neck and décolletage, seeing that skin presented so...elegantly was enough for him to squirm. When he mustered the strength to meet your gaze again, he nearly passed out as you looked up at him from beneath long lashes, the dark, shimmery shading of your eyelids only sharpening the gleam of your eyes.

Reclaiming some control of his voice, he spoke lowly, “You look utterly bewitching, mi amor.”

Somehow your gaze brightened even more at that. “Has somebody been brushing up on their Spanish?”

“I have to get into character, of course,” he teased right back, coming back into possession of his mental faculties.

You finally bridged the gap between you, hands coming to rest on his chest, and you mindlessly adjusted his lapels. “Well, I, for one, think you make an excellent Gomez Addams.”

He smiled, and finally, he gathered enough courage to rest his hands on you, gently holding your hips. (The velvet was just as lovely to feel as he thought it would be.) “I’d be nowhere without my Morticia though.”

Laughing at that, you fiddled with his tie, and your voice went soft. “It’s a good thing I’m here then, mon cher.” 

He took your hand from his tie and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, hazel eyes firmly meeting your gaze. “‘To live without you, only that would be torture. A day alone, only that would be death.’”

Ducking your head, you huffed out a laugh. “It’s only 5:00, and you’re already getting sappy on me?” You turned to sashay towards the kitchen (it was hard to do anything besides sashay in a dress like this), and he followed like a lovesick puppy, very nearly tripping over his own feet on the way. (He was really good at getting into character.)

“That’s a direct quote!” he protested, but you just shook your head and grinned. “Besides, it’s hard not to be sappy when you’re around.”

“Okay, Mr. Addams, you can still be the biggest sap in the world as long as you help me finish setting up. People will be here in a half hour.”

“Anything for you, querida.”

———

Heaving the door shut, you sighed. “I believe that was the last of them.”

Spencer called from the kitchen, “I think tonight might have topped last year!” The sweetest of all sweet things, he was already cleaning up, putting dishes in the sink and picking up paper plates shaped like pumpkins. 

Tugging up the sleeves of your dress, you joined him. “I will admit this year was pretty good, but can anything really top Hotch’s drunk rendition of Vincent Price’s interlude in Thriller last year?”

He chuckled slightly at that and continued to battle a particularly stubborn lipstick stain on Garcia’s wine glass. “No, I’m not sure anything could.” A beat. “But this year was pretty great.” His smile was warm as he spoke, his words laced with an incredible tenderness. You hummed in agreement. And shoulder to shoulder, you stood there quietly washing and drying dishes, immersed in this moment of balmy domesticity.

Music drifted softly through the apartment, gentle notes dawdling around corners and settling in the soft places. You mindlessly hummed along until one particular melody tickled your ear, and you gasped. Somewhat startled by this breach in the reverie, Spencer looked to you with questioning brows, and you grabbed his wrist. “Oh, Spencer, I love this song!” you gushed. “Will you dance with me? Please, it’s what Gomez would do!”

The way your eyes shined up at him made Spencer’s heart twist in his chest. (Despite the substantial length of your relationship, it somehow always came as a pleasant surprise that you looked at him with those gleaming, lovely eyes.) His expression softened as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, if that’s what Gomez would do….” He refrained from saying something stupidly sweet and cloying like, you don’t even have to ask, or I’d do anything for you, my dear. 

It seemed impossible, but your smile widened even further as you lightly dragged him into the next room. The string of jack-o-lantern lights that hung from the mantle doused you in a warm orange glow, and Spencer took a moment to glance around the room, admiring the little votives you had set on shelves and the various spooky decor that seemed to occupy every bit of free space in your apartment. Brushing the tips of his fingers with your own, you regained his attention, and he grabbed your hand. His other hand slid around to your lower back, relishing in the now familiar velvet and pulling you close, while you slid a hand up to hold on to his shoulder and rested your head on his chest.

As you settled into a nice slow sway, he finally took notice of the song. Nat King Cole’s smoky tones dripped like honey as his pianist’s fingers tumbled across keys. 

I love you, for sentimental reasons.

Spencer huffed a small laugh at your song choice, and pressing a nose into your hair, he murmured in your ear, “I don’t know how you can complain about me being sappy when you’re the one making us dance to cheesy jazz songs about love.”

You scowled teasingly, “We both have our moments.”

Smirking mildly, he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

A few moments drifted by wordlessly with gentle swinging, and Spencer swore that his heart had never felt so full. It had been a lovely night with his family, and now he was slow dancing with the love of his life, and in thinking back on all of the choices he had made in his life, he could not pick out the rights ones that lead him here to this exact moment, and it didn’t really matter because he really was here, right now, with you. Fate had always seemed a fickle thing to him, but he thanked whoever was in charge of this wildly arbitrary universe for being so kind as to give him you. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky. His thumb smoothed up and down the back of your hand, the littlest movement to remind him that the kindest, prettiest girl tucked into his chest was still very, very real. Cursing himself, he tried to blink back the tears welling in his eyes at the thought of just how happy he was. (He didn’t mind crying in front of you, but if he cried, that also meant you were right, that he was the biggest sap on the whole planet, and he didn’t want you gloating.)

Leaning against his chest with your eyes shut, you breathed out a contented sigh before joining Mr. Cole in serenading your dear Spencer. “I love you, and you alone were meant for me.” His eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden breaking of silence, but then he settled back into the dance, listening to your honeyed words. “Please give your loving heart to me, and say we’ll never part.”

Beaming, he replied, “I promise. You can never get rid of me.”

You both laughed at that.

You continued this little back and forth, you singing syrupy lines of longing and Spencer chattering away in response, the biggest grins on your faces.

“I think of you every morning.”

“Funnily enough, I do the same.”

“Dream of you every night.”

“So, I’m the man of your dreams?”

“Darling, I’m never lonely—”

“I’d sure hope not.”

“—Whenever you are in sight.”

“That’s very sweet of you, cariño.”

You snickered at that, “Ah, so Mr. Addams has made a reappearance, I see?”

Taking your hand and gently spinning you, he used his free hand to tap his moustache. “He never left, dear Morticia.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t resist a grin, while humming in understanding.

“Well then, darling Gomez, how would you say tonight was? Was this Halloween everything you had hoped it would be?”

“Mi amor, tonight was perfect.” He brought his lips to your knuckles, placing a chaste kiss on each, and there was no resisting the blush that flooded your cheeks. Funny how you were just as smitten as the day you first started dating. His hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were home.

Your voice taut with emotion, you whispered with a blistering smile, “I’m glad.”

Pushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, he cocked his head slightly and came to rest his hand against your jaw. “‘Are you unhappy, my darling?’”

“‘Oh, yes—yes, completely.’”

[whump-town]

It’s A Wonderful Life

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. 

Warning: talking about child abuse 

Fluorescent white is harsh.

The ones in the police station when his mother tried to run away the first time had irritated his eyes. Laying on his back, head cushioned by a deputy’s winter jacket, he’d gotten the idea to save himself from this mess. He spent the night on that station floor, while his mother pleaded for something to be done, staring long and hard at the lights. Waiting until he couldn’t stand the pain from his eyes being open for so long before blinking. He’d hoped to blind himself, aimed for it in the hopes that he would earn a fraction of goodwill from his father.

He didn’t need to be told that he and his mother would be going back to that house tonight.

Three months later, his father put him in the hospital for the first time. Despite the pressure across his chest, the pain of each breathe, he’d shivered harshly. Those blinding lights and white walls sucking the warmth from the room-- but maybe it had nothing to do with the hospital and the realization, at eight, that his father would rather see him dead than deal with him.

But for two hours, Aaron remembered what it was like to have a father. More crisp than the pain stabbing through his body, the chest tube wedged into his thin chest was his father’s commanding figure. The way his mother had moved to place herself between them until she saw his true motive.

He remembers his father soothing his out-of-mind whimpers, brushing his bangs from his face with a gentle knuckle. Gently, a nurse moving wires and keeping them from being tangled, his father had cradled him to his chest. “Easy. You’re okay now, baby.” It had been so hard to breathe, despite the oxygen canal under his nose. But he’d fallen asleep there with his father’s large flannel pulled over him like a blanket.

At least that hospital stay earned him a month of reprieve-- he’d been on blood thinners, inhalers, and way too much medicine for a child. His father couldn’t beat him, though, because he might not have been any use to the man but a funeral is more expensive than just leaving him be.

In his ninth-grade year, his father hit him so hard that a blood vessel burst in his eye. The light had been red. The nurse who put three stitches into his chin whispered a soft chide at him for fighting boys at school but there was something about her that still makes him think she knew. She let him sleep for four hours, fed him as many sandwiches as he could stand, and sent him home with jello stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

There were fluorescent lights in the coroner’s office. The first time he’d ever seen a dead body-- his own father.

From there the lights lose meaning.

Getting mugged in college and cracking two ribs getting the shit kicked out of him when they realized he had no money. Breaking the metacarpals in his right hand punching somebody’s too drunk boyfriend-- he only remembers the blinding pain and a boy and Haley dragging him to the hospital a day later. Breaking more ribs in the academy falling off an obstacle, they called him brittle bones for the rest of training and they were right. Getting shot, too many times to count there. Being knocked unconscious, strangled, and beaten. Being blown up not once, not twice, but now three times. And… Foyet.

It seems as if he’ll never get a reprieve from their harsh downpour. Maybe he never will.

“I can’t let you all back there.” A doctor and a nurse meet them at the doors of the intensive care unit, the only thing separating them sitting numbly in the waiting room from Hotch. He’s already so close, they can feel it stirring something foreign in them. Maybe it’s the sort of raw thing that Hotch normally abates in them, soothes and calms long before they can truly feel it.

Dave leads them into the hospital.

Garcia clutches Morgan’s hand, following close on his heels, and trying to keep her eyes on the floor. Afraid that if she looks up she might start sobbing and she knows if she does start crying, she will not stop. Morgan lets her, he needs something else to focus on. Her cold hand squeezing his painfully tight works numbers.

JJ tries to speak with Reid and Emily but neither even attempts to try with a response.

“The best I can do is… five minutes, in pairs.”

Emily looks up from the floor, showing her own first signs of life. “I’ll go.” She goes alone.

JJ with go with Reid. Morgan with Garcia. Privileged with power of attorney, Rossi will get to stay. She tries not to think too hard about how that was once her. Before she ruined everything with Doyle, she was his power of attorney. Now Dave has to decide if he’s got enough fight left in him to keep going.

There’s blood all over his face. It’s caked under his nose and left to coagulate along his hairline. There’s so much it makes her stomach twist and she feels tears slip down her face despite the control she wishes to exude.

Emily sniffles, wiping the back of her hand under her nose hard. Unable to forgive herself for this blatant demonstration of emotion and unwilling to stop for just a moment and really think about what is happening. About the things that have happened today while she was fucking off at her desk. “Can we--” she clears her throat harshly. Forcing her shoulder’s back and stealing her voice she tries again. “Do you have a rag? I’d like to get the blood off his face.”

A nurse, standing right at the door in case Emily does get overwhelmed, nods. She’d expected to have to hold the women or offer some sort of false promise in a hopeful prognosis but the brunette agent just turns her back and regards her friend a little closer.

She’d seen him after Foyet. Seen him. Drugged out of his mind and numbly, nearly dissociated, from the nurses changing his bandages. It had hurt to see him so… he couldn’t even be there, mentally, to stand it.

“Here you go,” the nurse comes back. “Don’t touch the stitches and be careful--”

“I know.” She does, really, know what the nurse is going to say. She’s cleaned her own wounds and some of the others. She knows what to do. The important thing, right now, is cleaning him up so that the others don’t see it. The blood up and down him, he’s covered in it. It’s safer, better if they see him like he’s Hotch.

She’s hesitant to actually touch him but her time is dwindling down. Wiping at his eyebrow, she tries to think of something to say. Mindless. “Reid swears that there is some proven bullshit study--” the washcloth trembles in her hand. “I don’t know, I--I didn’t listen to him, to be honest.” An admission that would earn her a stern frown if… if he were here. But he’s not. “I think he’s just bluffing,” she admits. “I also don’t think if you had a choice, you’d want to listen to any of the sappy crap any of those nuts have to say.”

She didn’t want to, she didn’t even want to see him, but no one was moving and no one was speaking. So, she’d taken the doctor’s bait and agreed to go back first. Someone has to, it’s not a big deal. They look after one another-- she and Hotch hate each other’s guts most of the time but she always has his back. She always looks after him. Now is no exception.

The blood comes off and her time runs out.

“W--Wait!” She forces herself to take his hand, cold and rough, in her own. “Aaron,” his name feels wrong in her mouth but she’d been Emily for ages and it’s desperate but she’s terrified she’ll never have another chance. “Don’t you die, you son of a bitch. Please don’t die.”

Her legs carry her out of the building, only half-aware of the words Dave is communicating. They can come back in the morning (but she remembers what the doctor said about him surviving the night) and that Jack is staying overnight just to be sure.

Right. “Okay.” She’ll be back in the morning.

On a night not quite unlike this one, JJ had taken Emily home. To the home that she and Will were still renovating and whose walls were never truly silenced no matter the hours-- night or day. It had been exactly what Emily needed to get the hell away from all that overwhelming silence.

Will made them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and tipsy from her wine Emily commended his skill. Obviously, JJ was doing something here, picking him, and Henry really lucked out. That was the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich she’s ever had (he sent her home the next morning with three more and even refrigerated they were amazing).

That night, JJ took Emily back to her closet and showed her the secret wardrobe-- full of clothes she’s stealthily stolen from their friends over the years. A soft green sweater that still smelled like Gideon, JJ informs her he pulled it over her head one chilly morning when they were in DC. They laughed sadly together, remembering Gideon’s very unique approach to affection. He never really hit his mark, did he? He was an odd one alright.

The real stash is in the back. Not the outrageous amounts of sweaters Garcia sends her home with-- always an excuse to go get new ones. It’s for the Morgan and Hotch memorabilia. It’s no secret the two of them will fork over anything you ask for-- fries, a pickle, an extra shirt, mittens, their coats. No, the hard part is giving those material items back.

“Jesus,” Emily hisses, looking at her friend with wide eyes. “And those are all from Hotch?” JJ had opened a shoebox full of gloves ranging in color and thickness.

JJ looks nearly ashamed as she nods. “He’s always leaving them everywhere!” she defends. Most do come from her finding them in random places he’s set them down and just walked away. One pair did come directly from his jacket pockets. He’d draped his peacoat over her like a blanket and she’d dug around for a piece of the hard candy he always keeps on his person and found them.

He used to lose so many pairs JJ used to wonder if Haley even bothered to get angry with him. She was frustrated and she didn’t have to go buy his big dumb butt a new pair.

“What’s your excuse for the shirts?”

The rule of shirts is you ask Morgan. Reid is a size small in t-shirts and when they already steal Hotch’s candy, scarves, and gloves they leave him his shirts… unless he offers first. Morgan always has one large, at least, in his bag. He is a medium but sometimes he just has to style a slightly larger shirt.

And JJ has an impressive amount of men’s mediums shirts-- the black, blues and one green shirt are all Morgan. The white ones are Hotch.

Emily had borrowed one of JJ’s Morgan shirts and slept on the couch. She’d laid awake just a little after they’d all gone their separate ways thinking about the impossibility that she’ll ever have JJ’s problem. They just don’t like her like that.

Tonight, Emily is dipping into her own reserve.

When she was ready to go into Witsec, Hotch gave her his button-down. Her own wouldn’t fit because of all the layers of gauze. She’d been the point of tears with aggravation over this and startled when he gently closed his hands over her own. She can loosely remember crying into his shoulder, shaking with fear. She was afraid, not mad at her stupid t-shirt.

She was terrified she’d never seen any of them again and he’d felt the same.

“Haley hand-made Jack this bear out of some of my old shirts,” he tells her. It feels like he’s taken a hot serrated blade and drug it from hip-to-hip, barring himself for her to see. “He sleeps with it every night.” He leaves out the obvious-- that she’d been afraid he’d die and Jack would forget him and that he now he wishes he’d done the same with her old shirts.

Emily startles when he moves to undo the buttons on her shirt but she lets him. Watching as he tugs his own off his shoulders. The two making eye-contact as he hesitantly guides her arms into his larger shirt. It’s stupidly large but doesn’t hurt to sit across her stomach.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He shakes his head, lowers his gaze, and moves back.

For the months she was away, she could understand why Jack would cling to that bear. When that old shirt stopped smelling like him she locked herself in the tiny bathroom of her apartment, sat in her bathtub with her knees drawn to her chest. Was that her last tie to them? They’re slipping out of her grip, gone. Is that what she felt like to them too? A ghost.

That old shirt made it through a lot and two weeks after she came home she brought it back to him. The worn fabric clutched in both her hands.

“I can give you another if you’d like.”

He gave her three more and, as it turns out, he has so many. It’s a problem. After so many washes the fabric is too thin or Jack stained it with some food or dirt or any number of things.

Now she has an obscene amount and, if she leaves them long enough, they make the back of her closet smell like Hotch. So, despite how ridiculous it must make her, she sits in the back of her closet and buries her face in one of those old shirts.

Why can’t just one year go by with no life-or-death experiences?

“-- I heard David Bowe,” Garcia says to seemingly no one but he knows she’s speaking to him. Of course, she’d hold on when everyone else knows it’s time to give up. “Heroes,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I hope you can hear us, Hotch. Please come home.” Her thumb worries with the back of his hand, rubbing his knuckles. “I really miss you and--” her voice cracks.

That’s a stupid thing to say, she realizes. She saw him yesterday! They talked about the cafeteria running out of blueberry muffins and she’d apologized because she hadn’t thought to grab him one. But today she brought him one to the office. Thought it would make his Wednesday even better.

Guess not.

“It’s okay.” Morgan pulls her to his side, rubbing her back. He just looks at Hotch. Bruised up and down, exposed to them from the waist up. Morgan could fill in what he assumed Hotch’s scars looked like but now he knows. He doesn’t even know what to say.

Garcia presses a kiss to his forehead, a hot tear sliding down her face as she regards him for one more moment. A bitter smile twisted onto his lips as she spots his elusive white eyelash. Emily hates that thing. “I love you, Hotch.”

Morgan… takes his hand. Rubbing his thumb up Hotch’s knuckles. “Don’t leave,” he whispers, glancing at Garcia. Glad that she at least pretends not to hear. “I don’t want your job, Aaron. I don’t want to learn it. I don’t want the fucking paperwork or the--” his cracks and he pulls in a shuddering breath. Laughing at the tears that sting his eyes. “I won’t do it, do you hear me? So… come back, okay? Get better because you have to.”

There aren’t any other options.

Despite the childhood he endured, Aaron has only ever met one caseworker. He did go to college with a few who would eventually get there but, for the most part, he stayed the hell away from everyone in the psych department. The very last thing he needed was getting near those trigger-happy morons less he walks away slapped with a new label. And with them, it’s impossible to tell what that might be.

He does know one thing-- if profilers ride the line then caseworkers are like g-strings right up the asscrack. No offense, both annoy him. He works with profilers, they’re the worst. Most days he wavers into hating those bastards. Caseworkers… another example of people whose entire job it is to get into people’s lives and see the dirty stuff.

His entire life, all he’s learned to do is hide the dirty stuff.

It’s hard to be exposed.

So, maybe he should have befriended a caseworker or two. All that dirt, all that shit piles up until it’s hard to tell any of it apart. He can’t tell if he’s even real anymore-- sometimes he spends so much time trying to be normal that he can’t remember how to be Aaron. Old favorites feel like nothing. Books with words that once held him together at the broken, singed pieces of himself now are numb. Meaningless.

Just like him.

Leaving behind him, in his nothingness. Covered in scars and ugly.

Ruined.

“Agent Hotchner! I need you to calm down.”

Those fucking lights. He hates fluorescent lightbulbs.

“We have a machine breathing for you,” the doctor explains calmly. He flashes a penlight in both of his patient’s eyes. “Your lungs are healing. We’re going to put you back under, okay? Your team, Agent Rossi, is right outside. Your son Jack is safe. Get some rest Agent Hotchner, you’ve got a hard night ahead of you.”

Fuck. He’d just wanted them to turn the lights off. His vision hazes over and he fights once more against the obstruction in his throat before the world sinks into the inky black once again.

[masterwords]

Hi, I’d like to order a 32 please: A kiss while someone watches 😙

Coming right up! How about 2500 words of heart trouble that leads up to a heart-racing finish with a LOT of someones watching? Chicago retirement universe, football, sappy soft old men. This is unedited and scrappy, so please forgive glaring errors and halfway correct medical nonsense - I used to work in a coumadin clinic and with a cardiologist so I have some (probably outdated and definitely sketchy at this point) knowledge and that's about where we sit here. Forgive me for errors, I tried to remember things without trying to dive too far into research just to get them to kiss. We're in the CM universe, this is probably still closer to accurate than most of the show was. LOL (I'll put this on AO3 tomorrow. I have to go clean my house and get ready for a football game filled weekend of my own now.)

Warning ⚠️: heart problems & procedures, mention of death/implied abusive household (hotch's father)

(Send me a kiss (or LOTS of them) and I'll write you some hotchgan!)

**

Hotch hadn’t been to work in months. Summer vacation provided a clever cover for his ailing health, he thought. Usually he would pick up a summer course or two, just to keep busy, but it wasn’t required and this year he didn’t even consider it. His heart had begun to act funny sometime around spring break – nothing he hadn’t experienced before. Since Foyet, he’d had random periods of erratic heartbeats. Too fast, sometimes alarmingly so, but always over quickly. A few scary minutes accompanied by a seasick feeling and then back to normal. He would think about it for an hour after, sitting and waiting for the next one, for the Big One.

His father, riddled with cancer though he were, died of a heart attack right there in front of his eyes. One minute he was sitting on the couch talking, complaining about how dry his sandwich was (his mother made it without mayo, just meat and bread, because his body couldn’t tolerate the fat anymore) and then...everything stopped. His eyes went wide, his jaw went slack and he was gone. His heart just stopped, at least that’s the way Hotch remembered it. It was possible it didn’t go quite that way, he was young enough and filled with enough teenage vitriol that if he compared notes with his mother, it might look completely different. He didn’t care to find out, though. The idea that his father’s ticker just ceased to function one minute had always brought him some kind of strange comfort, scared as he was of it happening to him too. Like no matter how terrible a person he was, his clock had run out. His time was up. (Sean asked if his heart exploded, later, after the funeral. The image became ingrained in him, even now as an adult – a heart attack meant that your heart exploded gore in your chest, meat and blood everywhere. In relation to most people he hated the thought, but in relation to his father...well it seemed a fitting end.)

It came and went over the years, sometimes for days at a time, but his doctors assured him that it wasn’t anything to worry about. There were medications and treatments if it became persistent, if it didn’t reset on its own. It always did. He would worry his time was up, and then his heart would say no, not yet. You get another day, another week, another year. Just making sure you remember I’m here and I’m in charge.

But he was older now, and just before spring break as he taught a class on Criminal Law to his to his grad students, he felt his heart begin hammering in his chest faster than it ever had before. He put his hand on his chest and swallowed hard, that had always worked before somehow (maybe only by coincidence) but it only served to make him feel faint. Stubbornly, he pressed on and turning toward the white board, he looked up, squinted to read the words he’d written and grabbed for the red marker he intended to use.

The next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor with a sea of concerned faces staring down at him.

Most people could go a whole lifetime without collapsing in the middle of a presentation, yet he’d done it twice now. Where was the justice in that? The only silver lining was that this time he happened to wake back up before he was in an ambulance with an oxygen mask obscuring his face. (Just barely. The EMTs arrived just a few minutes later and he was alert enough to insist on standing with their help and walking to the ambulance rather than ride on the stretcher through the hallway of his university.)

This time, it didn’t reset on its own, not for hours.

This time Derek was called out of his classes, leaving his baseball team to the assistant coach so he could rush over and sit with Hotch while they attempted to get his heart back into a normal sinus rhythm. Even then, it was precarious. They didn’t expect it to last, not with the onslaught of concerning symptoms that brought him here in the first place. He went home with a pile of new prescriptions to try and treat it medically, all of which failed spectacularly in everything except making him feel like garbage. His least favorite was the re-introduction of blood thinners into his life. The last time he’d taken them was the months after Foyet when they feared that he was at risk of stroke due to the severity and location of his injuries, and the lasting effects those same injuries had on George Foyet himself. Hotch had argued that Foyet had stabbed himself more times, that he’d practiced, that nine was a lot less than what Foyet wore but he had taken the blood thinners dutifully then and he did now too. He suffered through weekly appointments to check his INR, make sure that everything was looking like it should, and because he had Jack and Hank and Derek looking at him like that...wondering if he was going to have a stroke...he never missed or rescheduled a single appointment even if it meant throwing his entire day into disarray. He limped himself along to the end of the year on sheer determination, refusal to cut and run before his students were finished with the courses they’d all begun together. He’d seen them this far, and if his last couple of lectures were given while he leaned heavily on the podium (or sat at his desk on one particularly bad afternoon) then so be it. They always forgave him.

As soon as school was out, he scheduled himself in for an ablation – a procedure to try and go at it from the inside. They assured him that he might feel bad for a while after while he healed, but it was likely to be the ticket. The way to get him back to feeling like himself. The way to get him off of the blood thinners.

The whole time he just felt tired. Not necessarily sick, just unable to do much of anything. His normally active lifestyle had become difficult and sometimes impossible. He and Derek would ride bikes on the weekends or run in the morning and he tried to maintain it, his doctors told him it was in his best interest to be as active as he could be, but some days were just too hard and he couldn’t keep up. No one in his family made him feel bad about it, he did that plenty on his own.

He was miserable, watching summer slip by without getting to do much more than lie in a lounge chair in the backyard and soak up whatever sun Chicago provided him with. He missed out on their usual big summer trips to wherever Savannah was working, he’d said goodbye to Derek and Hank and Jack as they flew to southern Mexico to spend two weeks with her at the ocean. He wasn’t up for the flight and knew they’d all just spend the whole time worrying about him if he went at all. He was better off at home, spending afternoons playing cards with Anthony and Fran while Cindi was at work or going to movies with Desiree and Sarah. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t enjoy himself, he just had to stay close to home because when the exhaustion hit him it hit hard.

Once he had the procedure, things would be better. He was certain. At least after the healing period which would probably make him seem worse, and for the most part, he was right. He’d still decided not to work for a while, to take the first semester of the year off. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the time built up. He probably could have worked, but he didn’t need to and he wasn’t in the habit of killing himself for his job anymore. Things were already looking up a few weeks after the procedure. His energy was slowly returning along with his appetite and his desire to get out and be part of the world. The ever present fear that he would collapse again in public started to slip back into the recesses of his mind. He wasn’t feeling good, necessarily, but he was feeling better. There was hope that he was on the upswing finally.

Occasionally he overdid it and there were setbacks, but he was being good. Taking his medication on time every day, not missing appointments, things his younger self would have deemed impossible. A luxury he didn’t have. Well, now he had it in abundance. He’d spent the day before in the backyard, getting it ready for winter while he had the energy to do it. Derek had started the job but he had no love for these tasks and would avoid them as long as he could – Hotch wanted to do it, he wanted to push his hands into the cold soil and prepare it to sleep. But being outside all day had come with an evening of exhaustion like he hadn’t had in weeks, and the next morning he could barely pull himself out of bed. His body was scolding him again. “Rest today,” Derek said, kissing him on the top of the head. “Please. For the love of everything holy, rest.”

“Yes sir.”

He did. He didn’t exactly stay in bed all day but he did take it easy. He was motivated to take it easy, he had a reason. And when Derek came out of the bedroom and saw Hotch standing near the door dressed in the highschool’s colors, bundled up with Derek’s beat up old ball cap on, he couldn’t really understand it. Not after the way he looked that morning. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Hotch asked, checking the time. Derek frowned.

“It looks like you think you’re coming to the game. BOYS HURRY UP!” The last part was shouted as Derek turned back toward the hallway, a hallmark of dad-mode. Being able to carry on two simultaneous conversations, in different pitches and intensity, without skipping a beat. Jack shouted something back and something crashed against the floor, but Derek had already turned back to Hotch.

“I am coming to your game.”

“Like hell you are. You’ve been sick all day.”

“If I can sit at home then I can sit in the stands at a football game. It’s the state championship, Derek. You guys worked your tails off to get here, I’ve hardly seen you in months. How long has it been since your school has won?”

“Thirty years. We won when I was a senior.”

“Thirty years and I’m going to miss it because I’m tired?”

“Aaron…”

“Don’t Aaron me. I’m coming to watch you coach your team to a championship.”

“DAD!” Jack called, rushing down the hallway with Hank dangling upside down from his arms giggling. He was wearing his football jersey, minus the pads, and a pair of jeans that looked about two sizes smaller than Hotch would have preferred but he supposed that was the style these days. “You’re coming?!”

“Yes, I’m coming.”

“DADDY COMES!” Hank shouted, wiggling almost to the point of Jack dropping him.

“See? It’s settled.”

Derek gave him an unconvinced, almost exasperated look but he didn’t have the time to argue, he just took the whistle that Hotch extended to him with a smile and ushered them all out to the car in the cold October evening. They were playing on the Northwestern field, and some part of Hotch was a little worried – he’d taken the semester off to recover, to try anyway, and hadn’t seen his colleagues in months. He hoped they wouldn’t pay him too much attention.

The game moved fast – the crunch of shoulder pads, the shouting of gruff coaches and screaming of fans, the bright lights catching the freezing rain as it fell to the field and whipped around in the wind. The announcer called out name after name, and he watched Jack on the sidelines in his uniform cheering his friends on, holding a towel and wiping off game balls for the referees, helping keep the team hydrated. He was hoping to make Varsity next year, but his entire Junior Varsity team was there to cheer on the big guys and Jack was working a little extra hard to make sure his contribution was noticed. He couldn’t get onto Varsity by slacking, not with his dad coaching. He had to work twice as hard. It looked to Hotch, as he squinted at the full university stadium, that the whole city of Chicago had turned out to watch these boys from the south side bring home the title.

And when it came down to a field goal, when the whole stadium held its breath and watched that ball soar through the uprights, and when Derek was jumping around like a mad man amid shoulder pads and helmets and shouting crying teenagers, Hotch stood and cheered just as loud as anyone. His heart beat faster, thumped intensely in his chest, but it felt normal. The good fast. The kind that reminded him that he was alive and his body was built for a lot more than he gave it credit for sometimes. That he might be tired tomorrow but he would never get tonight back.

Being alive sometimes meant being uncomfortable, he realized as Derek bounded up the metal stairs taking two and three at a time, as he launched himself through the bleachers until he reached Hotch at his comfortable perch and practically threw himself at the man. “WE DID IT! WE DID IT! THEY DID IT!” He was beside himself with excitement, the pride of knowing what his kids had achieved, the memory of achieving it once himself so long ago he thought he’d forgotten but it felt the same now as it did then. It made his skin prickle, shock waves that made his bones jump, his head screaming for joy. The stadium had erupted in so much noise, but Hotch even with his bad hearing managed to hear him loud and clear, and when Derek wrapped him up and kissed him hard right there he didn’t put up a fight. He found his arms sliding around Derek’s waist, pinning them both in place, and the air sucked from his lungs, the beat in his heart all but stopping now. The stadium got quiet around them, the sound sucked into a vacuum, and then slowly a new sound erupted, a different kind of cheer, led by the football players on the field hooting and hollering. Hotch peeked one eye open to see the two of them kissing on the big screen right above the scoreboard, right above the score proclaiming their victory. He smiled into the kiss and closed his eyes again as fireworks began, and he let himself believe just for a moment that those fireworks were for them.

Being alive never felt so good. “Congratulations,” he whispered against Derek’s lips. “I love you.”

“Hot damn! I love you too baby! WE WON!”

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Awoken

For the anon who requested : hi could i request Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap and waking up from a nightmare with either hotch or barba <33

I went with Barba because oh god am I on an SVU kick, I hope that’s okay! :)

Warnings for : description of death and mentions of blood 

He had the girl in his arms, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other one holding a knife to her throat. Little droplets of blood oozed from where he was applying pressure. 

“Get back, get back or I’ll kill her.” He threatened, and you knew he wasn’t bluffing, he had killed before and you had the bodies on slabs in the morgue to prove it. Suddenly that was falling away from you and you were swimming in a pool of crimson water. The tides were too rough and suddenly it was no longer swimming, it was drowning. You gasped for air, arms and legs thrashing violently as images spun in and out of focus. The knife cutting swiftly, your partner's gun firing from beside you as you stood still in shock. The aftermath.

“Y/N?” Someone called from above your head and you thrashed harder, trying to swim towards the sound of a familiar voice. 

“Y/N.” It repeated. You were screaming now, but no sound was coming out. All could hear was the sound of waves crashing and the blood thumping in your ears. You were terrified. The voice was becoming clearer through the waves and the chaos. And suddenly you burst through the surface of the water gasping for air.

“No!” You screamed out into the dark apartment. The sounds of waves were gone but your heartbeat was still pounding tantalizing in your ears, you covered them with both of your hands and brought your knees up to your chest. 

“Y/N,” The voice came from just beside you as gentle hands pulled your hands from your ears, “Come on, amor, it’s alright. You’re safe, you’re here, look at me.” You looked up, eyes wild. You looked at your boyfriend first, then your eyes scanned the bedroom for any sign of danger. No one was there besides the two of you, no sound besides you labored breathing and the soft hum of the fan above you. No man. No knife. No little girl’s broken body laying in a pool of blood. You sighed and rubbed your hands over your sweaty face. 

“I’m sorry.” Rafael shook his head, eyes seeping with concern for you. 

“Don’t apologize. Are you alright?” You knew you had woken him up. You just weren’t sure what did it; your violent thrashing, or the screaming your sore throat told you that you had been doing. 

“Nightmare.” You responded weakly. You wished you could fall back over and resume your sleep, you were exhausted most days since the incident, rarely sleeping through the night if at all. 

“Again?” He asked worriedly, “Cariño, talk to me.” You shook your head. You didn’t want to talk, you wanted your life back. Her life back. Rafael frowned at you, and gently took one of your hands in his. “You’re shutting me out.” His voice was gentle but his words stung, because he was right. 

“Please, I don’t want to talk right now.” 

“In the morning then.” He assured you and you sighed and smiled stiffly. 

“In the morning.” You agreed finally, “We can talk.” Rafael shifted in the bed so his back was against the headboard before gently pulling you down so your head was resting in his lap. You were quiet for a few minutes as his nimble fingers worked at rubbing your temple, then the back of your neck, allowing some of the tension to wash from you. When he was satisfied that you had relaxed some he moved both hands to your hair, playing with the locks. He rubbed his fingers across your scalp and scratched gently before smoothing some of the sweat soaked hair from your forehead. You continued like this, in silence for what felt like ages. Finally the man spoke from above you. 

“Te quiero. Te quiero mi amor.” You loved when he spoke to you in Spanish, it made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, and this moment was no exception. 

“I love you too, Raf.” You whispered into the darkness. He continued to alternate between playing with your hair and lovingly massaging your scalp. Finally he lifted your head and scooted down on the bed so he was laying and replaced your head on his chest, right over his heart. 

“Hear that?” He asked and you nodded against him, eyes feeling heavier. Maybe you could catch a few hours of sleep after all. You tapped a finger against his chest to the beat of his heart beneath you. “It beats for you, my dearest.” You smiled. 

“You’re sappy.” 

“You make me sappy.” He chuckled. “Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” You didn’t. But you were running on fumes, and you needed it so you nodded yet again. He kissed the top of your head, “I’ll stay up for a bit to make sure you’re okay, sleep now. I’ll be right here if you need me, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whispered, “and thank you.” He kissed the top of your head once before and held you closer to him. 

“You don’t need to thank me, I’m yours for better and for worse. We will get through this. You’re the strongest woman I know.” So you fell back into a thankfully dreamless sleep to the sound of Rafael’s heartbeat and his hands tracing idle patterns where they rested on your arm and waist. It was one of the best sleeps you’d had since the incident and it was all thanks to him.

[hotchscotchh]

Reimagined; Chapter 2 - Owen Savage

This is so sappy and I’m not sorry. Also, I couldn’t find any gifs from this episode so I made some. I might post the set tomorrow :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of past drug use, mentions of bullying

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Spencer works through his issues with the Owen Savage case.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 —— Chapter 3

Based on 3x16 Elephant’s Memory

Hotch wasn’t sure what was going on with Reid during this case, but he was angry, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He felt bad for the way he had to reprimand Reid, no matter how necessary it was, because the younger man was obviously hurting. He wouldn’t have acted in such a way otherwise. But, Hotch wasn’t about to let him continue to make decisions that were going to put his life at risk.

He knew what Reid had been going through the past year. How could he not? He wasn’t exactly being subtle about it. Hotch had a lot of guilt over not stepping up to help him. Gideon told Hotch that he was handling it, and Hotch fell into the trap of believing it. He didn’t know that Gideon hadn’t said a word to the young genius. Hadn’t helped him in the slightest. He wouldn’t forgive Gideon or himself for that.

“Reid,” Hotch called after they had both stepped off the jet. “Are you going to catch that movie?” Reid put his hands in his pocket, looked down at his feet and nodded. “I think I’ll come with you.”

Reid looked up at that, surprised. “Hotch, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. This is personal, it’s not something you should technically know about. If it comes out that you were aware of the situation, you’ll get in trouble. I’m not going to let you carry that burden.”

Hotch sighed. “Let me at least give you a ride. I don’t need to come with you, I just want to know that you’ve made it there safely. The metro isn’t running anymore anyway. I’m allowed to give my subordinate a ride home, right?”

“I suppose,” Reid answered, a hint of a smile playing across his features.

The ride to Reid’s “movie” was spent in silence. Neither man was ready to broach the day’s incident on a personal level. Reprimanding Reid as his superior was much easier than talking through feelings and past trauma.

Reid silently got out of the car when they arrived, but when the door was about to close, he opened it again and, with a shaky voice, asked, “should I expect you to be here when I come out?”

“Of course, Reid. I am giving my subordinate a ride home, after all,” Hotch replied with a sad smile. He didn’t like that the man thought so little of him that he would leave him here to find his own way home.

When he was gone, though, Aaron couldn’t help but let his mind wander. First to the past few weeks. This wasn’t the first time he’d given Spencer a late-night ride home after the Metro had closed. It almost always landed them going out to dinner, though. It was something that he was coming to anticipate. It was becoming his favorite part of the week. He’d known there was a lot to Reid, but he’d only known him on a professional level. Getting to know him personally was something he could only describe as… titillating. He was also kind of choosing to ignore the extremely inappropriate attraction he was realizing had grown in him.

His thoughts were also wandering to what Spencer could have possibly gone through to make him so closely identify with Owen Savage. He knew about the bullying in high school, that comments about being a “12-year-old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school” had not gone unnoticed. So, he knew, in theory, that Reid was traumatized by the experience, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he really wanted the details.

Aaron knew, from experience, how cruel children could be. He was sure his experience wasn’t nearly as extreme as Spencer’s, but he had been bullied. He’d been bullied because his parents never showed up to school events. Because he played baseball instead of football. Because he was never going to live up to the standards of his father. Not in the community’s eyes, at least. Little did they know what was going on behind those closed doors. But that’s a story for another time.

----

An hour after he left, spencer returned to Aaron’s car feeling fifty pounds lighter. Aaron hadn’t started the car after Spencer had gotten in and put his seat belt on, so he looked over to find the older man staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“Feel better?” Aaron asked. Spencer nodded in reply. Aaron waited a moment, giving Spencer the chance to say something (even though he knew he wouldn’t) before speaking up again. “Dinner? There’s an all-night diner a few blocks from here.”

“Okay. I don’t-” Spencer abruptly stopped his train of thought, looking down to where his hands were tracing nervous patterns on his knees. He took a moment to decide if this was really something he wanted to disclose to his boss before remembering that this wasn’t his boss. Not right now. This isn’t Hotch. This is Aaron. The man who takes him out for dinner once a week just to listen to him talk. The man who knows about his addiction. Who wouldn’t judge him, no matter what he said. “I don’t think I should be alone just yet,” he finally finished, voice low as if he thought he might be chastised for his words.

Aaron understood that the admission wasn’t something that Spencer wanted to discuss and started the car without another word.

----

They were seated in the diner, full mugs of coffee sitting in front of them, looking over their menus when Aaron decided to start the conversation they both knew was coming. “Spencer, you know you can call me anytime you don’t feel like you should be alone, right? If you need a ride to a meeting, or even just someone to sit with you, I am more than happy to be that person for you.”

Spencer let out a sigh, the self-incriminating thoughts that had been plaguing his mind before coming back into play. “No, Hotch, I can’t come to you. You’re my boss. And if Strauss finds out that you knew about my addiction and didn’t report it, she’ll finally have grounds to fire you. I can’t let you carry that burden; don’t you understand that?”

Hotch hated that word. Burden. This was the second time Reid had used it in the same argument. “Stop. You’re not a burden, Reid. To anyone. You never have been, and you never will be. And screw what Strauss has to say. I’m not your boss in a time like this. I’m not Hotch. I’m your friend. I’m Aaron.”

Spencer let out a laugh. That was almost the exact thought that had been running through his mind in the car earlier.

“I want to be your friend, Spencer. I want to be there for you, I want to help you through this.”

Spencer looked down at his hands that were, again, tracing nervous patterns on the tops of his knees. He made an attempt to inconspicuously wipe the tears from his eyes, but it didn’t go unnoticed. He hadn’t expected that to come out of Aaron’s mouth. Spencer never had friends, except Ethan, but he was still in New Orleans. He’s never had someone he could lean on; someone he could be vulnerable with.

Aaron placed his hand palm up on the table in an invitation for Spencer to receive some kind of grounding, some kind of comfort. He took the opportunity, lacing their fingers together and looking up to meet Aaron’s eyes. “Spencer, I know you’ve never had a consistent support system, but you do now. You have a family. You can come to any one of us, we won’t judge you. Will you tell me what bothered you so much about this case? I’d like to know, as your boss and your friend, so we can prevent another big blowout like that in the future.”

So, he told him. About the goal post. About how his mother would leave visible bruises sometimes and no one would say anything. About how alone he was. About the guilt he held for institutionalizing his mother. The biggest issue, though, was how he thought most people just used him for his brain. Once the flood gates opened, there was no going back.

“Oh, Spence,” Aaron consoled when the words finally stopped flowing from Spencer’s mouth. They were both openly crying at this point, the waitress had decided to stay out of their way. The conversation was visibly intense. Aaron stood from his seat in the booth and slid in next to Spencer, pulling the hurting man into his chest and just letting him cry.

“Spencer, there are so many amazing things about you. I don’t think I could even name half of them, but your brain isn’t at the top of the list. You’re amazing because you’re you,” he said with a breathy laugh. “You do magic tricks in the bull pen just to make the girls smile. You have all this amazing knowledge that you could’ve put to use in so many ways, but you chose the FBI. You chose to help people. To stop killers. To save lives. That’s why you’re amazing. Sure, your brain is too, but you’re so much more than that.”

Spencer wanted to be embarrassed. He was causing a scene. But the comfort he was receiving from this was ridiculous. After a few minutes he managed to sit up and place a hand on Aaron’s chest. “Thank you,” he said, softly and sincerely. “Sorry about your shirt. And for causing a scene.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spence,” Aaron answered, a small smile returning to his face. “You obviously needed that.” Aaron returned to his side of the booth and held a hand up to flag down a waitress. They ordered milkshakes and enjoyed them between idle chatter that flowed freely between them.

Aaron stood up saying, “it’s my turn to pay,” and holding a hand out to help Spencer out of the booth. Spencer let a brilliant smile take over his face and it made Aaron stop for a moment. This was what started his attraction. That damn smile. It was all consuming.

----

Spencer fell asleep in the car on the way to his apartment. It hadn’t taken long; they were both exhausted. When they arrived at Spencer’s apartment, Aaron softly shook him awake. The words that came out of Spencer’s mouth next surprised Aaron.

“Will you stay the night? I- I just don’t think I should be alone yet.”

“Of course, Spencer.”

Spencer’s couch was comfortable. That night, Aaron dreamed up Spencer. Mostly about that big giddy smile that lit up his face that made him so beautiful. He woke up smiling, but confused. When did “Reid” become “Spencer?” And when did the adjectives he associated with him change from “smart” and “amazing” to include “beautiful” and “perfect?”

[hercleverboy]

CONGRATULATIONS MY LOVE, you deserve this so so much that i cannot even put it into words, although that will not stop me from trying. you are genuinely one of the most talented sweetest people i have ever met, you make me so happy just by messaging me and you’re so supportive and i’m so happy that you’re so successful. i am struggling to think of another person who deserves this more than you, you’re talented, and intelligent and so nice and beautiful and interesting and i’m so so so happy for you and i hope you know that i love you babe💋❤️

NOW SORRY FOR HOW SAPPY THAT WAS but for your celebration can i do🍉💌💓and📒(i’ll let you pick your fav fic of mine cause i would like to hear about dat one from your perspective)

kate’s 1.5k sleepover !! 🥂

holly!! you’re such a sweetheart, I love you very much💞

💓 I’ll give you a compliment!

holly I am about to detail all the ways I love you in your lil’ love letter, however I’ll take this opportunity to remind you what a fantastic writer you are! your ability to encompass spencer’s character always blows me away <3

🍉 I’ll choose one of my wip’s and post a little snippet!

this comes from my wip ‘comatose’, which I only started working on a day or two ago, enjoy!

He gulped, tried to slow the shaking of his hands as he entered the room, pushing the door closed behind him.

When his eyes landed on her, laying in the hospital bed, machines hooked up to her and numerous coloured wires spiralling from her arms, he had to take a moment. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his eyes begin to water at the mere sight of her. It was as though the world had stopped turning, if only for a moment, as he watched her chest move up and down ever so slightly. He felt frozen, unable to move forward. His brain raced with medical facts and statistical probabilities (none of which he liked the sound of.)

Spencer had never felt so helpless.

As if everything had suddenly locked into place, he felt himself moving toward her, his feet seemingly moving on their own accord and he felt himself struggling to catch up with the movements of his own body. All he knew was that he had to get to her, he had to feel her.

He grasped her hand in as tight of a hold as he could, whimpering at how cold her hands felt. His only comfort was that of the heart monitor by her bedside, beeping steadily. He sat down in the chair that was placed beside the bed, holding her hand in both of his and resting his head on her stomach, desperately trying to calm down his erratic breathing. He whispered to himself, reminded himself that she was alive, forced himself to count the beats of her heart as he heard them on the monitor, clutching onto her hand in such a vice-like grip that he was sure she would have winced if she was awake.

After a few moments, having calmed himself down as much as he could in that situation, he looked up at her, watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, finding comfort in the slight flush of her cheeks, clinging to any and every sign of life from her— because if Spencer didn’t focus on those then he’d have to admit how petrified he was that she looked so lifeless. Void of all warmth and solace that he usually found within the woman he loved.

Spencer had never felt so helpless.

📒send me a fic of yours and I’ll write a review

since you asked me to choose, I’ve gone for ‘Dancing With Our Hands Tied’ , because you know how much I love a good angst fic (which this certainly is!)

Right out of the gate, Holly hits us right in the heart with the ‘Spencer Reid hated funerals’. I mean, it just immediately sets the tone for this piece, puts this pit in our guts because as a reader we know that this is gonna hurt to read, in the best way possible. It’s that slightly sinking feeling you get with angst where you know it isn’t going to end well for Spencer, but yet it’s already captured you and pulled you in— there’s no way you’re going to stop now. I always find with Holly that she manages to do that so well in all of her pieces. I’m always immediately immersed into the world she creates, always hooked on every word.

And then we have “No matter how many philosophers described love in the most beautiful, enchanting way, Spencer didn’t want it anymore.” That’s such a beautiful sentence, and perfectly encapsulates the way that Spencer feels. He’s watching Hotch lose his wife, and he’s thinking ‘god please, don’t ever let me have to feel a pain like that.’ It’s very life like, so much so that it almost hurts. When you watch those you love, your friends, suffer through such unfathomable pain, and you watch how much it breaks them, you do find yourself hoping that it’ll never happen to you— that you’ll never have to suffer the same fate.

Which ultimately is why this piece is so well written, why it flows so easily and it’s because swearing off of love after watching his friend suffer as a consequence is such a Spencer thing to do. He’s managed to convince himself that in order to protect himself, save himself the hurt, the answer is simply to never fall in love. But of course, in a very Spencer-like fashion, he forgets that we never fall in love on purpose. Love is not so black and white, it is complex in its intricacies and is never so simple. He forgets that we often end up falling when we’re not even searching for love, and is that not just the perfect way for Spencer Reid to find the love of his life? When he really isn’t looking for them?

And then, as all tales of love go, he falls hard and fast for someone when he was least expecting to. (side note: the use of ‘a truly impossible task’ is so good here, mostly because again, holly manages to completely encompass the essence of Spencer’s character. Spencer has never thought he was good enough, a fact we all know. As far as he is concerned, everyone leaves eventually. no one is permanent, no one stays for as long as they say they will. an impossible task indeed.)

I love that his and the readers first date is so spontaneous, a little out of character for him but perfectly so: because it makes so much sense for him to get distracted by a person who manages to enamour him entirely, until suddenly they’ve been talking for hours and he’s thinking of how he nearly missed out on this, how he nearly swore off of love entirely. (the scene of Spencer freaking out over whether the previous night was in fact a date, and what kind of flowers would be appropriate for him to give her— again, so entirely Spencer and so so adorable.)

Spencer deciding that the only logical way to keep the reader safe is to keep them a secret for a while is so incredibly him, because we saw him do that in canon with Maeve. Albeit, she did have a stalker, but Spencer deciding to hide her from the team for so long was for more personal reasons too, because truly he wanted to keep her to himself for a little while longer (which he covered with the whole ‘I wanted to protect her’ thing). but how cute of him to bring the reader flowers too!!! we love the domesticity of it all (especially with him calling them ‘flower’) and then Spencer refuses to let them meet the team, for a lot longer than they thought this relationship was going to be kept a secret. and then he becomes paranoid, of course, because he’s pouring so much into this idea of keeping his partner safe, preventing them from ending up like Haley that he actually manages to jeopardise the entire relationship. (good one, Spence.)

and then the final heart wrenching moment, where all of Spencer’s paranoia and insecurities mount up and he looses the love of his life and his child. it’s ironic, really. that he was so afraid of losing them that he thought he would protect them, but it was those actions that lead to losing them anyway. I really like the theme of flowers throughout this piece, and the symbolism that accompanies them.

the final part being ‘daffodils and daisies. the flowers of new beginnings’ really leaves this fic on a high note; despite all the angsty goodness involved. i love open-ended fics, ones that leave the slightest bit of room for the reader to imagine that things went a different way— perhaps the reader and Spencer meet again someday, and he gets to be a father to his child, or perhaps the reader starts their new beginning and gets to live the life they’d always wanted to, even without Spencer by their side. I love an indefinite ending; because it leaves space for the audience to create their own ending it a way, we get to decide just how sad this can be, or whether it is in a fact a happy ending.

(I cannot recommend holly’s other works enough, I would highly suggest you make your way through her brilliant masterlist)

💌 I’ll handwrite you a lil’ personal love letter!