#behavioural analysis unit x reader

[magewritesstories]

[ SPENCER REID ] WHIPPED

cw. derek uses a little experiment to prove that the reader's whipped for spencer (fluff.) wc. 542

"YOU ARE SO WHIPPED," Derek says as the two of you stand in the tiny kichenette next to the bullpen.

You turn towards him and raise a brow, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh? So you weren't making heart eyes at pretty boy just now?" he counters, "Or when he was going on about Doctor Who this morning, or yesterday when he told you that dumb fact about the Mayans and their sun calander?"

"Again, I have no idea what you're talking about," you deny, reverting your eyes back to the drink in your hand.

Derek looks between you and Spencer before smirking. "Yeah? Let me give you a little explanation then."

He drags you over to Spencer's desk.

"Hey, pretty boy, Y/N and I were just talking about how horrible the coffee from the new coffee machine is," he said as the boy genius turned to them, "So she's going to that coffee shop down the street, you want anything?"

Spencer thought about it for a second, "Uh, no, I'm good actually."

"You sure, it's Y/N's treat?" Derek added in a sing-song.

"Uhm, I guess a glazed donut would be nice?"

You turn to Derek with a confused look on your face, which Spencer the Amazing Profiler somehow managed to miss.

Derek turns to you with a knowing smirk, "Give it a second—"

And just as those words leave his mouth Emily pipes up from next to JJ. "Oh, if you're going, get me a coffee?"

"I'd love a chocolate cookie," Penelope, who had come out of her batcave to hand over some reports to Hotch, adds excitedly, "You're going to that new coffee shop right? I could smell the deliciousness from a mile away."

Slowly but surely everyone in the bullpen piles onto it—all of them clearly not a fan of the new coffee machine either—and your teammate looks at you with a smirk.

"You want a notepad or?"

"Shut up."

The man lets out a bark of a laugh. "You'd have to dissapoint boy genius over there," he offered, before looking pointedly at Spencer who was now excitedly talking about the new café with Penelope, "But you could just not go."

You let out an annoyed huff as you looked at him too.

A full twenty minutes later you stood in front of Spencer's desk with a crumbled bag containing his favourite flavour of glazed donut (because of course I know what it is, Derek, I'm a good colleague), completely and utterly out of breath.

You'd just spent 15 minutes of your break running to and from the new café—in your brand new heels too— and then giving everybody their coffee and/or cookie.

"Thank you," the boy genius replied with a bright smile on his face, looking in the bag, "Oh, and you got my favourite flavour too, you're amazing!"

You just offer him a small, tired smile. "Of course, Spence, no problem."

On your way back to your desk, you walk into Derek, who's already leaning against his.

"Just couldn't stand dissapointing your pretty boy, huh?"

"I swear to all that is holy, Morgan, I will throw this scalding hot coffee on you."

"Yeah, yeah, you're so whipped."

"I hate you."

"W-H-I-P-P-E-D, whipped."

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

can i request a hotch x two-years-old-daughter!reader? i could totally see her begging her dad to let her wear her pink, poofy princess dress when hotch has to take her to work with him. but while hotch is busy, she manages to wander off. she then meets spencer (i imagine this takes place when spencer’s just starting with the bau) & immediately clings to him lol. she’s just very giggly, bubbly, cuddly, & LOVES to play with his hair. & poor spencer is just so confused but is endeared by her nevertheless. & then hotch finally finds her & is relieved. <3

sorry it’s so long! love your works!

Aaron Hotchner X Young Daughter reader

Request: can i request a hotch x two-years-old-daughter!reader? i could totally see her begging her dad to let her wear her pink, poofy princess dress when hotch has to take her to work with him. but while hotch is busy, she manages to wander off. she then meets spencer (i imagine this takes place when spencer’s just starting with the bau) & immediately clings to him lol. she’s just very giggly, bubbly, cuddly, & LOVES to play with his hair. & poor spencer is just so confused but is endeared by her nevertheless. & then hotch finally finds her & is relieved. <3

I do love young Hotch daughter who is completely opposite to her dad. Around season 1, Hailey is alive and just had Jack.

Third person pov...

Hailey smiles as her Husband runs around after their hyperactive 2 year old, little Y/N Hotchner was a ball of sunshine and energy.

The 2 year old was excited she had a baby brother and loved to play with him, though she loved playing with her Daddy even more.

Currently the little ball of energy was running around the house away from her Dad who was attempting to put her in her clothes, she was going to work with him for the day.

The little girl was only half dressed as she ran before the man could put her trousers on, giggling she shouts "no daddy!" As the man almost grabs her, a smile on his face.

Still chasing the girl, surprised at how quick she was for a tot, though he wasn't running more like in slow motion, wanting the chase to last a little longer, it wasn't every day he got to do this with his daughter (besides he had time before work started)

From the living room, Hailey watches her Husband and daughter with a smile on her face as she held her sleeping baby, Jack was sound asleep as if nothing was happening.

As they make another loop around the house Aaron stops and hops into the doorway of the living room, back pressed against the wall, Hailey watches her husband as he made a shush motion.

"Daddy?" Calls Y/N as the tot ran past the room, a confused look on her face and she looked for her dad. Poking her head around the door she looked at her Mum. "Where daddy?" She asks a pout on her lips.

Hailey fails to hide her smile as her daughter was grabbed and thrown upside down, giggling madly Y/N yelled to be let down. "Daddy! Let go" giggling even more when her tummy was tickled.

"Never, now its time for naughty girls to be dressed" he tells his daughter smiling wickedly as he continues to tickle his daughter, the H/C girl only wiggled in his grasp.

"No no daddy, wanna wear princess dress" yells the tot, Aaron stops his attack and looks at his wife. Hailey only shrugs her shoudlers.

Ever since her birthday Y/N loved one gift in particular, it was a beautiful poofy princess dress her parents got specially made for her.

She loved wearing it every time they went out and was always careful to keep it clean. Hotch sighs of course she would want to wear it to his work.

Looking down at the sad puppy look hisbwas getting he gave in. Hanging his head he stood up Y/N in his arms.

"Okay, Princess dress it is" he declared, dramatically, while bouncing the little girl in his arms before walking upstairs with a happy Y/N "yayy" cheers the young girl.

Finally ready to go Hotch grabbed his brief case, his lunch and Y/N lunch. As he headed for the door he called for Y/N the little girl eagerly bouncing over to him as he helped her put on her light up shoes.

"Ready princess" he asks her, Y/N gives him a huge gumming smile. "Yes Sir Daddy!" She saluted him before hugging her Mum and baby brother before leaving. "Good luck" Hailey whispers as she kisses Aaron.

When they arrived at the FBI headquarters Hotch pulls his daughter aside. "Now N/N, I know your excited, but I need you to stay close to me today okay? The office is busy and I don't want you to get lost" he explains to the girl.

Y/N smiles and hugs his neck giggling. "Yes Daddy! I be good" she smiles, Hotch pats her head a smile on his lips. "Thank you N/N" the two Hotchners then walk into the busy building.

And what a pair they made, Hotch in his usual suit and red tie combo, his stoic expresson on his face. Y/N in her pink poffy dress with light up shoes waving and smiling at all the agents she sees.

Once they get to the bullpen, Y/N is introduced to the team who are all excited to meet the young girl. Soon Hotch is busy in his office mountains of paperwork to go through.

On the floor lays Y/N, the young girl had grown bored it staying in the office. She had drawn lots of pictures, played with her toys. Now she wanted to explore.

Getting up from the floor she walks over to the door and opens it quietly, giggling silently she squeezes through the gap and is now free from the room.

Giggling she runs around the bullpen looking at all the desk and the members of her daddy's team, one person stand out to her, that's person being Spencer Reid who had jsut recently joined the BAU.

Walking up to thr agent she grabs onto his pant leg and shakes his gaining the surprised Dr's attention, looking doen and the girl dressed in pink spencer gives her an awkward smile.

"Hi..?" He says Y/N grins up at him. "Hi! I'm Y/N" she tells him proudly. Spencer is taken aback how smiley Hotches daughter is.

"I'm Spencer, nice to meet you Y/N" he says, before Y/N holds her arms up to him, Spencer was confused before realising she wanted to be picked up.

Nervously looking over to his bosses office he picks the girl up and sets her down on his lap, Y/Ns smiles brightens as she was held by the young man.

The brown haired man was surprised again when the ball on energy on his lap twisted around so she could koala hug him, pressing tightly to him Spencer hugged her back.

" your nice" came a muffled voice pressed to his chest, Spencer let out a surprised laugh at that making Y/N erupted into giggles all over again.

After hugging spencer the H/C tot began moving around as he tried to work, afgwr wriggling a bit she finally settled behind him, half sitting on top of his chair and half holding onto his back.

Y/N happily played with the agents hair as Spencer worked, he was slowly getting used to the girl spending time with him.

As this happened a very worried Dad was panicking in his office trying to find his daughter, after going through everything in his office Hotch threw open his door and stepped down the ramp into the bullpen.

Morgan stood from his desk as he saw the worried expression on the man's face. "Woah woah, what's happened Hotch?" He asks the worried man.

Shoulders shaking Aaron explained he couldn't find his daughter anywhere, instead of helping Derek just laughed and pointed.

Following his arm Hotch breathed a sigh off relief as he saw where Y/N had got to, smiling he watched his daughter laugh and play with the young doctors hair.

He was glad she was okay and made a new friend. Quickly taking a few pictures he sends them to Haily who messaged back just a quick. "Some one made a new friend" chuckling he responded. "I think they both made a new friend"

Putting his phone away he went back to his office, happy to leave his daughter in his agents capable hands.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot sorry for the wait! Sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word Count : 1375

[antheaholmesblog]

The pain in his eyes. The tears...the trauma...his trauma. Everything that involves children... it's too much for him. And I can't blame him when you think back to what he said in episode 8 season 1. Where his own abuse was implied...the abuse by his father as a child. It all makes sense and I just want to give him a big hug and hold him close. To tell him that he doesn't always have to be strong...even if he thinks he does.

I almost started crying too.

[literaryavenger]

WORTH IT

Summary: When a case doesn't go as planned, you can't help but question if your job is worth it.

Pairing: Dad!Figure!Rossi x Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Descriptions of death. Slight teasing. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Yes, I know. I suck at following self-imposed deadlines, don't @ me, I hate myself enough for all of us. This is my first time writing for anything other than Marvel, but I love Criminal minds and I had this dream that I couldn't get out of my head. So I took a couple of hours to write it down in a way that makes sense instead of being a borderline fever dream and I hope it finds the right people and someone likes it. More to come, I promise.

Masterlist

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. A gun pointed to your temple while you kneel down, about to be executed in an underground tunnel somewhere in the middle of Idaho while a frightened mother and her innocent son watch from the corner, their whimpers filling the air.

It was supposed to be a simple case, there were already good leads on the UnSub before JJ even got the request for help, but local police felt overwhelmed by the rapid escalation of the executions and were worried they’d soon have a spree killer on the loose, then the Unsub escalated to abducting a ten year old from his house where he lived with his mother and brother.

So the team flew to the small town in Idaho to lend a hand, doing what you do best and coming up with a profile for the UnSub based on every detail you could gather.

What you didn’t profile, however, was that the UnSub would show up at the scene of the abduction while you and Rossi were checking it out, and you’d end up witnessing the masked man executing the child. A goddamn ten year old. 

You’d been in shock, not even sure if you were breathing as you saw the little body hit the floor until Rossi rushed in but the UnSub was already gone. Rossi had to literally shake you, his hands on your shoulders, to even just get you to look away from the lifeless kid and acknowledge your teammate’s presence, but even as you looked up at Rossi, he could tell you were basically looking through him as if he was made of glass.

The team could see it hit you hard, so Hotch ordered a police officer to take you, along with the now deceased kid’s mother and little brother, somewhere safe.

But you didn’t profile the UnSub being a police officer, did you?

So now here you are, taking your last breaths. 

One. Why are you counting them?

Two. Why not count them, you have nothing to lose.

Three. Wonder how high you can get.

Four. The barrel of the gun presses against your forehead, your eyes closed.

Five. It doesn’t matter, you’re going to die either way.

Six. Is this the end you imagined for yourself? Seven. Shot execution style by a lunatic?

Eight. Definitely not. Nine. You hear him cock the gun. This is it. Ten– Your eyes snap open as the door is kicked down and, suddenly, the UnSub’s attention is on the man launching at him, tackling him to the ground as the two of them fight it out once the gun is knocked out of the UnSub’s hand.

Rossi. Wait– Gun. Yes, gun first. Gun first, then Rossi.

You reach for the gun and grab it, standing up and pointing it at the UnSub just as he lands a punch on Rossi’s face that sends him tumbling to the corner where the whimpering mother and child still are. “Hands up!” 

The man stops, facing you now with his hands up. He looks like he’s surrendering, but you don’t move, your gut telling you to stay still and not let him out of your sight. It’s the most subtle of feelings churning in your stomach and screaming at you that he’s not about to give up so easily. There’s no remorse, no redeemable quality in a man like him.

It happens in seconds, he takes half a step before you’re pulling the trigger and the sound of the bullet flying and hitting its target mixed with the mother and child’s screams deafens you.

The silence that follows is unnatural as you look down at the man now on the ground, a bullet hole on the wall next to where the UnSub’s head just was.

The bullet hitting the plaster distracted the UnSub long enough for Rossi to knock him out.

Unconscious, not dead. 

“Everything okay, kid?” Rossi asks you as he sits in front of you on the jet as you make your way back home, placing a glass of what’s probably scotch in front of you.

You stay silent for a moment, just looking out of the window. “How do you do it?” You finally say quietly.

“Do what?” Rossi frowns a little as he looks at you so intently you’d think he could keep you together only with his gaze.

“You’ve been doing this for a long time.” You start as you pick up the glass in front of you with a sigh but just look at it, still not drinking from it. “Since before I was born, probably since before most of us could even walk or talk yet... You’ve seen the worst humanity has to offer, people who kill men, women and children and have no remorse…” You scoff and shake your head. “And you know how many more like him there still are out there, so… How do you still have faith? How do you keep believing there’s good in people?”

The entire jet seems to have gotten quiet as everybody waits with bated breath for Rossi’s response, while the older gentleman just looks at you.

“You really wanna know?” He asks softly after what feels like forever and you finally look up at him since he sat down, simply nodding. You can tell the rest of the team is listening intently, but your attention is fully on Rossi. “It’s because of people like you.”

It’s a short, matter of fact answer and yet the way you frown makes it seem like he’s just posed a math problem to you in ancient Greek. “Me?”

“Yes. You.” Rossi nods and sips his own booze. “You, Morgan, Hotch. Penelope, Prentiss, JJ… Wonder boy over there…” He nods towards Reid, who scoffs while Morgan chuckles and you almost smile. Almost.

“People who risk their lives everyday to help someone else survive theirs.” Rossi continues. “People who drop everything to fly across the country to help someone in need. People who have a perfect shooting record and still miss their target because they don’t take the life of someone that’s unarmed, no matter how bad you want to.” He gives you a knowing look that you avoid by sipping your scotch. Damn old man.

“We all know there are many deviants out there. And sometimes it feels like every time we catch one, ten more pop out.” Rossi leans in on the table. “Believe it or not, sometimes I feel like it’s hopeless too.”

You look up at him again when he says that. “You do?” You ask quietly. “You always seem so… Sure of yourself.”

“I’m not, that’s why I retired. But I also came back.” He smiles at you. “Because this, what we do, this fight… It’s more important than doubt. We save lives, we make a difference, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. You want to know why I keep believing there’s still good out in the world? Because I see it. Everyday, in this team.”

You manage a small smile and look around at the team, everybody still listening intently and you can tell they can all relate to your hopeless feeling and, to some degree, they  all needed to hear Rossi’s words too.

You sigh and look back at Rossi, raising your glass. “To the good we do.”

Rossi’s smile widens and clicks the glass with yours. “Salud.” 

You sip the scotch and look back out the window, the usual chatter of the jet slowly returning. Rossi put things into perspective, but it doesn’t erase the image of that little kid’s life being cut short in front of you because of one sick man’s game.

You’re not okay, far from it, but through all the doubt there’s one thing that you keep reminding yourself now, a little voice in the back of your head that’s deep and raspy and has a bit of a Long Island accent: We save lives, we make a difference, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.

[doctorreidswife]

Anything for you - Aaron Hotchner

You put yourself in danger and Hotch gets worried.

word count: 1433

----------------------------------------------------------

You and Spencer had been sent on a case together with Child Protection Services. They were stuck in a room with what felt like a cult, worshipping this man - Cyrus - a man who was married to a 15 year old girl. While you hadn't given away that you were FBI Agents, they somehow got the idea that one of you were. You and Spencer were separated from the rest of the cult and approached by Cyrus and another one of his men. 

"Which one of you is the FBI agent?" He asked, his hand resting on his hip, fingers dancing over his gun. You froze, your stomach sinking. You had no idea what was about to happen and you were hoping Spencer would be able to talk you way out of this one and manage to get you out safely. 

"Why do you think one of us is an FBI Agent?" You could see the dread in Spencer's eyes too, glancing back at you. You swallowed thickly as Cyrus opened his mouth again. 

"God will forgive me for what I must do." He spoke before pulling out his gun and pointing it at Spencer's head. His friend cocked the rifle in his hands and pointed them at your head and for a brief moment you thought you were going to die then and there. 

"I--i don't know what you're talking about." Spencer stuttered, shaking his head. Cyrus didn't like that and aggressively pointed the gun at him. 

"One of you does. Who is it?" He pressed angrily. You could see the fear in Spencer's eyes; he didn't want anyone to hurt you, but you weren't about to let anyone hurt him. 

"Me." You spoke up, your voice quiet. Cyrus turned his head to you slowly and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting briefly before you spoke more confidently. "It's me." Cyrus reached out and grabbed a fistful of you hair, dragged you to your feet and dragging you down the corridor. You let out a series of grunts, trying to fight against him, your heart pounding beneath your ribs. You knew what was about to come, but you couldn't let them hurt Spencer. He was like a brother to you. He dragged you into a room and slammed the door shut, throwing you on the floor before getting in you face, his breath wafting over your cheeks. You stared up at him, too afraid to say anything back to the man,

"I told you not to put me in this position!" He roared in your face, spit splattering on your skin. You flinched away from him, hoping and praying that Spencer and the rest of the team were figuring out a way to save you. He hit you harshly across the face, the slap so loud that your team - who were listening in on the conversation from the bugs they'd planted - could hear it clear as day.

Hotch balled his fists up in frustration, not being able to help, his eyes closed and hand pressing against his forehead, struggling to listen to you getting hurt. Derek winced, his eyes closed. He hated hearing you in pain. Cyrus' knee came in contact with your stomach and you grunted again, winded.

"We gotta go in there." Hotch said, taking his headphones off for a moment, his stomach turning. He hated the idea of you being in danger. He always did everything he could to ensure that you were safe and he hated the fact that he couldn't be there right now to stop the beating you were enduring from the sick man. 

"We'd be risking the lives everyone in there." Rossi shook his head, listening with a deep breath. It was a struggle for everyone, nobody knowing what to do other than just stand and listen to you being hurt.

"Get up!" Cyrus dragged you up before immediately punching you with such force that you flew back into the mirror on the wall behind you, the glass shattering and cutting into your skin. Cyrus pressed you into the wall, blood dripping down your face from your nose as he spoke into your ear. "Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil." He grabbed the back of her shirt before throwing you into the opposing wall of the small room. Another grunt left your lips as you staggered to your feet, looking up at him with a burning hatred behind your eyes. 

"I can take it." You spat out. He let out a low chuckle, cocking his head. 

"Oh, you can take it?" He mocked, hitting you again. Rossi frowned, listening to your voice.

"Wait--wait. Listen to what she's saying." He said, the team frowning as you repeated yourself, louder.

"I can take it." You got to your feet.

 "She's antagonizing him." Derek said, turning his head to look at Rossi. Rossi shook his head looking at Hotch.

"She's not talking to him." Hotch looked up, wiping his mouth. The worry was evident on his face. 

"She's talking to us. She's telling us not to come in." He spoke, his mouth dry. He knew you were strong and you could persevere, but he really didn't want you to be hurt. You were his saving grace. 

"Pride comes before the fall." He snarled, continuing to hit you. You didn't even get the chance to fight back, being thrown around. Your body hit the floor, trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. Cyrus stepped away, looking at your blood covered body. You didn't think you would be able to hold out this long. Derek threw his headphones off and Hotch looked to Rossi, visibly worried.

"Tie her up. Put her upstairs." Cyrus said, his friend moving towards your body to drag you upstairs. You just let the man manhandle you; if you fought with him you would end up worse than you already were. 

*****

Due to the bug, you had managed to contact one of your teammates who told you when they  were going to raid the place and put a stop to Cyrus at 3am. You hadn't figured out how to get out yet. You had spoken to Jessica's mom but she didn't seem to be on board and left you..... or at least you thought until she came into the room they were holding you in, talking to you in hushed whispers.

"You were right. They're setting the place to blow up. I told Jessie, Cyrus wanted her gather the women and children." She spoke, untying you. You rubbed your wrists, looking out the window, trying to spot anything before turning back to Jessies mom. 

"Where is the man I came in with?" You ask. You needed to leave with Spencer. You couldn't lose your brother, not now, not here. She reached back and took your hand, her eyes gentle.

"He's in the chapel with Cyrus. It's 2:45 though. We gotta hurry." She said, tugging you with her. 

********

You had successfully escaped the chapel in one piece along with the other members of the cult that was going on there before it had blown up. Your lungs filled with the smoke that was billowing around you. You could barely see what was in front of you, just being able to make out silhouettes of people moving around you. You felt dizzy, having being beaten and then escaping into smoke clouds. You stumbled down a couple stairs, head whipping around, trying to find Hotch. You needed him right now. 

You stepped down the remainder of the steps, the smoke dissipating enough that you could decipher faces. You turned to the left and there stood Hotch. The look of worry on his face made you feel sick but before you could register what was going on, your feet were stumbling over to him. You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck. 

"I've got you baby." He held you tight, one arm around your waist, the other tangling in your hair. "I've got you,,, and I ain't letting you go." You could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his anxiety skyrocketing. 

"Please don't." You whispered. You looked up at him, hands shifting either side of his neck before moving forwards and pressing your lips again his. He held you face gently, guiding your face closer to his. He kissed you back, his moving slowly against yours as you cherished the moment. He was glad you weren't dead and you were glad to be back in his arms. He pulled away, leaning closer to you ear to whisper to you. 

"Anything for you.. My love." 

[veeluvss]

pizza delivery

reader x team (you are jj’s sister)

based of an edit i saw on tiktok but also lonestar ml <3

>1k

"how about we spend our last night together having some fun darling?" johnny snarled, handing me the phone. "order pizza. you're paying. i want a large pepperoni and fries too. don't forget the garlic mayo," she said nonchalantly, taking a seat behind me. i nodded, fumbling with the phone and making sure he couldn't see the screen.

dialling JJ's number, the phone shook violently in my hand. i was risking a lot.  johnny had his gun in my back. i was only ordering pizza. "hey y/n what's up?" jj answered, voice chirpy. "hi," i tried to keep my voice strong. "i'd like to order a pizza for delivery." she laughed down the phone, "a pizza? i think you've dialed the wrong number!" she laughed. i heard emily's voice in the background. then i heard the phone engage to speaker. "i don't think so," i told my sister. emily spoke then. "she sounds scared." i was petrified. "do you still have the cheesy crust?" i mumbled. "the address? sure." i told them the address, praying the team understood - even if JJ didn't.

jj's pov i felt sick to the stomach. morgan looked to me in the back of the car and began speeding off in that direction. i wanted to throw up. my sister. my baby. "y/n are you in danger?" emily asked, her hand resting on my leg. "is someone there making you feel like you can't speak freely?" morgan added. "that's right," she said.

i gulped, shaking my head. i put my head on emily's shoulder. "morgan drive faster god damn it," emily cursed him. "we understand y/n," morgan said. garcia spoke then but i was shaking with fear. "help us on the way." emily leaned over to the phone. "tell me, how many people are in the apartment?" "would a medium pepperoni be big enough for two people?" she muttered back. her voice wavering. i couldn't listen anymore but i had to.

your pov the gun prodded my back and whimpered. "what are you doing?" johnny snarled. "i asked for a large." "there's one other person with you, is that what i'm hearing?" morgan asked. "yes! that's right!" my voice went up, a glimmer of hope. they were coming. "you're doing great," emily praised me and i wanted to cry. why wasn't JJ speaking? where was she? i needed her to come too. "is the person threatening you armed?" i heard rossi ask. they told me to ask for extra pepperoni and my heart was beating harder. this was taking too long - far too long. "is this person known to you?" emily asked. "mhmm," JJ knows johnny. JJ knows how bad he was with me, no one else does. "a family member? a spouse or an ex?" "the last one," i whimpered, feeling the gun press further into my back. "how long are you going to be?" "we're 8 minutes out," derek told me and my heart plummeted. that was too much time. "ask for peppers if there is somewhere safe you can get to..." emily said. "no! definitely no peppers."

jj's pov. tears were streaming steadily down my face at this point. when garcia told us his name, i whimpered and cowered in my seat. i knew i should have done something about him when i had the chance. "two priors of aggravated assault," garcia said. "she had a permanent restraining order against him." "so this is his third strike, he's not going peacefully," morgan threatened. all i could think about was my sweet little sister, sobbing in my arms at his abuse. why didn't i do something sooner?

your pov "what the hell is taking so long?" johnny groaned, cocking the gun. i gulped. "sorry, they're just really bus-" "then call somewhere else!" he shouted, making me cower. "i'm starving!" i took a deep breath, "listen, i might have to cancel this order. my boyfriends getting kind of mad so.." "listen y/n, we'll be there in less than two minutes with swat." morgan told me and i felt some sort of relief. emily begged me to stay on, asking me to try my hardest and i agreed. i was still waiting to hear my sisters voice. that's the only hope i needed. morgan began asking me questions but suddenly the cloth forced itself around my mouth. i couldn't breath. "nice try, bitch." johnny snarled, snatching the phone from my hand. then, sweet saviour, i heard her. "johnny, where's y/n?" "she's right here," he laughed before hitting me. i groaned and cried. "please," i sobbed. "say hi to your friends," he laughed. i needed JJ. where the fuck was JJ.

jj's pov. "listen johnny," emily said, keeping her cool. i froze hearing her groans in pain. i'd heard them far too many times to know she was hurting. if she made noise, she was in unbearable pain and i needed to hold her. "the cops are already on their way. how this ends is up to you." "this only ends one way!" he shouted down the phone and i flinched. my baby sister. emily began explaining to johnny the situation and i felt so sick. suddenly, we pulled up outside. emily carried on talking, pretending not to know so he'd know. "shut up!" he screamed and i flinched everytime. "please, shut up!" he repeated. "what's going on johnny? talk to me," morgan said, getting into place. prentiss told me the plan and i nodded, quickly wiping my tears. "she ruined it!" johnny snarled. that's what dad used to say. "she always ruins it." "nothing is ruined. we can fix this okay?" rossi said and as we took our positions by the apartment. as soon as the trampoline was up, i shook like a leaf, clinging to emily- watching the window like a hawk. "how? how can we fix this?" i heard him say inside. then emily speak on the headset. "my grandmother always used to say, when a door closes, open a window..." she said. i hid my head in her shoulder. "you have to take a leap... of faith." just then, i saw her flash of blonde hair and voices raise. emily scrambled to the air bag as she scurried off it- taking my sister into her arms. "it's okay y/n." she said. "you're safe now." she then stepped aside and i took my baby sister into my arms. she clung to me the way she did when we were children. "i knew you'd understand," she cried into my shoulder. i only held her tighter, feeling relief and love and anger. my god. what a pizza delivery.

[luxxcara]

Unadulterated Loathing

Chapter One Preview

Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez

disclaimer that some of this may not be canonically accurate, some details were changed to add to the flow of the story!

will be posted on AO3 under luxcara

.

Unlike most people in similar situations, Luke Alvez was able to pinpoint the exact moment- right to the second, where his life had all gone to shit. After all, it should've been a regular Monday in the middle of October, and really there was nothing extraordinary about the way it had started.

So, as usual, he didn't pay any notice when he was called into the Chief of the Fugitive Task Force's office.

The chief was leaning against the desk that occupied the middle of the room, with an impressively large folder in his hands. The man was in his late thirties or early forties, Alvez couldn't figure out which due to the permanent stress lines on his forehead, making him look way older than he should. "Close the door behind you," he ordered, as he sat down into his chair.

Really, that should've been the first clue. To his credit, Alvez did hesitate slightly, but chose to completely shut down his instincts. He closed the door and entered the office. The room was light and airy, and streaks of sunlight shone through the large glass windows that opened out to a stunning view of Washington D.C. The autumn foliage had been breathtaking this year, the vibrant leaves in the shades of red, orange, yellow and brown painting the city in a riot of colourful views.

Alvez didn't get enough time to appreciate the view before the Chief spoke up.

"You are quite an interesting person, Agent Alvez," he said, placing the folder on the desk beside him and crossing his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving Luke's face.

“Sir?”

"Just a little under fourteen months on the squad and you have already solved half a dozen fugitive cases – you have the best track record in the entire team. Your latest case, might I add, was outstanding work.”

Luke was not sure where this was going but he dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment “Thank you, Sir.”

"You are also one of the youngest agents to make it into the Fugitive Task Force," the Chief continued, and it almost sounded like he was talking to himself rather than addressing Alvez. He watched as the Chief pushed himself off the desk he was leaning against and walked over to sit down on the sofa chair across from him. “I have been following the progress of your career, Agent. And that is quite an achievement, considering your history. I think it is high time that you take it up a notch – to the bigger leagues.”

"I'm not sure I understand, Sir," Alvez said slowly, a mild flare of alarm twisting his stomach with sudden dread.

The Chief looked him straight in the eye, a slow smile spreading across his face and asked, “How would you like to be transfered to the Behavioural Analysis Unit ?”

And that right there was the exact moment that Alvez knew – his life was about to blow up spectacularly right in front of his face and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

[med-ex]

i dont know if this borders on crack!fic vibes but i have an overwhelming urge to write a fallout/criminal minds au fic

[alinathinkstoomuch]

1-800-CALL ME, FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: (part of my mini fake-fiancé series) the fbi agent you met at the bar helped you out of a jam so you decide to pay him a visit at work. warnings | a/n: unhinged reader, rossi being a lil instigator, reader has no shame in her game at ALL & makes the first move, the usual banter & chem, channelling all the rom-com feels word count: 3.3k

✧ masterlist | first part can be found here | third part can be found here

It had been a week since your little fake fiancé fiasco, and while it had been enough to satisfy your mob group of fake friends and stop them from asking questions, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your questions.

Because now, you were curious – dangerously so.

You couldn’t concentrate on much else. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unnecessary. And yet…

You had googled him.

You had googled Aaron Hotchner.

And oh boy did you find things.

FBI Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Head of some ultra-serious-sounding department in behavioural analysis. There were articles. Court cases. Mentions of serial killers – plural. You even found a grainy news clip of him giving a statement outside a police station, looking all important and broody.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there were forums. Entire internet threads dedicated to the man. Debates on how often he smiled. Speculation on his past. A truly unhinged corner of the internet where a small but passionate group of people seemed convinced he had once been a male model.

You may or may not have spent a questionable amount of time scrolling through that last one.

But none of this answered the real question: why did an FBI Unit Chief go along with your ridiculous fake fiancé charade without hesitation? That was not normal federal agent behaviour. You were pretty sure actual government employees had policies against indulging unhinged strangers.

Which led you here. More specifically in the FBI headquarters parking lot.

Okay, you were actually insane. But you had good intentions. Intentions of thanking him properly for the night of madness he had endured.

So, you had baked him cookies. Because, according to your mother, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – which was a wildly inappropriate saying to be applying to an FBI agent, but here you were.

You took a deep breath, staring up at the intimidating glass doors, clutching your box of cookies like it was a ticking time bomb. This was fine. Completely normal. People brought cookies to law enforcement all the time… right?

Swallowing your nerves, you marched inside, heels clicking against the polished floor as you approached the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up as she typed away at her computer.

“Hi! Uh, could you do me a favour and give these to an Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, setting the box down with a nervous smile. “He’s, um, Unit Chief of something very official and serious, which I’m sure you already know, but I just wanted to thank him because he helped me out of a situation – not like a legal situation, nothing weird, I’m not a criminal or anything – oh my God, that sounded suspicious –”

The receptionist finally looked up, blinking slowly. “Ma’am?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving a hand. “I mean, technically, everyone is a criminal in some way, right? Like, who hasn’t jaywalked or taken a pen from a bank? Oh my God, I’m not confessing to anything, I just –”

“Ma’am,” the receptionist interrupted, her voice flat. “Are you delivering something, or…?”

“Wow, you guys are really strict on the whole professionalism thing, huh?” You huffed, then quickly corrected yourself. “Not that I’m not professional. I can be professional. I wore a blazer once.” You paused, glancing at her name badge. “Clarissa! I am delivering cookies. They are divine, you can have one if you’d like?”

Clarissa squinted at you, clearly debating whether or not to press a panic button – one that, realistically, would probably result in you being swarmed by tactical agents in full riot gear.

Was that even the FBI? Or was that, like… SWAT? Was SWAT part of the FBI? Were you about to go down for cookie-related crimes?

“Are you cleared to be here?” she asked.

“Depends on your definition of cleared –”

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s take a breath before you actually incriminate yourself.”

You spun around to find none other than David – if you recalled correctly – standing behind you, looking just as entertained as he did back at the jazz bar, his eyes bouncing between the cookies and you. “Well, well. If it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée.”

“Not his fiancée anymore!”

“Sure. And I’m not Italian.”

You shook your head, exhaling dramatically. “I just made him some cookies as a thank you. Do you mind passing them on to him, please? And then I can get out of yours and Clarissa’s hair. You have fabulous hair, both of you, by the way.”

Clarissa stared at you like you were personally responsible for every inconvenience that had ever befallen her. Rossi, on the other hand, grinned like you had just made his entire day.

“You know what? No,” he said, shaking his head. “You should give them to him yourself.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary –”

“I insist.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “She’s not authorised to be here.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Clarissa, I’ve worked in this building longer than some agents have been alive. If I say she’s authorised, she’s authorised.”

Clarissa let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue further.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go surprise Hotch.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Oh. Yay.”

Rossi led you through security and about four different hallways before you found yourself in an elevator. You barely had time to process what was happening before you were stepping into a bullpen that made your brain go fuzzy. There were far too many people in suits, all looking intimidatingly competent.

A woman with blonde hair and a bright cardigan – finally someone who understood the power of colour – shot you an intrigued glance over the top of her glasses.

“I really don’t think this is necessary, David,” you whispered. “You guys look like busy, busy people, and I just wanted to bring some cookies. I don’t think Hotch will appreciate being called out of his very legitimate FBI career just for me.”

“Oh, I know he won’t.”

“Okay, now you’re making me panic, and I have a habit of jumping to conclusions when I’m under a lot of stress. Please, really, it’s no big deal –”

“Yeah, Hotch mentioned something along those lines,” Rossi hummed as the two of you came to a halt in front of a door, to which he knocked before stepping inside.

You followed hesitantly, barely making it over the threshold before you locked eyes with Hotch, who was standing behind his desk, looking very confused.

Rossi gestured at you grandly. “Look who I found wandering the FBI headquarters.”

“Okay, that makes me sound like a stalker and – wow, okay, I guess maybe I am a stalker, but the good kind, I promise! I come in peace. And with cookies… as a thank you.”

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Rossi grinned, giving you a nudge as he sauntered out, shutting the door behind him with far too much enthusiasm.

Hotch, still staring at you like you had just crash-landed into his office from another dimension, slowly folded his arms. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not until you try one of these,” you said, flipping open the lid of the cookie box, only for your smile to falter the second you actually registered what was inside.

Heart-shaped cookies. Pink frosting. Extra sprinkles.

Oh no.

You stared at them. Then at Hotch. Then back at them.

He was still staring too, looking at the cookies like they were an active FBI case file he wasn’t quite sure how to classify.

You let out half a laugh. “Oh. Oh, boy.”

Hotch raised a brow, arms still crossed, looking every bit the intimidating federal agent he was.

“Okay, I know what this looks like,” you groaned, snapping the box shut like that would somehow undo the visual catastrophe. “I got slightly carried away – as I tend to – and my mind just kind of… took its own course when I was making them. I wasn’t thinking about you – well, I was thinking about you, but not like that, I swear. I just – ugh – I put a little bit myself into them.”

Hotch tilted his head. “Yourself?”

You nodded, slowly reopening the box as if the cookies might suddenly jump out and throw up edible glitter all over his office. “You know… they’re kind of chaotic but well-intentioned, possibly too much but ultimately harmless –”

“How did you find me here?”

“Oh. That.”

He just stared at you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the cookie box. “Well, it’s not that hard, you know? I have a great memory, and I did get a pretty solid look at your badge – after I thought you were going to murder me, of course – so I just… searched you up.”

His brows lifted.

You panicked. “But only to figure out where you work so I could bring you cookies! That’s it! I had every intention of leaving them with Clarissa but your friend David saw me and said I should bring them up myself. And well… now I’m here.”

Hotch’s hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”

You rocked on your heels, watching him carefully. “Sooo… does this mean I’m officially on an FBI watchlist, or is that, like, a separate process?”

Hotch exhaled, lowering his hand. “You’re not on a watchlist.”

“Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Would you like to be?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t answer that without a lawyer present,” you mumbled, setting the cookies down on his desk.

“So, let me get this straight. You looked me up, managed to talk your way into a federal building without authorisation all just to bring me heart-shaped cookies?”

You lifted a finger. “Okay, first of all, let’s not make this sound like an obsession – I googled you. That’s a normal thing people do! It’s called being informed. And second, the hearts were an accident. I only had one cookie cutter. You think I wanted to show up here looking like some lovesick lunatic?”

Hotch glanced at the cookies, then back at you. “…Yes.”

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” you said, dusting your hands before adjusting your jacket. “Enjoy the cookies, and thanks again for the other night,” you continued, already backing toward the door. “I have not had my name mentioned once in the Veronica Posse group chat since, and for the first time in years, I have actually known peace.”

“Wait,” he called just as you reached for the door handle. You spun around to face him. “Why did you really come here?”

You paused before speaking.

“I need a fiancé again,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Yup. Need one again, preferably the same one, but this time it’s my parents hounding me, and they’ve already arranged a dinner and everything.”

Hotch opened his mouth, then closed it. A second passed. Then another. Finally – “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you beamed, completely unbothered by the scowl on his face. Hotch looked like he was about to reply, but his phone began ringing. He glanced down at it on the desk.

“Alright, really leaving now. I’ll let you get back to all this serious business,” you said, but then a realization dawned, making you pause.

Hotch looked back up, brows raising slightly. “What is it?”

You shifted, glancing toward the door, then back at him. “So, funny thing… I don’t actually know how to get out of here.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a button to silence his phone before slipping it into his suit jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, no need,” you replied quickly, waving him off. “I’ll just ask David – he loves helping me.”

Hotch gave you a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked innocently. “Why? He was so excited to see me earlier. You should have heard him, all like Oh, if it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée! He really sells it.”

“That’s exactly why,” Hotch muttered, already moving toward the door.

You followed Hotch out of his office, barely managing to keep up with his long strides. “Wow, you walk fast,” you huffed, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “Is this an FBI thing? Do you all just power walk everywhere?”

He slowed his pace ever so slightly so you could catch up. As you glanced around, you noticed several pairs of eyes discreetly watching the two of you – one of them being David who had zero shame in making his interest known. You offered him a small wave to which he responded with a not-so-subtle wink. When your eyes landed on Hotch he was watching the exchange.

“Keep walking.”

“I am,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh. “I just happen to also be social.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You gasped, doing a light two step jog to catch up. “Gosh, what happened to ‘Marry me, sweetheart?’”

“You called it nonsense, remember?”

“I did,” you admitted. “But that was after you said something that was incredibly true about me.”

Hotch threw you a curious glance. “And what was that?”

“That I’m too good to consider that group of women my friends, especially ones I feel the need to impress.”

Hotch didn’t say anything right away, just reached for the door, pushing it open and holding it for you. As you stepped past him, you caught the smallest trace of something in his expression, something very close to approval.

Stepping into the hallway, you glanced around, already feeling disoriented. “This place is like a maze,” you muttered, spinning in a small circle before looking back at him. “How do you manage to not get lost here?”

“Spatial awareness.”

Before you could question him further, you felt his hands on your arms, gently guiding you to the left just as you were about to head right.

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

His lips twitched. “You were about to walk into a closet.”

You glanced back at the door you had almost pushed open. “That’s not a closet. That’s –” You squinted at the sign. “Okay, that’s definitely a closet.” You sighed dramatically, walking ahead this time – making sure to pretend like you totally knew where you were going. “See? This is why I need a fake fiancé. Navigation assistance.”

His voice followed you, dry as ever. “That’s what Google Maps is for.”

You turned, walking backwards now, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, Google Maps doesn’t have your spatial awareness, does it?”

“You’d rather rely on me for directions?”

You stopped walking, tilting your head. “Huh. Good point. Maybe I should just take my chances with the closet.”

Hotch sighed, stepping past you. “Come on. I’ll make sure you get out of here without accidentally locking yourself in a supply room.”

You grinned, following him. “See? Fake fiancé duties are still active.”

This time, you definitely didn’t miss the half-smile he tried to hide.

After what felt like literal hours of navigating the endless, identical floors and hallways of the FBI, the two of you finally stepped outside. Freedom at last, you thought, basking in the sight of the actual sun – something you’d only glimpsed through windows you were convinced had some kind of tint designed to make the inside of the building feel even duller.

“Do you know where you parked?”

You scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Uh, duh. What do you take me for?”

Hotch just looked at you.

You blinked.

Then, very slowly, you turned your head, scanning the parking lot.

Oh, no.

Where did you park?

You wracked your brain, desperately trying to retrace your steps, but the problem was… you hadn’t exactly been focused when you arrived. You had just parked somewhere and hoped for the best. But now, with Hotch watching you like a disapproving parent, the pressure was on.

You pointed vaguely toward a random row of cars. “It’s… that way.”

Hotch didn’t even bother looking. “No, it’s not.”

You spun back to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re guessing.”

“I am not.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not!”

Hotch arched a single, knowing brow.

You huffed. “Fine. I may be stalling. But in my defence, I had a lot on my mind when I got here!”

Hotch inhaled, glancing at his watch. “Just describe what your car looks like and what you remember seeing when you got here.”

You frowned, thinking. “Okay, so, my car is… car-shaped.”

His stare was unmoving.

You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh… blue. Or, like, bluish. Depends on the lighting.”

“Anything else?”

You squinted at the parking lot, hoping for divine intervention. “I think I was near… a pole?”

“There are multiple poles.”

“A very specific pole.”

“Right.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Ugh, this is so unfair. I have many talents, okay? Parking lot navigation is just not one of them.”

“Shocking,” he muttered before moving toward one section of the parking lot. “Let’s start from here.”

You followed, chewing the inside of your cheek.

A few minutes later – after much grumbling, a completely unnecessary debate about why all parking lots look the same, and one slightly humiliating moment where you tried to unlock someone else’s car – Hotch finally spotted your actual vehicle.

“Would you look at that! There she is, in all her glory!” you sang and this time, when you hit the unlock button, the lights actually flashed. Progress.

You pulled open the driver’s side door and tossed your purse inside before turning back to Hotch. “Thank you… again.” You let out a laugh. “It feels like that’s all I ever say to you.”

Hotch gave a small shrug, hands finding his pockets. “You do seem to require a lot of rescuing.”

“Alright, alright.” You pointed a manicured finger at him. “Despite what you might think, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just happen to have a mild navigational deficiency and… questionable taste in men. And friends, apparently – according to my ex fake fiancé.”

“Sounds like you’re finally learning.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding into your seat. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Reading people.” You gestured vaguely in his direction. “It’s very annoying.”

He smiled at you, one hand slipping from his pocket to rest against the edge of your car door. “I’ll try to be worse at my job next time.”

You leaned forward, placing your arms on the steering wheel with a playful spark in your eye. “Listen, Hotch, Hotchner, Aaron – I have a slight confession to make before I go.”

“That sentence doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“This one’s harmless. Promise.”

Hotch stood there, shaking his head like he could not believe he was still standing there entertaining this conversation.

You tapped a finger against the wheel. “So, if mid-cookie bite you accidentally choke on a piece of paper, do not be alarmed – well, actually do be alarmed. I don’t want you to die before you’ve asked me out on a date.” You flashed him a pointed look. “But it’s my number – since apparently, having my address isn’t enough.”

“You hid your number in food?”

“Listen, it was either that or carve it into your desk with a knife, and I figured that would raise some concerns with your co-workers.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like why me?

“But, you do have my number now, so really, the ball is in your court, Hotchner.”

“Is it?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Mhm. And just so we’re clear – I expect a dramatic, over-the-top use of it. Maybe a cryptic, we need to talk text. Or a mysterious meet me at midnight type of situation.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “You’d rather I text you about urgent matters than, say… just a normal conversation?”

“Aaron Hotchner, are you saying you want to have a normal conversation with me?”

He sighed, stepping back from your car. “Drive home, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

You smirked, finally turning on the ignition. “Oh, so you let me leave now? That is so controlling of you.”

Hotch shook his head as he shut your door—just in time for you to lift a hand, making a finger phone gesture and mouthing Call me.

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti

divider by cafekitsune

[goorgeousz]

lacy dreams | aaron hotchner

after hours au

lacy dreams | aaron hotchner

after hours au

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x profiler!female!reader

summary: hotch had been managing to do just fine in suppressing his desire for you, until he caught a glimpse of your lacy underwear peeking over your jeans.

content/tw: perv!hotch, masturbation (male), dirty thoughts, wet dreams, reader has the ass and tanned skin (I try my best not to describe the reader's physics but I just had to be a little self-indulgent on this one, sorry…) 

word count: 2.5k

a/n: again, I attempted to focus on the steamy part of this but I got too invested on the build-up. I liked this one more than I thought, hope you guys do it too <3

my requests are opened, for this series or not!

just a heads up, this series is a slow burn so it will take a while for them to be together. I'm focusing more on the build up, their relationship and the construction of it! so if you want to have requests involving any of that, I'll be happy to write it! I have at least ten drafts in the making for this series, I'm super excited!

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

Between dealing with serial killers, terrorists and, maybe the hardest, FBI bureaucracy, Hotch almost didn’t have time to think about you.

Key word: almost.

The unit chief of the behaviour analysis unit. Hotch deserved that title, he knew it. He was perfect for it. Not everyone is able to fully commit to the job. To lock their feelings into a tiny little black box and keep it hidden. To be entirely selfless, to give themselves – their soul, mind and heart – to the job. To abdicate free time, good rest, personal relationships. No one understands what it takes to be the B.A.U. unit chief. 

Unless, of course, THE B.A.U. unit chief.

No one in their right minds would ever doubt Hotch was perfect for it.

He was kind, respectful, smart, attentive, giving, centrate and ready to give it all for the job. The things he’d gone through… it wasn’t for the weak. But he wasn’t. So he took it. Silently, proudly and steadily. Like a knight, a fighter.

But Hotch was also a man. He ate, he drank, he slept. He had a soul, a heart, a brain. And he had memories. Good memories. Precise, even. And despite being incredibly professional, he still remembered.

Every. Thing.

It was a blessing and a curse.

Every time you stretched, your shirt slightly rose up, showing the skin of your stomach, and he remembered how he licked and kissed that very same part. Or when you laid on your side on the jet, he remembered how he fucked you at that very same position the morning after your night together – and before your first day at the B.A.U. Or whenever you get a papercut because you went through your files too eagerly, and you let out the tiniest, most delicate and breathless sound, and he has to fight every cell on his body not to lean closer and beg you to say it again.

Point is: he remembered.

It wasn’t like he had an eidetic memory – poor Spencer – or anything, but it was hard not to replay that night in his head from time to time. Whenever he had time for it. Or whenever images of you invaded his thoughts, uninvited and demanding. Ruining him, piece by piece.

He didn’t let it show, though. It was harder at first, when you and him were still on thin ice. Poking the water with the tip of your feet to see if it was safe enough to dive in. Not knowing each other's boundaries, wanting, needs. Only one thing for certain: you wouldn’t let that get between your job. Surprisingly, it worked just fine.

You were an amazing addiction to the team, and he was proud to see how good of an agent you turned out to be. Your relationship was strictly professional – unless the filthy thoughts inside his head, but those didn’t count –, even the team started laying off of you two.

Hotch, ever the profiler, noticed how they whispered around, throwing glances at each other and winking here and there. He knew they wondered. He also knew neither of you would give it to them. So they waited. And waited. And when nothing happened, they waited a little more. He was a little smug to see their frustrations, honestly. He beat those odds, surprisingly – again, how he felt about you didn’t count. And eventually, thankfully, they laid off of you. Maybe they gave up, accepted defeat. Giving up didn't fit their profile, but well, he’ll take it!

He was good at suppressing his emotions. A professional, if you will. He even managed to look at you in the eyes with a straight face and discuss about disposal of bodies while thinking about bending you over and fucking you right on the top of the table you were tapping your sharp nails against.

It was a whole other job to contain his thoughts when he was home – whatever he did in the privacy of his own bedroom was his business only. But for now, he was handling just fine.

In some ways you helped him. Despite whatever went through your mind, you never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a blush, a stutter, a lingering touch… Nothing. Ever. Every fantasy he had with you was solely the work of his bright and evil mind.

So, long story short, Hotch was kind of a pervert.

Secretly.

With all that said, there was one time Hotch absolutely lost it.

At least as much as someone like Hotch could lose it.

It was a Tuesday morning. The team sat together after a morning briefing, still chatting around. He was deep in conversation with Spencer when he heard Morgan’s teasing.

“So, where is it?” 

You frowned “Where what is?”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a smile “You’re always wearing a red item somewhere” she explained “Today you’re all in charcoal grey.” 

Hotch had noticed it, obviously. From the moment you walked in, a quick inspection of you later and he noticed it. He thought you’d just forgotten it. So much for his profiling skills. He wouldn’t dare to point it out, though. He had boundaries. 

You laughed “You guys take the job that seriously, huh?” 

“They even bet on you” JJ snickered, chuckling. You gasped, faking surprise.

“I’m winning.” Garcia sing-song it “Maybe you should rethink their profiling skills, sir.” she told Hotch, in a mock serious tone.

“Wow. I’ll have to step up my game, then.”

“Come on, doll.” Morgan nudges your hand with the tip of his pen “Where’s the red? Ten dollars at stake today.” you laughed loudly, leaning closer to him.

“Trust me, the money would be the smallest of your winnings if you knew where the red is.” you whispered, loud enough for the whole team to hear.

JJ barked a laugh, walking past you to go grab herself a coffee and giving you a high-five in the process.

Hotch watched it all unfold without a word. He even managed to change the subject after that rather smoothly. No one would have guessed what was going through his mind while he explained statistics and budgets. He didn’t blush, didn’t stutter, didn’t let his eyes wander.

He was a gentleman, afterall.

But when the meeting ended, all the team standing and heading out the door all together, you were right in front of him.

He stayed a few steps back behind you, more to his own safety than to yours. So he witnessed what happened in slow motion — at least that’s how his mind played it.

You were laughing at something Derek said, smacking his shoulder and letting your hair clip fall in the process. With your quick instincts and — good god — your easy flexibility, you bent over to pick it up.

And that’s when it happened.

He wasn’t looking, you see. Blame it on his academy years, his school-soccer years even. His unit chief abilities™, if you will.

It was just like in the field, his senses had to be turned to a maximum to see any possible threats. And that for sure was a hell of a threat.

As you bent over, knees bending just slightly, the rem of your button-up rose up. Simultaneously, the waistband of your pants slide down an inch, to cover the — voluptuous and perfectly round, bless you — curve of your ass.

Then, he saw it. The flash of red blinding his sight like in a lighthouse. Exactly like a gun pointed at him in his peripheral vision, his eye darted to the flash of red in order to eliminate the danger. He was trained for this, he couldn’t just turn off his spider-senses federal-agent-senses.

Peeking over your pants there was a thin, lacy and beautiful red underwear. The exact same kind you wore that night. Not the same, no.

Again, not an eidetic memory – god bless reid – but no matter how hard he tried – not that hard, really – to forget, he couldn’t. His stubborn mind insisted on replaying the view of your bare ass, covered only in those dark-red lacy panties, pushing back against his very expensive suit pants, teasing his hard on still very much covered. A sinful view, your toned body displayed for him across your wooden dining table like a four-course meal. Better than that, honestly.

Back to the subject, the colours were different. This one was a brighter shade of red, its colour very distinguishing from the sober grey of your clothes. So beautiful, calling for him. Begging for him, really. It was a siren’s song, enchanting him and luring his eyes into you. Deadly, dangerous.

As fast as it came, it was gone. You stood back up with an ease that made his backbone jealous. Unfortunately, not fast enough for the sight not to be engraved in his brain.

He stopped mid track, his eyes widening slightly. Thankfully, he was the last one behind, so no one could see his reaction. Not-so-thankfully, you turned around at him, a polite but cheerful expression on your face, the remains of your laughter still on your face.

“Hotch, the file of that Minnesota case I was working on is already on your desk. I left it there before the meeting, forgot to tell you.” the easy smile you had on your face faltered for just a second, confused by the stunned look on his face.

He quickly covered it up, building his walls back up in a record-deserving speed “No problem, thank you.”.

You just nodded, seeing he walk away in that always-hurried way of his before you could manage to ask him what’s wrong.

And just like that, his facade was ruined – it wasn’t really. No one bat an eye at him or his reaction, but he did try to fool himself and pretend he didn’t care. And that facade was, in fact, ruined.

A four-months, twenty three days – the exact time you’ve been on the team – streak of being reactionless vanished with a quick glimpse of your underwear.

How pathetic of him.

How twelve-year-old-boy-just-discovered-women's-breast kind of pathetic of him.

It wasn’t just about how his heartbeat quickened at the sight. Just how the blood rushed to his veins. Just how his eyes widened and his mouth slightly parted. Just how his breath hitched loudly enough that if someone were behind him, they would’ve noticed it.

It was all that, added to the fact that he had to basically lock himself in his office all day. Two bathroom breaks. One coffee break. One lunch break. All of them combined, in order to reduce his breaks at a minimum.

He got work done, somehow. It took him the entire work-day for him to finish what would’ve taken him a single morning? Yes. But it got done, anyway.

His thoughts mid reports wandered towards you. Did you do it on purpose? Of course not, he was that self-assured. But you were a tease, so it was very on character for you. But you seemed so innocent, telling him about your reports. Again, that never stopped you from making the dirtiest jokes he ever heard. Was it all a punishment? Some destiny cruel joke on him? A way for the universe to tell him he doesn’t have control of anything? It seemed like all the options above.

The day passed in a rush, humiliating so.

Deciding – after a lot of guilt and self-deprecating thoughts – he wasn’t being any useful for the country and it was best for him to rest and come back renewed – read free of dirty thoughts of you – the next day, he went home.

His ride home was silent, he didn’t even turn on the radio. Or did he? It didn’t even register. It was a win how he managed to get home safe without causing any accidents in the process.

He ate a quick dinner, an improvised sandwich of everything he could find in his fridge. And finally had the – oh so deserved and waited – glass of scotch. And a second one. And a third one.

After finally having his gain back the control of his own thoughts, because of the shameful amount of work he’d done, he decided to ignore the very prominent and aching volume on his pants. Yes he was that controlling.

So, he took a freezing shower and went back to bed without a single thought of you.

Yes, he was proud of himself.

No, it didn’t last.

It was 02:17 in the morning when he woke up from the most wonderful yet terrible dream of his life, with an aching boner and a stain of cum in his underwear. How lovely.

He opened his eyes and stood there, his chest rising and falling while he tried to steady his breaths. He came to the realization that whatever happened was just a dream. A very wet dream.

You haven’t actually showed up at his house, still in your work clothes. You haven’t really thrown yourself in his arms, kissing him so hungrily he almost fell down. You haven’t really taken your clothes off, your eyes locked in his while you stripped down until you were only in those red lacy panties. You haven’t really laid down on his bed, your legs stretched and your hands touching your perky breasts. He haven’t really fucked you senselles, raw and stupid on his mattress – yes, that very same mattress he was currently laid on – until you both came at the same time while you moaned his name over and over. His first name.

He replayed the dream in his mind, groaning to himself when his hand unconsciously roamed to his shaft, gripping straight under his sweatpant.

It was no use to fight against it. He let himself have it.

Hotch squeezed himself, his cock sticky with barely wet and warm cum. He hummed, half in annoyment, half in satisfaction.

He stroked himself to the thought of you. His dream wasn’t real. But the images of you, the sensation of his cock buried deep inside of you, his names on your lips like a mantra, like a spell. They were all real, all memories.

And he held on to them for dear life.

The feeling of his tight grip to your flesh. Your yelps, moans, hums, groans. Your dirty words, your dirty mind. Your velvety and hoarse voice. Your eyes – oh, your eyes. So beautiful, slightly open, deeply darked and overly glossed. The tear of pleasure that fell after you came for the third time, its salty taste on his tongue when he licked it. Your mouth. Full, glossy and tasteful. Your tanned and smooth skin, little red sports he proudly bruised.

He quickened his movements, his eyes closed shut and images of you behind his eyelids. He memorized all of you. And with the sound of his own heartbeat and the memory of your voice hoarsely begging his name, he came again, letting out a long and dragged groan.

He stayed there for a while, waiting for his breath to get back to normal and his heartbeat to slow down.

Just for a moment he let himself be, not drowning it sorry and guilt. Just enjoying the relief coursing through his body.

But like almost everything in life, the moment passed.

Almost.

[magewritesstories]

[ SPENCER REID ] IT'S BASIC MATH, REALLY

cw. my continuation of unit chief!spencer reid x gen z!agent, in this installation you try to explain girl math to him [fluff.] wc. 601 (it's a small blurb)

SPENCER REID KNOWS MATH; HE HAS A PHD IN IT TO PROVE SO. But somehow you've managed to stump him (which happens more often than the genius would like to admit) with the concept of what you call 'girl math.'

It started when you walked into the small crowded bar near the Quantico building where the team had decided to meet up after a particularly satisfying arrest.

You strutted into the room in a pair of gorgeous, expensive-looking shoes, and of course, Penelope had to comment on it.

"Oh my God, Y/N," the blonde practically squealed as she pulled you into a hug, "You look even more gorgeous than usual—I love, love, love those shoes!"

You let out a soft laugh as you joined the rest of the team at the table with a quick greeting. "Thanks, Pen, they were actually pretty cheap," you reply, "I got 'em at Bloomingdales."

"Really?" JJ asked, joining in on the conversation, "Were they having a sale?"

"Nope, but they were only $156," you answer.

Spencer raised his brows in surprise, "You think $156 is a cheap price for one pair of shoes?"

"Mhm," you hum as you take a drink that Luke hands you, "It's girl math."

"Come again?"

"Girl math," you clarify, standing closer to him so that he can hear you over the loud music.

Spencer leans towards you instinctively, genuinely curious about whatever 'girl math' was.

"So, basically, these shoes cost $156, right?" you say as he nods along, "But they're comfortable and cute, plus they go with like four different outfits, which means I'll be wearing them a lot. In the coming month, I'll probably wear them, like, 10 maybe 15 times. Which means that they actually only cost me around 10 to 15 dollars—you know, if you divide 156 by the amount of times I wear them."

"But you don't pay for the shoes in installments," Spencer replied in confusion, "And your shoes aren't a car, the amount you walk in them doesn't depreciate their value like mileage would a car."

You shrug as you take another swig of your drink. "But this way, I make myself feel better about spending $156 on shoes," you reply with a grin.

"So it's a form of consolation?" he replied with a small grin playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes as you give him a soft shove, "Shut up, Dr. Reid."

Spencer lets out a laugh at your playful eye roll.

"Well, either way, you do look nice in them," he said.

"You sayin' I don't usually look nice?" you teased, leaning even closer to him.

The close proximity suddenly made him realize the rest of the team had magically vanished from the table.

(Luke and Penelope had managed to drag JJ and Emily to the dance floor, while Matt, Tara, and Rossi were making conversation with the bartender.)

"Silence, really, doc?" you continued, feigning a hurt expression, "I'm hurt."

"I—I—What, no!" Spencer quickly replied, turning back to you, "That's not what I—what I mean was you look nicer than usual—not that you don't usually look nice or anything—"

You laughed, throwing your head back just a little, as you stopped him from digging himself an even deeper grave. "Calm down, Spence, I was joking."

You put down the now empty glass and grabbed his arm. "C'mon, you need to loosen up, let's dance."

Spencer let you drag him to the dance floor, where he pointedly ignored JJ and Emily's surprised faces as well as Luke and Penelope's eyebrow wiggles.

He was never going to hear the end of this.

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Could you do the (16/17 year old) step daughter of spencer who calls him really late one night to pick her up from a party because she's (very) drunk and she knows he's up bc of his insomnia. And she clearly sees him as her father bc her dad left before she was even born.

Spencer Reid X Stepdaughter Fem Reader

THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS!

Request: Could you do the (16/17 year old) step daughter of spencer who calls him really late one night to pick her up from a party because she's (very) drunk and she knows he's up bc of his insomnia. And she clearly sees him as her father bc her dad left before she was even born.

Third person pov...

Y/N was out at a friends house for a party, she was having fun, dancing and drinking all night long. She hadn't gone to a party in ages.

As the clock struck 1 am, Spencer was lying in bed, eyes wide open. Insomnia had been a constant companion for him, It was especially difficult on nights like this, when his stepdaughter Y/N was out at a party.

Y/N was a bright, independent teenager. But Spencer couldn't help but worry about her, especially since her biological father had left them before the H/C girl was even born. Spencer had taken on the role of a father to Y/N and they had formed a strong bond over the years.

Just as Spencer was about to drift off to sleep, his phone rang, jolting him awake, he immediately sat up, concern flooding through him, groggily he answered the call, expecting it to be Y/N checking in before heading home.

"Hey Y/N, everything okay?" Spencer answered with a touch of worry in his voice.

"Hi, uhm, can you come and pick me up from this party? I'm really drunk and I don't want to stay here anymore" The teenagers words were slurred and her voice was shaky.

"Of course, Y/N, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Just stay put and I'll come get you" Spencer replied, already getting dressed and grabbing his car keys.

"Thanks, Spencer" Y/N said

She then gave him the address of the party and hung up. Spencer quickly got dressed and left his house in a hurry.

As he drove towards the address, he couldn't help but worry about Y/N, He had always been there for her, but he knew that her teenage years would be difficult but he would be there for her.

When he arrived at the party, Spencer could hear the music blaring from the house. He parked his car and walked towards the front door, bracing himself for what he would find inside.

As he neared the house he saw her sat outside. Y/N was sitting on the porch steps, her head hanging low, her H/C hair hanging infront of her face.

He could see the tears streaming down her face, and his heart broke. He got out of the car and walked towards her, sitting down next to her.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asked, gently placing a hand on her back.

Y/N wiped her tears and nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you. I just wanted to go home"

Spencer hugged her tightly, rubbing her back as she cried. "It's okay, Y/N I'm here for you"

"I-I'm sorry" the teenager hiccuped, trying to stand up but failing miserably.

Spencer gently helped her up and led her to the car, Once she was buckled in, he drove her home in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Y/N spoke, fidgeting with her painted nails "I'm sorry, Spencer" she said, her voice shaky with emotion.

"I know I shouldn't have called you. I just...I needed somebody and i couldnt call my mum" Spencer reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's okay, N/N. I'm here for you. Always." They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence. When they arrived home, Y/N stumbled out of the car, her legs unsteady from the alcohol.

Spencer helped her inside, and she collapsed onto the couch, shivering from the cold.

Spencer pulled a throw blanket over her, and she immediately snuggled into it, her body still shaking. He sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

They sat like that for a while, Y/Ns head resting against Spencer's chest. She was still shivering, and he could feel the guilt and regret radiating from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I shouldn't have done this. I know you must be disappointed in me."

Spencer gently lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "I could never be disappointed in you, Y/N You're not perfect, and I don't expect you to be. But I do expect you to be safe. And to always come to me when you need help."

Tears filled the H/C teen eyes, and she buried her face in Spencer's chest. "Thank you" she mumbled.

"I love you, Spencer. You're the only dad I've ever known"

Spencer's heart swelled with emotion, and he held her tighter, tears prickling at the corners of his own eyes.

He had never thought of himself as a father figure, but in that moment, he knew he would do anything for the girl in his arms.

They stayed there, cuddled up on the couch, until the sun began to rise. Y/n had eventually fallen asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

Spencer smiled, grateful for the opportunity to be there for her in her time of need.

She may not be his biological daughter, but in that moment, none of that mattered. They were family, and that was all that truly mattered.

He shifted himself so he could put a pillow under her head, he then unbuckled her shoes and put them down by the couch.

Standing up he looked down at her. "How am I going to do this" he muttered to himself, the tall man then leant down he wrapped an arm around her shoudlers and put his other one jnder her legs so he could lift her up.

Once she was in his arms she automatically curled up in his arms again, a content sigh escaped her lips. Smiling Spencer begins walking to his bedroom.

He wasn't going to let her sleep on the sofa, when he opened the door he he set the teenager down on the bed and lent her body against his so he could pull back the covered for her.

He then tucked her in, brushing her hair away from her face, he then kissed her temple. "Good night Y/N" he whsipers before closing the door.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, so sorry for the wait for this request! Sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count : 1120

[reidsworld]

Unveiled Secrets

Summary: The BAU team has a sneaking suspicion that their stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner, is in a relationship, but they don't know the extent of it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: Jack and Haley do not exist in this, kissing, cuddling, allusions to sex, light teasing, use of Y/N, pet names (my love, baby), that’s it I think, lmk if I missed any! Oh and pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

Mars speaks… hi my loves, I was motivated to write so I am using this to figure out my writing style a bit and how I want to format my works! I’ve been going through a bit of a Hotch phase lately so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

The BAU office was slowly quieting down as the day turned to dusk, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the desks. Aaron Hotchner, head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, stood in his office, the soft light of his desk lamp highlighting the stress lines that had deepened over the years. He checked his watch—almost time to go home. A rare, soft smile touched his lips, a sight reserved for only one person.

He closed the case file on his desk, slipping it neatly into his briefcase before reaching for his jacket. His phone buzzed just as he picked it up, and he glanced at the screen to see a text from you, Can’t wait to see you. Should I pick up dinner?

That smile of his deepened as he quickly typed a reply, I’ll pick it up on my way home. See you soon, my love.

He hadn’t planned on keeping his relationship with you a secret, nor did he have any grand strategy for revealing it. He assumed that given time, his team would figure it out on their own. After all, they were profilers—eventually, they would notice the subtle shifts in his behaviour, the unexplained absences, the slightly more relaxed demeanour after particularly stressful cases. He hadn’t intended to hide it forever, just until they pieced it together.

As he opened the door to his office, however, he nearly collided with Spencer Reid, who was walking by, engrossed in a file. Reid looked up, startled, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Sorry, Hotch! I didn’t see you there."

"It’s alright, Reid," Hotch replied, a calmness in his voice that belied the momentary flicker of surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t often caught off-guard, especially not in the safety of his own office.

Reid, however, had a habit of noticing things others missed. His eyes flickered to the phone still in Hotch’s hand, the screen just dimming from inactivity. Before Hotch could slip it into his pocket, Reid’s sharp eyes caught your name on the screen. His brow furrowed in confusion as he processed the information.

“Y/N, as in the academy’s Y/N?” Reid asked, the question out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Reid’s sharp mind to pick up on the anomaly. Reid’s brain worked at lightning speed, connecting dots that others might have missed. He knew Hotch was fiercely private, but this reaction was new.

“Goodnight Reid” Aaron replied, quickly, shutting down any further questioning that may have come from the young genius.

Reid blinked, taken aback, but his curiosity was now piqued. However, years of working with Hotch had taught him when to push and when to back off. “Have a good evening, Hotch.”

As Reid walked away, Hotch let out a slow breath. This wasn’t how he wanted the team to find out, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had always assumed it would be Reid who would notice first; the young profiler missed nothing. Still, he had hoped for a bit more time. But the cat was out of the bag now, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the team found out.

The next morning, the BAU office was abuzz with more than the usual activity. Reid’s brief encounter with Hotch had set off a flurry of curiosity and speculation among the team. They were profilers, after all, and even the smallest clues could ignite their imaginations.

“I’m telling you, something’s definitely going on with Hotch,” Reid said as the team gathered in the bullpen before their morning briefing. He couldn't shake the image of your name on Hotch's phone from his mind.

JJ, trying to keep things under control, said, “Come on, guys, it could just be a friend. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin on his face. “Reid’s onto something. Hotch has been acting a bit differently lately. He’s not staying late like he used to.”

“And he’s been smiling more often,” Garcia added, her excitement barely contained. “The man’s practically glowing sometimes.”

Rossi, with a teasing tone, suggested, “Maybe he’s just getting better sleep. But I have to admit, there’s definitely something different.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Don’t you want to know? If Hotch is seeing someone, that’s huge!”

Rossi shrugged, still smirking. “Of course, I’m curious. But let’s give him some space. If he wants us to know, he’ll tell us. And if we’re lucky, we might even get to meet her.”

Prentiss grinned, "Do you think it’s serious? Like, she’s ‘the one’?”

“I think,” Rossi said thoughtfully, “if Aaron is keeping this under wraps, it’s because it’s important to him. He wouldn’t be so secretive if it wasn’t serious.”

Just then, Hotch entered the bullpen, and the conversation quickly shifted to a quieter, more focused buzz. The team members turned to their desks, but the air was charged with unspoken questions and speculative glances. Hotch, sensing the change in atmosphere, gave a brief nod before heading to his office.

As the day dragged on with paperwork and case briefings, the undercurrent of curiosity remained. The team exchanged looks, clearly eager to discuss Hotch’s secret, but they were careful to avoid bringing it up directly. The excitement about Hotch’s personal life was palpable, and everyone was waiting for the right moment to address the topic.

Later that evening, Aaron finally headed home after a long day. As he walked through the front door, he found you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, and a glass of wine in your hand. You looked up from the book you were reading, a smile spreading across your face when you saw him.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?” you asked, setting the book aside as he walked over to you.

“Tiring,” he admitted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And eventful. Reid saw a text from you last night.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh no. What did he say?”

“He asked if it was from you,” Aaron said, sitting down beside you. “I shut him down, but I think I gave myself away. The team’s been acting strange all day.”

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “So, they’re onto us?”

He nodded, slipping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “It was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be now.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t figure it out sooner,” you said, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “They are profilers, after all.”

He smiled down at you, his expression softening. “I never planned on keeping it a secret forever. I just figured they’d figure it out on their own time.”

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked with a playful grin.

He sighed, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder. “I suppose it’s time to tell them. They’re already curious, and I’d rather they hear it from me than through rumours.”

“You know they’ll be happy for you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “For us.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But there’s a part of me that’s nervous. I’ve always kept my personal life separate from work, but with you… it’s different.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly, the warmth of the moment lingering between you. “We’ll do it together, then. When you’re ready.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, but a playful glint sparkled in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Right now, I want to do anything but think about the team,” his voice dropped to a low murmur.

You felt the heat of his words and smiled, leaning in closer. “Sounds perfect,” you whispered, as he nuzzled against you, his lips brushing yours with a grin.

A few days later, Rossi had decided to host a dinner party for the team. The team was eager to catch up and enjoy the evening. Aaron knew it was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the team as his girlfriend. 

As the doorbell rang, Rossi answered the door to find Hotch standing beside you. As you both entered the living room, the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as Hotch introduced you with a genuine smile.

“I’d like you to meet Y/N, my girlfriend,” Hotch said, his voice steady but warm. 

The room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into excitement. Garcia’s face lit up with recognition and delight. “Oh my God! It’s Y/N! I knew it was someone! This is incredible!”

Morgan’s grin widened as he approached. “So, this is the elusive woman behind Hotch’s new smile! You’ve been keeping us in the dark for too long, Hotch.”

JJ smiled warmly as she extended her hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N, we’re really happy for both of you.”

Reid, ever the profiler, couldn’t resist asking, “How long have you two been together?”

Hotch laughed softly, putting an arm around you and smiling fondly. “Almost five months now. Y/N works as the unit chief for the BSU in the academy. I met her when she invited me to guest lecture.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I knew it! You two have that perfect power couple vibe. We have to plan another get-together so we can hang out more!”

Rossi, enjoying the moment, gave Hotch a friendly pat on the back. “Well, I guess this means you won’t be around for poker nights as often.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’ll still make time for poker nights, don’t worry.”

As the evening continued, the team enjoyed getting to know you better. The atmosphere was filled with laughter, light-hearted teasing, and genuine happiness for Hotch and you.

“So, when do we get to do this again?” Garcia asked eagerly.

Hotch smiled, feeling content. “Soon. We’ve been talking about having you all over for dinner. Now seems like the perfect time.”

As the team chatted and enjoyed the evening, Aaron felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Introducing you to his team had been a significant step, but their warmth and support made it all worthwhile. The thought of merging his work family with his personal life filled him with quiet joy.

As the party wound down and the team began to leave, Morgan gave Hotch a sly grin. “You know, Hotch, we’re happy for you, but don’t think we won’t give you a hard time about keeping this a secret for so long.”

Hotch chuckled, appreciating the camaraderie. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, the team said their goodbyes and headed home, their spirits high. Hotch followed them, feeling grateful for the support of his team and looking forward to the future with you.

Mars speaks... (again) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Also, would anyone be interested if I wrote for other fandoms such as F1 and Marvel? Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

[literaryavenger]

CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST

ONE SHOTS

Worth It - Dad!Rossi

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: pre-seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au warnings: spencer and reader are roommates !!! reader wears Miss Dior. a/n: so very sorry for not posting in so long! got busy with extracurriculars and uni started up again :( big thank you to @januaryembrs and @hotchfiles for reading through this first !! wc: 1.04k you are on part 1! | part 2 | part 3

Spencer officially joins the BAU late July once he completed his time at the FBI academy. It wasn’t necessarily fair for the other agents who hoped and prayed that they would be the lucky someone who would get to join the extremely elusive Behavioural Analysis Unit upon graduation, especially because he was the one who was chosen by name by the esteemed Jason Gideon. It also wasn’t necessarily fair to get home after four long egregious months of constant movement and firearm training to his roommate.

“You’re home!” 

He grimaces a little bit, dropping his heavy suitcases and bags at the doorway with a heavy sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’d bet! You’ve got more things than you left with!” You’re beaming, taking his new FBI registered duffle bag out of his hands and into the living room. “Your hair is so long now.”

“I feel like a wet dog,” he grumbles, pushing the strands out of his face. “Were you okay with rent? I’ll pay you back and everything–”

You laugh, shaking your head and pulling him to sit on the couch by the wrists. “It’s okay, Spence, relax. One of my friends needed a temporary place to stay, so I really only needed to pay a couple weeks of rent by myself. You’re probably starving, aren’t you? I’ve got pizza on the way.”

His cheeks burn at the contact, his throat going dry and his head almost as if it’s about to explode. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, beaming. Your fingers tug at the FBI windbreaker he’s sporting– big on his shoulders and long at the hips. “This is new. You went shopping without me?”

“Gideon insisted I get more FBI uniform,” he explains hurriedly, “he said it’d made me feel more ‘official’. They didn’t have any more in my size.”

“It’s cute! Give us a spin, Walter.” 

He does it half-begrudgingly, rising from the couch pillows and doing an awkward spin. He used to be used to it, before he went away for four months to train at the academy. He’ll need to get re-used to it, he supposes. 

“You look very official,” you say with genuinity, grinning ear to ear. “Got anything else?”

His nose scrunches in distaste as he sits back down. “There’s meant to be more?”

“The uniform isn’t just a jacket, is it?” You ask with furrowed brows. “The bag is a nice touch, though.”

“They said that I should get the polo, but I don’t think I’d ever wear it,” he explains, going through his things. They’d all need a good wash, he decides, throwing his clothes onto the floor. “There isn’t a uniform policy at the BAU, though. Just to be clean and tidy.”

“You’re already a pro at that, aren’t you, Walter?” 

His cheeks glow at your jest and he kicks at the pile of clothes at his feet. “You don’t think I’m weird, do you?”

“Weird for… being clean and tidy?” You blink, poking at his shoulder. “If that’s what weird is, then I hope there are a lot of other guys who are weird.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“Exactly.” He catches your smile as you speak. “It’s not a bad thing to be different. You know that, don’t you?”

“In theory,” he responds vaguely.

You huff, “You ought to remember it with that big brain of yours.”

“There’s no significant correlation between brain size and intelligence,” Spencer reminds you again, shrugging his jacket off. “You should remember that, too.”

*** 

It’s an incredibly cold November morning, just a couple of days after Halloween, and Spencer has been tearing up and down the apartment in search of his windbreaker. The team are set for Alaska this time around, and though his sweaters and wool socks provide some warmth, it was nothing compared to the inner pockets of his FBI assigned windbreaker that hold heat warmers. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks hurriedly, rushing through the living room. “I need to leave in three minutes or I’ll miss my train–”

“Seen what?” You ask, frowning as you fill his travel mug with hot coffee and sugar. “What are you looking for?”

“My jacket,” he explains halfheartedly. “You know the one.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, moving to the bathroom and pulling it off the hook. “Spencer?”

He visibly relaxes, taking it from your hands with a hint of embarrassment. “Oh.”

“You let me borrow it after you picked me up from the Halloween party, don’t you remember?” The corners of your lips quirk upwards in jest as his expression shifts into that of realisation. “I put it behind the door so that you could find it easier. Not that it helped, clearly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks pink in the light. “Thank you. See you later.”

“See you later,” you agree, and he’s already out the door, his jacket and travel mug in tow.

*** 

“Good morning,” JJ says, her bright blue eyes drowsy with sleep despite her greeting. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Spencer nods, zipping up the windbreaker and snapping the buttons together. Even in Virginia it’s still freezing. He doesn’t want to imagine how cold it’d be in Alaska. 

“Someone smells nice,” JJ chirps with a grin. “Is that– is that Miss Dior?”

“What?” Spencer sniffs, frowning. “Who?”

“The perfume?” She repeats the name, her brows flushed together. “I’m not crazy.”

“Is that Miss Dior?” Hotch asks in bemusement, sniffing the air. He looks at Jennifer with a mix of appreciation and a nod to say good taste. “Haley used to wear it all through college.”

“I’m not wearing it,” JJ insists, shaking her head with a laugh. “Spence?”

He’s barely paying attention to the conversation, frantically Googling an image of whatever the hell Miss Dior is. He’s met with the familiar rectangular bottle with pink liquid and a bow on the neck, something that he’s seen on your dresser multiple times. 

“My roommate,” he groans, covering his face with the palms of his hands. “She borrowed my jacket a couple days ago.”

“Ooh, a lady friend,” JJ snickers, “and she borrowed your jacket. How gentlemanly of you.”

Spencer sends you a long text message about the importance of not spraying perfume on clothes once he gets off the jet.

reblogs are always appreciated !!

you are on part 1! | part 2 | part 3

[reiding-writing]

Might be controversial but I like enemies to lovers more than cold reader x Reid. But kinda similar as they both could have slow burn. If that’s something you would wanna write I’d love it 🥹

PETTY & PETTIER. /spencer reid/

you knock over spencer’s favourite mug on your first day, big deal right? well, yes apparently.

s1!spencer enemy!reader 1.1k fluff? series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | minor break from cold!reader in the form of something that’s almost similar, guess i have a type— (also new blog theme means new fic layout so yay)

Your first day at the BAU is going well—until it isn’t.

Gideon had been your mentor since your academy days, which is how you found yourself standing awkwardly in the bullpen of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, a cup of coffee in one hand and the weight of expectation on your shoulders. You were young, sure, but Gideon saw something in you. He was good at that.

What he wasn’t good at, apparently, was warning you about Dr. Spencer Reid.

It’s an accident—your elbow knocks the mug off the counter before you even realise it’s there. The ceramic shatters against the tile floor, coffee splattering everywhere. You freeze, mortified.

“Are you serious?”

You turn toward the voice, already apologising. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

You’ve read about him in your files before starting—youngest FBI recruit, three PhDs, literal genius. You expected someone…awkward, maybe. Soft-spoken. A little nervous.

What you didn’t expect was the sheer level of contempt in his expression as he stares down at the broken pieces of his mug like you just ran over his childhood dog.

“That was my favourite mug,” he says, voice flat.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It was a limited edition.”

Oh, God. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He scoffs. “You can’t buy a new one. It was a vintage 1997 Star Trek Voyager mug featuring—”

“Okay, Jesus, I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender. “I screwed up. It was an accident.”

Reid makes a noise that is, without exaggeration, a huff. Like an actual hmph sound. It’s so ridiculously childish that you’d laugh if not for the intensity of his stare.

Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

You watch him go, bemused, and then glance around. Elle and JJ exchange amused looks. Morgan grins. Gideon doesn’t seem to notice, which is so typical of him that it’s almost funny.

It’s fine, you think. He’ll get over it.

Except, Spencer does not get over it.

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to notice it. The way Reid actively hates you.

At first, you assume it’s about the mug. But the way he glares at you when you so much as breathe near him? The way he sighs—loudly, dramatically—when Gideon assigns you both to work together? The way he outright avoids talking to you unless absolutely necessary?

No.

This isn’t about the mug.

This is a personal vendetta.

And honestly? If Reid wants to be petty, you can be pettier.

The war starts small.

Reid insists on taking the seat farthest from you in the briefing room? You get there earlier the next day and steal his spot.

He gives you pointed looks every time you mess up a minor detail in a case summary? You start correcting his grammar in reports.

He spends five minutes explaining a concept you already understand? You interrupt with, “Actually, I already knew that.”

The others notice.

Morgan looks between the two of you with pure amusement. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?” you ask innocently.

Reid scowls. “Nothing.”

JJ and Elle exchange looks. Hotch sighs, rubbing his temple like he can already feel the migraine forming.

Morgan points between you. “No. No, there’s something going on. Because every time one of you speaks, the other looks like they’re plotting murder.”

“We’re fine,” you say, just to be petty.

“We’re not fine,” Reid snaps.

You smirk. “Wow, you sound upset.”

“You are infuriating.”

“You started it.”

Reid glares at you. “You started it.”

“You started it by hating me for no reason.”

The team watches this unfold like a ping-pong match.

“Okay, pause,” Elle interrupts. “Reid, why do you hate her?”

Reid crosses his arms. “Because she’s annoying.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“That’s enough of a reason.”

—

If the team was hoping that addressing it would fix things, they were wrong.

Now, it’s open warfare.

You start signing him up for unsolicited newsletters—scientific journals, conspiracy theory blogs, cat fact subscriptions.

He moves all your pens exactly one inch to the left every morning.

You convince Garcia to change his ringtone to the Barney & Friends theme song.

He leaves a 32-page thesis on the mathematical improbability of you ever besting him in psychological warfare on your desk.

The team is exhausted.

“They’re children,” Morgan says one day, watching as you and Reid glare at each other across the bullpen.

“No,” JJ says, “because children eventually grow out of it.”

Hotch looks like he’s considering transferring one of you just to get some peace.

—

The final straw is when you steal his coffee.

Which—okay. Maybe that’s fair.

But in your defence, you had no idea that Reid had some sort of special coffee blend that he kept in the breakroom. You’d run out of yours, saw an unmarked bag, and figured it was free game.

Apparently, it wasn’t.

Because the moment you walk around Reid’s desk with your coffee in hand, he scowls.

“You stole my coffee.”

“Yeah,” you say, blowing the steam from your mug pointedly in his direction. “What’s your point?”

His nostrils flare.

Reid doesn’t say anything. He just glares.

It’s a declaration of war.

Fine.

Bring it.

—

The rest of the team stops trying to intervene.

At some point, it just becomes a fact of life: the sky is blue, the BAU travels a lot, and you and Spencer Reid hate each other.

It’s not even professional rivalry at this point—it’s just petty.

You and Reid spend an entire plane ride passive-aggressively moving your seats to be as far from each other as possible.

When he lectures about a statistic, you purposefully contradict him—even when you know he’s right.

He takes your favorite pen? You take his entire stack of files and put them back out of order.

He switches the sugar in your coffee for salt? You swap his sugar for salt and take the last cookie from the breakroom.

It’s stupid.

It’s childish.

And it’s the principle of the thing.

If Reid is going to be petty, you refuse to be anything less than pettiest.