#hotch is an ABSOLUTE DISASTER

[snixkers]

Bailed Out

Pairing: Elle Greenaway × Fem!Reader

Fluff/Minor Angst

For: requst by @lez-talk1 and @imagining-in-the-margins Pride Challenge!!!

Content Warnings: Cursing, internalized homophobia/biphobia, canon level violence, no physical descriptors

Summary: Elle has a crush on you. Elle doesn't want to.

Author's Note: Gotta get my sapphic representation innnnn for Elle. Also, whoever requested this, I'm so sorry, it was lost in the comments. Enjoy!!!

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN!

Elle Greenaway knew she was fucked.

She had been held hostage, shot, traumatized, and more in her years at the BAU. But by far, the worst thing was her crush on you.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your smile lit up a room, and your confidence made her feel better by association. But when she realized that the feelings were more than just a like, she began to realize some things about herself.

She had a crush on a girl. And she was a girl. Did that make her a lesbian? She wasn't big on labels, but it didn't make sense. She could flirt with men, find them attractive, be interested in them romantically. Could she do both?

Something about saying that she liked girls was scary. Not that she cared if other people did, but it was herself. She liked girls.

Maybe she was just jealous and dealing with issues after the Fisher King.

Easier to do that than actually mention anything to you.

Which worked well for a couple months, until those feelings started to get stronger. It was no longer that she liked a girl, she was in love with a girl. Which was a whole new can of worms she was not opening.

Every single time you two would get paired up on a case, she would stare longingly at you to the point where Hotch offered time off because he believed she was disassociating.

It was a stupid little crush, and it was getting out of hand. She had to do something about it sooner rather than later.

Elle, headstrong and unable to tackle her emotions properly, walked up to you after the majority of people had gone home and tapped on your back.

"Hey, can we talk?"

You spun around, and it nearly knocked her on her ass just how much you made her day better. All her previous ideas about asking you out or maybe accusing you of some type of witchcraft immediately dissipated.

"Um, do you need more coffee?"

You shook your head, putting in your headphones and turning back to your computer.

"All set."

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry for bothering you."

So Elle Greenaway, who had stared down killers and rapists, fled back to her desk with her tail between her legs.

The second time she tried to ask you out, it was during a movie that Garcia and Reid had dragged everyone along to. The seats were scattered for convenience, and some sick deity* had placed the two of you together.

*Garcia

She spent the entire movie nervously fidgeting, considering asking for another bathroom break before realizing you might think three meant she was having a medical episode.

So she sucked it up, basking in your sweet perfume and the high of sitting next to you. During the credits, you were both getting up when some sick deity** forced her to bump into you. You held onto her arms to steady yourself, and Elle did something incredibly stupid.

**not Garcia

She leaned forward and kissed you before promptly turning around and walking out of the theater.

The next week was tense and uncomfortable, but she made sure there wasn't any chance of another one-on-one.

She didn't try to ask you out a third time. After the movie theater disaster, why should she?

Clearly it wasn't meant to be. She had enough emotional baggage to fill the overhead bins of the BAU jet. It would be better to forget about the whole thing.

But you had different plans.

After a week of avoidance, you walked up to her desk with a purpose, and she immediately panicked. Before she could apologize profusely (since when did she apologize?), you had kissed her.

Oh.

"There, now we're even. But if you want to do me a favor, you could come get dinner with me tonight."

Oh.

"Um, sounds great. I'll just, uh, get my stuff."

Now she sounded like Reid. Dammit. She watched you walk away with a satisfied smile, sighing to herself.

Elle Greenaway liked girls. She liked you. She was getting used to it, but she could definitely get used to you.

[kizzywh]

Ever After (Spencer Reid x Reader)

This switches between two points of view.

Content Warnings: suicide attempt, mentions of self-harm, mentions of kidnapping and torture, some angst, happy ending. DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST IF IT WILL TRIGGER YOU. FANFICTION ISN’T WORTH YOUR MENTAL HEALTH. 

Your Pov

I’d never expected to make it this far. Working in the BAU had been a dream come true. That is, until it wasn’t. I loved the team, even Hotch, who sometimes made himself impossible to love. But the person I loved the most was Spencer Reid. His dorky outfits, and the way he brushed his brown hair from his golden sun drops of eyes. Brown didn’t begin to do Reid justice. He was like an autumn day, like leaves in a puddle, after a rainstorm. The way his lips quirked into a soft smile, usually directed at something stupid I had said. Those lips that I could’ve kissed a thousand times. But I never did. He was the first person I wrote my note to. I left it on his desk, in a small brown envelope, tinged with sadness, but sealed with finality. There was only so much one person could take.

The last case had almost killed me. working on a case where I looked so similar to the unsub’s usual type, y/h/c hair, y/e/c eyes, it was a recipe for disaster. But I thought I could help. Get on the inside, destroy the unsub from the inside, out. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

~ 2 weeks earlier ~

“Guys, it’s the only way. None of you look like his type, and it’s the only way we can stop him from hurting more people.” I said, leaning back from the table in the round room. It was a local case, meaning we were all in our usual office. A pleasant change from taking the jet, I’d admit. I could see Spencer almost visibly balk at my suggestion, and he was quick to try to shut me down. “Absolutely not, y/n. it isn’t safe.” He stated, almost pleading with the room to agree with him; but of course, everyone knew just as well as he did that it was the only way.

“I don’t like it, but I cannot see another way to handle this case.” Hotch had finally sighed, a frown briefly passing over his darkened features; before he’d agreed, and you had soon found yourself in a local bar, taking in the view, with a small microphone on your stomach, with a gps in it, so you could immediately get back up. The team had stayed back in the round room. Somehow Garcia had managed to find glasses with a microscopic camera in them, so they could see exactly what I was seeing. I knew who I was looking for. Mysterious, charming man, with the social skills to charm whatever lady he wanted, and I could say that I was looking good, thanks to the makeover provided by Emily, JJ and Pen. Morgan had wolf whistled the second I walked out, in a tight-fitting red dress, and my hair curled. Even Hotch and Rossi looked impressed. Reid however, refused to meet my eye, almost choking on his words as he wished me good luck. Typical Reid.

Soon, a tall man approached, with a drink in hand, and sat by my side at the bar. “You are quite possibly the most beautiful woman in here, what is your name?” he asked, pulling out the full charm. I made sure to gaze into his eyes, so the team could see his face, before replying, “Bea.” The team had agreed I go with a fake name. It wasn’t worth the extra confusion. We chatted for a while, and I had to admit he was charming, easy to see how he had seduced so many women. He offered a drink, and I took it, knowing I’d watched the bartender pour it myself. It was safe. Or so I had thought.

He took the time to introduce himself. “Daniel, my lady.” It would’ve brought a blush to my face, except I knew what he was, and it almost repulsed me, but I had to play into the act. Laying a hand on his arm and laughing at what he said seemed to do the trick, because soon he was asking if I’d like to get out of this flashy bar. I nodded, making sure to keep an eye on him, as I followed him to the car. I was nervous, but I knew the team were right with me. They could extract me as soon as I had arrived at the unsub, or Daniel’s, holding location.

I begin to feel very sleepy as I get into the car, almost tripping on the step, but soon I am seated, and I felt so out of myself, that I didn’t notice the car lock turning, leaving me alone, in his car, with a monster himself. Trying to force my eyes open, I try to make conversation with him, acting flirty, but mostly, I almost forget why I am here. I am so tired.

When I awake, I’m tied to the ceiling, hanging by my wrists, and I almost cry out in pain. My glasses are gone, and a blurry figure falls into my vision. “You thought you were clever, eh y/n? you thought I wouldn’t guess your little game? Well, now your friends back at the bureau get to see what I can do to you, and there’s no way they can find me now.” That was the last of it I heard, before blows from a blunt object start hitting my body, and I fall unconscious again.

~ Back at the Office ~

“Guys, we have a problem. y/n’s tracker is going off in a parking lot, but her camera isn’t working, and I have no sound, I don’t think its connectivity issues, but oh my god, I think something is wrong.” Penelope almost shouted as she ran into the bullring. The team looked up, and Hotch was first to stand. “What do you mean it isn’t working, where is she Garcia?” hotch frowned, before going to the board. “The last coordinates, what are they for?” Penelope was close to tears, “it’s just a carpark, I’ve sent the coordinates to your phones, please find her. Please.” She sobbed out, before running back to her office to keep checking for any signs of life.

Emily was furious. She almost lost her mind when she found out y/n had disappeared. “We should’ve sent someone with her. Where the Hell is she and what is he doing to her?” she fumed, as JJ just slumped down in her chair, and even Derek couldn’t form a sentence or something clever to say. Spencer however, nearly broke. Y/n was one of his favourite people. She always got him his morning coffee and lent him books he’d finish within about ten minutes of being given them. They were like twin flames, and he adored her. Of course, he couldn’t tell her that. He got up and walked away, over to the kitchen, biting his lip so hard almost drew blood. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel, he was just numb. She had to be okay. She had to be.

The team could see spencer spiralling, and Morgan and Rossi were soon on the way to y/n’s last coordinates, while the rest of the team gathered in the round room. “So, what do we know about this guy anyway?” JJ asked, pointing to the board, expecting Spencer to reply instantly, but he just whispered after a brief pause, “rape, torture, murder.” Those three words were killing him. Who knew what they were doing to her?

“Guys. GUYS. We have a feed, it’s coming from a proxy server so I can’t triangulate it right now, but its y/n. I’m sharing it to the board now.” Garcia piped down the phone, staying in her office to try and keep herself calm. And sure enough, there was y/n on the screen, hung from the ceiling, while the unsub looked into the camera. “You thought you were so clever, sending Agent y/n in to see me? well. Boy, do I have a show for you.” He smirked, before walking over to y/n and tilting her chin. “My, she is truly remarkable, I am going to enjoy this.” He laughed, taunting the camera. A call came in from Morgan and Rossi. “Are you seeing this video of y/n?” Morgan yelled down the phone. “It’s being sent to all our phones.” And sure enough, it was. All you could hear was Y/n refusing to cry, as the unsub cut into her with various knives, and soon it was too much for her to handle. Her screams filled the round room. Penelope was sobbing, and so was JJ. Emily was so angry; she almost threw her paper on the floor. Hotch just looked pale, and Spencer, he almost threw up.

“Garcia, triangulate it NOW.” Hotch ordered, and Penelope obliged, sobbing through her tears, before shouting out some coordinates. “Go get her guys. Please.” Before hanging up and sitting in her office, her heart breaking.

Reid was the first in the car. He was furious, but he was terrified. The camera feed had cut off almost at the same time Garcia had read out the coordinates. Who knew what they’d find. “Right, when we arrive, the priority is taking down Daniel. He could hurt the rest of us otherwise.” Hotch ordered as they pulled up.

Your POV

I didn’t know how long I had been in this room, all I could smell was blood, and sweat, and I was in agony. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, it was pain, it was torture, and he just wasn’t stopping. “Now, they think they know where we are y/n, so let’s give them something to see when they get here huh?” Daniel grinned, before continuing to cut and beat me. I didn’t think I could take much more. I heard vaguely the slamming of car doors, and I heard. “Daniel Carter. Put the knife down, and step away.” it was hotch. They had found me.

Then I felt the coldness of a blade against my neck. “If you shoot me, your precious agent dies too.” Daniel laughed coldly, pressing it almost deep enough to draw blood. I tried not to move; I was too exhausted to. The last thing I heard was a gunshot and felt the sharp graze of the knife on my neck, and Daniel drop to the floor next to me before I slipped back into a world of darkness.

Spencer’s Pov

Almost barging through the house, to the basement where y/n was, I could feel the tension in my head. She had to be safe. She is all I have. Pointing a gun at Daniel, I can see her hanging there, and it takes all my strength not to push that son of a bitch out of the way and get her down. I don’t know how much blood she’s lost, but judging by the floor, it seemed to be a lot. Finally, Emily manages to sneak behind, and shoot Daniel, and I push past them all, reaching for y/n, and fumbling with the restraints, before Hotch helps me gently remove her, and I carry her, bridal style, cradling her, shouting for medics. She opens those beautiful eyes and smiles at me, and I beg her to stay with me. she’s so cold.

~ Present Day~

Your Pov

I had made a full physical recovery, but mentally, it had destroyed me. I had nothing left to give. That’s why I had written the final note to Spencer. He had to know how I felt, before I was erased from this life, like the blood from a crime scene. Sitting on that lonely bridge, in the moonlight, I felt a sense of peace. This was really happening, I couldn’t fix my brain, but right now, I felt peaceful, calm. As if the last moments of my life were destined to be some calm ending to a tumultuous tale. I can hear owls in the distance, calling for their families, and I briefly recall the lack of my own family. Maybe it was just the way I was, maybe I was just unlovable, unfixable.

Spencer’s Pov

I was surprised to see a note on my desk, but I immediately unsealed it. Then froze. Y/N. she was going to hurt herself, commit suicide. There wasn’t time to call the team. I knew where she’d be. She thought I didn’t love her, and that she was going to be alone, she couldn’t heal herself from the wounds that that monster had inflicted on her. I ran for my car, driving well over the speed limit to the bridge, pulling up a few yards away, so as not to startle her into something impulsive, before beginning to walk toward her, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was something almost angelic in how she looked in the moonlight. “y/n. y/n, listen to me.”

Your Pov

There was a crunching on gravel, and as I look up, its Spencer. I cursed myself for choosing a bridge about which we had talked. He liked the architecture, the simple, almost British cobblestone bridge. I liked that it looked like something out of a fairy tale and thought it fitting that this would be the never after of mine. The moon bounces off his messy brown curls, and it almost makes me sigh. He never fails to look handsome, not even in the pale, watery light of the moon. “y/n. y/n, listen to me.” I heard him say, before he gently holds his hands up, walking closer. “You don’t have to do this.” He states, trying not to scare me, I note. “I do spence. I can’t do this alone.” I sob, shuffling closer to the edge. He panics, before breathing in, and walking to within touching distance. “I care about you, y/n, please, just listen to me.” but I can’t. I have to go now. I push forward, ready to fall into nothingness. But something, someone, is pulling me back. Spencer. He grips me tightly, falling to the path side and lays on the ground, clutching me close, I try to resist, but I can’t. I lie there with him, listening to both of our heavy breathing, and noticing those dragon puffs of air that only happen, when the air is crisp. He pulls us up to a sitting position and holds me by the waist.

“y/n. no. You’re not doing anything alone. I am here. I got your note, and I KNEW what you were going to do. Do you think I don’t love you? You couldn’t be more wrong.” He whispers against my hair, his lips pressed to my head gently. He reaches a slender hand to point at the moon. “You see that?” I nod, following his gaze, as he keeps an arm around me, holding me to him. “That is what we share. You are my moonlight. We are like the sun and the moon, constantly orbiting each other, sharing the same sky, somewhere. I love you; y/n. believe me. from the moment you walked into the office on your first day, almost tripping over my satchel and spilling your latte in my lap, I loved you.” He whispers more, stroking slow circles on my shoulder. I laugh at the memory. It hadn’t been one of my proudest moments. Even hotch had cracked a smile at it.

The breeze picked up, and spencer shivered, pulling me closer, and instinctively, I rest my head on his shoulder. “Spencer. I love you.” I mumbled, and he turned me to face him, smiling down at me with those golden eyes, almost hinted with silver in the moonlight. He’d never looked more angelic, and I told him that, his lips quirking into a smile, my favourite dimples on his cheeks. “I love you too y/n.” before softly, his lips brushed against mine, I kissed him back, shyly. This was what kissing spencer Reid was like? It was… magical. He gently increased the pressure of the kiss, cupping my chin with one of his hands, and I almost melted. I was hurting. And part of me didn’t think it would go away anytime soon, but I knew, and spencer knew, that he was never going to be far from me again.

The bridge had turned out to have a happily ever after, after all.

[masterwords]

I would love for you to concoct a situation where Derek accidentally calls Hotch 'babyboy' 😂

Well. This came through at a pretty interesting time, because I was trying to come up with something for @the-slumberparty writer warm-up to go with my prompts: for genre, the wheel of doom gave me comedy, and for the character archetype the random generator handed me perfectionist. So...some truly real insanity was born from those and this prompt. Uh, you're welcome? Unedited, written in less than an hour...it just is what it is. There were other ideas here that would have made it more complicated and fleshed out, like why Hotch is baking in the middle of the night but that's a story for another time. I tried to keep this around 1k words.

**

It isn't their fault.

They've been left unsupervised, and with unrestricted access to a number of expensive bottles of wine for far too much of the night to be held responsible.

At least, that's what they claim when Hotch sweeps through the room with flour dusted khakis and a little smudge right on the end of his nose. “What are you two doing?” he asks, exasperated. The music is far too loud for the time of night. It's been creeping higher and higher, maybe a game they're playing to see how long it takes him to notice. He's glad Jack is at a sleepover or this mild inconvenience would be a lot more pressing.

“You want to join us?” Penelope asks, sliding out from under her blanket to reach for her glass. Hotch shakes his head and turns the music down without asking.

“No, thank you. I'd just like you both to remember that we have neighbors, and it is 11pm.”

Derek huffs and stands, arching his back. He's more than ready for bed, almost a full glass of wine behind Penelope and ready to call it a night. He doesn't drink like this anymore. But his kitchen is a nightmare of epic proportions, a complete disaster, and he's not sure if Hotch is anywhere near finished.

“Can I help?” he asks, his hands coming to rest on Hotch's hips. HE can't keep his hands to himself. “Make this go faster?”

“You can't rush pastry.”

“You're such a nerd. C'mon Clooney, let's go for a walk...you too, babygirl.”

Penelope sighs and pushes into her blanket with a huff. “Nope. Not walking. You cannot bully me into exercising at this time of night, Derek Morgan. I don't care how handsome you are, you could tell me you were heading out naked and I still wouldn't go.”

“Fine, then let's just go into the yard. Clooney needs to go out and so do I.”

Hotch is glad when they decide that sitting in the backyard is preferable, the last thing he wants to do at this time of night is put on his shoes and jacket for a rescue mission when they get lost. Wine is not a reliable navigation aid.

“So,” Penelope says, leaning back against Derek on the deck. Clooney is snuffling around in the yard hunting for his tennis ball. He knows what's up. “If I'm your babygirl, does that make him your babyboy?”

Derek scrunches his nose in disgust. “What the hell are you talking about, woman?”

“It's just...you always give people pet names. Babygirl, prettyboy, princess...what do you call him?”

“I call him whatever the fuck I wanna call him. I don't know.”

“Call him babyboy. See what he does.”

“Are you trying to end my relationship, Penelope?”

She laughs and it startles Clooney. He twitches and backs out of the bushes, turning to peer at them through the dark yard. “Just do it. Please. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.”

He couldn't be held responsible, that he was absolutely sure of. That fuzzy come what may feeling that washes over you after your first glass of wine and only gets thicker and more comfortable as you continue pouring stopped him from being able to reason it out. He could pull it off, he convinced himself of that quickly...Derek's confidence knows no bounds.

Penelope's elbow in his rib at the sound of the backdoor sliding open seals his fate. “I'm finished. Would you mind letting me know how they turned out?” Both of them turn around to see Hotch with a small plate in his hands, presenting them each with what looks like a perfect little éclair.

“You...made those?” Penelope gushes, standing quickly to get a better look. Suddenly she's realizing that the pastries that have been appearing in the breakroom for years with no one to claim them...the pastries she'd thought had to have come from a professional bakery...might just be the product of her stoic boss and his insomnia. “Sir?”

“Please be honest,” he says, ignoring the way she's started to melt all over the place. “I have just enough time for one more batch if necessary.”

Derek snatches one off of the plate and pushes it into his mouth in one bite, smearing some of the cream and chocolate over his lips in his rush. He already knows they're perfect, he's been staring at the scale every morning waiting for those numbers to move...he's been Hotch's taste tester far too often. It's just that he can't help it. He can't say no.

“Mmmm...babyboy, you have outdone yourself...” he mutters drunk and close, his mouth full of chocolate and pastry cream. The look on Hotch's face, not even a little amused, tells him he's not as slick as he'd hoped. Even with a mouthful of éclair he can't pull off a nickname like that. He shouldn't have tried.

“Derek.”

“I'm sorry. Penelope told me I should...”

“Don't say anything else, please. You've had a lot to drink so I'm willing to give you a pass this time. If it happens again, there will be consequences.”

Derek doesn't like the sound of that. Not one bit. Penelope holds her hand over her mouth and giggles at how that sounds, ashamed at how quickly her mind jumped down a filthy rabbit hole. Hotch grunts and takes his plate back inside without waiting for their seal of approval – he knows the pastries are good. It's time to clean up and go to bed before he has to think about what Derek called him again.

“What do you think the consequences would be?” Penelope asks, gulping the last of her wine. Derek glares at her.

“Stop it, ya little busybody. I'm in deep now and it's your fault.”

“Oh come on, it was just for fun...he'll laugh about it later. It's not like you called him sweetcheeks. OH...YOU SHOULD...”

“You're cut off. No more wine for you. Get your little hiney inside before I lock you out.”

[themetaphorgirl]

obviously feel free not to answer this, but do any of the PSOLC gang have eating issues beyond allergies?

oh that’s a good question!!!

(trigger warnings for eating habits discussion, but not eating disorders)

We’ve all figured this out already, but Hotch is an Absolute Disaster. (That’s a whole upcoming story arc)

JJ is picky, but not because of any particular reason. She’s fourteen, her mom isn’t packing her lunches or cooking her dinners, she can choose whatever she wants, and she wants to eat junk food.

Emily had a completely different childhood from everyone else, and a lot of the foods she grew up eating she can’t find in the states, which secretly bums her out. It’s just not the same. She loves American junk food, but she misses things from the other countries she’s lived in.

Spencer avoids certain foods because he has sensory issues. If something is the wrong texture, he just can’t eat it. He also spent the first nine years of life in complete food instability, so he’s never eaten well, usually lunch at his school was the only time he was guaranteed to eat.

Alex forgets to eat. Just outright forgets. She works so hard and loses track of time. Making sure that Spencer is eating helps her remember to take care of herself (and James keeps an eye on her.)

The rest of the kids are pretty comfortable otherwise!

[careol]

imagining carol and hotch making an absolute mess of his office in the throes of passion and forgetting to clean up because they're old and they're tired and they wanna go home to bed now so they think they locked his office but actually they didnt and the team comes in early to see his office in a disaster and they get super concerned like omg did he have a mental break is he okay

then carol and hotch enter together and the pieces click immediately

[eyesontheskyline]

i look up to you as a writer so much, so any advice for 🌿?

Ohh thank you, that's such a lovely thing to say 🥺🥺

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

Unfortunately I don't have a good answer to this, because I write in intense hyperfocus mode the majority of the time. . . I guess what I've found helpful is keeping a document where I just write little bits of dialogue that come into my head, context-free, with no pressure to do anything with them. Sometimes just typing them out sparks a whole thing*, sometimes going back and reading them later does, and sometimes they don't go anywhere at all, but just the practice of having an idea and writing it down somewhere is good.

I can tell I'm really flagging when I can't hear the characters talking in my head anymore. . . I recently realised it's not thaaat common to be able to choose what the voices in your head sound like, but just in case you can too, I just watch basically any scene with the characters in it to get the rhythm of their voices back and that helps.

And if you're having a hard time sitting down and starting a thing, set a timer for 5-10 minutes, and write at least until the timer is up. You might want to keep going. And if not, you have permission to stop. It's not supposed to be torture.

Honestly I don't think pretty much anything about my process is healthy or desirable apart from these three things lol. I'm an absolute disaster of a person.

(*someone else's solid ground came from one of these - the first thing I wrote for it, in a big jumbled up doc of all kinds of unusable nonsense, was a description of Emily bursting into tears when Hotch walks in the door that ended up changing a lot because for someone so angsty I'm not naturally great at writing crying, then "Oh my god, what’s the matter with me?" "Probably all the trauma.")

[ddejavvu]

okay not to be h*rny on the tl but reader and hotch doin the deed in his office…i’ll leave

babe this isn't even an au i'm just horny <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

No matter how hard you gripped the desk in front of you, you couldn't steady yourself. Aaron's pace was merciless, hips slamming into yours with as much force as his frustration urged. Every little thing seemed to be pissing him off, and a snide comment you'd made about his disaster of an office had been his tipping point.

He'd spat out an, 'over the desk, now.' and before you'd had time to process his order, he'd done it for you. His hands had wrapped around your waist, spinning you around and shoving you up against his desk. A hand on the small of your back had forced your chest up against the wood, bending you in half as an indignant squeal had left your lips.

Your screams were muffled by the tie that he'd shoved into your mouth, the smooth silky fabric soaking up your saliva the more you let your mouth hang open. The rough, lewd sounds of skin-on-skin filled his office, and you prayed that no one bothered to glance up at it and wonder why the curtains were drawn at two in the afternoon.

You hadn't heard any footsteps, but the knock on the door let you know that someone was about to catch you. Aaron didn't bother slowing his thrusts, though, eyeing the locked door and shouting out a gruff, "What?"

"Briefing whenever you're ready," Was all you heard from J.J before she was gone, and Aaron's full attention was back on you. Evidently, the soft whimpers that escaped your stuffed mouth were doing the trick, though, as well as the way your breasts pressed flush against the desk. He only got rougher as he approached his orgasm, and you were absolutely certain you'd be bruised in the morning. But you didn't care, the blissful feeling of Aaron's cock twitching inside of you was all that was on your mind.

He came with a deep groan, the sound only twisting your tummy up into tighter knots than it was already in. He barely let himself finish, rushing to tuck himself back into his pants and readjust his suit.

"I'll be back," He spat, already out the door before you could even stand up, much less readjust your panties so that his cum stopped dripping down your thigh.

You realized his mistake, yanking his tie out of your mouth and chasing after him, but you weren't able to make it before he was already in the conference room.

Several pairs of eyes stared up at you, then darted to the damp tie in your hands, then to Aaron's bare neck. Everyone was silent for a split second, and then no one was.

[panevanbuckley]

hello! do you have, mayhaps, any hotchreid fic recs? 👀

ahh okay I am so sorry it's taken so long for me to answer this but I still had a few unread fics I knew I would wanna include in this list (that being said, there's still so many fics i haven't read yet!). I hope you enjoy these anyway 🥰

I also did a hotchreid fic rec list in december so please go check these fics out too!!

Out of the bag by akitsuko

Reid gives up on undressing, and collapses face down on his own bed, passing into a drunken unconsciousness within a matter of seconds. 

Under the influence of alcohol, Reid reveals something about his personal life. Now, Derek needs to know - is Reid really in a secret marriage?

very cute! i love secretly married hotchreid with all of my heart + protective!hotch is top tier hotch

of planes and sweatshirts by word_processing

The team gets a case in the middle of the night and they have to meet on the plane. Spencer spent the night at Aaron's and got dressed in the dark. It wasn't until he got on the plane that he realize he'd made the wrong clothing choice.

the entire idea of this is perfection. also clothes sharing will always be a superior trope don't fight me on this

Following a Bright Shiny Thing by travelinthedark

Wherein Reid feels like 6th grade girl, the girls squee from time to time, and there are little blue drinks.

cute, mutual pining. awkward flirting. team as a family. what's not to love?!

Roommates by Tifer14

When Spencer Reid finds out his boss is living at the Holiday Inn, he offers him a place to stay. He didn't know it would be a long term thing.

okay this fic is so cute and funny and hotch lets out his chaotic side that i strongly believe he has when he's off work. also the old married coupleness radiating off of hotch and reid is perfection

Catalyst by Dhae

Jack has a secret and he tells Reid. How will Reid handle said secret? And how will it impact Hotch's relationship with his girlfriend?

i don't dislike beth but for purposes of this fic i do because the bon between jack and reid is so cute and this whole fic is adorable!

Let the Children Lose It by KiljoyTrout

Hotch: Stuck in a meeting with Strauss.

Jack: Waiting to be picked up at school.

Prentiss: Waiting for Reid to get over his crush on his boss.

Spencer: Done with everyone’s bullshit.

this fic is soooo cute and funny and uGH- if you haven't read it ready what are you doing reading my thoughts on it?? click the link!

Dare to Know by TobiasHankel

Hotch moves in with Spencer and finds out a lot about the young man, including who he has a crush on.

Prompt: Person A finds out more about person B since moving in with them than they ever had through years of working together/friendship.

more hotchreid roommates!! so cute! spence does yoga and hotch is madly in love with him. precious babies

Technologically Challenged by EloquentDossier

Dr. Spencer Reid is the new AP Language teacher at Finn Bailey Institute, and he is absolutely terrible with nearly every piece of technology in his classroom, as well as the ridiculous online systems the school likes to use.

Dr. Aaron Hotchner is the ridiculously handsome AP US History teacher whose classroom is across the hall, and on the first day of school, he offers to help Spencer if the younger man ever needs anything.

And Spencer finds himself taking Aaron up on that offer far more often than he'd like to admit.

i love i love i love this fic!! i didn't even know i needed a teachers au hotchreid fic until i read this and now i just need more!

Don't Say Ass by PseudoName (Sambender)

Jack gets sick at a friend’s house while his dad is out of town. Spencer is called to help despite his best wishes. It's awful until it's not.

AKA

Jack Hotchner is a little shit with good intentions and the adults are disasters.

teenage jack is honestly hilarious and dad hotch comes out in full here in the softest sort of way 🥺 also dad reid even though it's pre-relationship. basically hotch and reid are married already and jack is their chaotic son

Shall we talk? by Anastasia_Dumarque

The story of Dr. Spencer Reid being interviewed for the role of the profiler for the FBI’s Behaviour Analysis Unit.

okay the idea behind this fic? perfection. like literally i love it, and i love how it was written too

Talking in My Sleep (Confessing All My Secrets) by GarlicBreadforJuliusCaesar

“FBI field protocols allow for a childcare worker to accompany the team on interstate travel. They keep the children out of the way, away from crime scenes, but close by enough that they can still see Daddy when they want to.”

It sounded like the perfect solution. Gideon even agreed to find the paperwork for him. There was just one problem.

“How am I going to find a nanny on short notice?”

---

AKA How Spencer Reid became Jack Hotchner's Nanny

ahh so i just read this fic and if you know me you probably know i'm a sucker for reid with kids - especially nanny!reid fics because i just think that's a cute idea. throw in baby jack and i am a goner. you must read this wonderful fic if you haven't already

this is only a handful of the hocthreid fics I've bookmarked, if you dare to explore those you can find them through my ao3 page ✨️

[sapphicellegreenaway]

once more to see you

hockey player!aaron hotchner x figure skater!fem!reader

switching training facilities before your most important season should have been a complete disaster, but you manage to find love along the way

word count: 15.0k

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, moderate description of injury, needles

a/n: hi! this is the first and only time i'll publish anything in relation to the men of the bau because i wanted this story to live and exist in the world in an iteration that felt was authentic and how i originally pictured it. anyways enjoy nhl superstar aaron hotchner (yes he plays for philly bc they're my dumb little team)

⭒⭑⭒

Aaron swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility. At the very least he’s going to give them a piece of his mind.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Aaron just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They destroy the ice with their toe picks and leave it in terrible shape, which makes it hard to properly execute plays that could be the difference between a win or a loss in a game. It frustrates him because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence on the rink owned by the organization that has him on payroll.

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Aaron had those experiences as well, it’s clear he never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Derek finally says something.

“Christ Hotch, relax. It’s only for another month until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they please. The grief Aaron catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place.

⭑

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs than you’ve had at another rink. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championship roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more.

US Figure Skating has taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty-one you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you could get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit was kind to you throughout the summer and fall, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. With its conclusion all your attention is on landing higher on the podium at nationals.

⭑

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain.

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to show frustration, leaving the boards with an impression of your pick, but you peel away from them anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by, gaining speed in hopes of actually executing the element correctly. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your centre of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground and the entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Everything throbs, and it takes an inner strength you didn’t know you possessed to not take your skates off and throw them in a garbage can. You’re tired of the regression that’s plagued you since coming to train here. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and your head hangs low as you skate over to the woman who looks just as defeated as you feel.

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut — nothing is working. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is just about up. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better, but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at.

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you notice it’s the hockey team that the building is named after. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks to be your age is sending you daggers. His anger confuses you, and somehow fuels your own because there’s no reason for him to look at you like that.

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. It will do you good to work through the things you’re feeling with someone who can actually provide strategies for coping. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is in just over a month, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck.

A couple of hours pass with the pair of you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it to make money.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness.

⭑

Aaron doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong about the situation until Gideon suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault.

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” the captain says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. Hopefully taking the moment to talk to the youngster will help him understand that other people are allowed to struggle. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes, we need to be at the top of our games.”

He gives Aaron a pointed look and taps the raven-haired winger with the nearest stick “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? That things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Aaron didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you he’s going to apologize.

⭑

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your endurance — too often have you been out of breath at the end of a performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals.

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed the time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic — every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your nerves settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things.

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree, a small smile breaking out on your face. “You know, I hate it here slightly less than two weeks ago. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting.

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Aaron sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of music he presumes belongs to you from inside the pad. He had begun to think you were never going to reappear at the rink, but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Aaron immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s slightly nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology? No one has ever rebuffed him in the manner you had, not even opponents on rival teams, and he hates the idea of someone smearing his name in the media.

Aaron knew you were good. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, he knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically — your scores reflect those facts. Regardless, Aaron is surprised how much better you seem when he’s watching you from the corner of the rink.

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than a hundred percent. The music drives you forward in a way he’s never seen before — you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed Aaron finds himself holding his breath. From watching footage of this program on the plane home, he knows you’re about to attempt the hardest element in it. The quadruple salchow is one of the most difficult jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season from comments online. You’re completing the jump before Aaron even realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program with a reserved awe and intrigue. Top-quality athletes recognize greatness, and he now understands everything the team has been trying to tell him for months — he just had to see it to believe it.

When the music stops and you float back to reality from wherever it is you go in the moment to take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else — the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances of him being here to make another snide comment are hight, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that doesn't have glass so you can hear him over the sound of other people’s blades scraping the ice.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water.

Aaron’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but does his best to recover quickly. After all, he’s more than deserving of it. “I wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t very, uh, professional of me. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles, reminding you he’s human and trying to figure out life the same way you are. “And you’re really talented.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, not quite ready to drop the frosty tone your voice holds, “But it’s fine. I had just been kicked off the ice for a week when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Aaron!” he responds. “Aaron Hotchner.”

⭑

A sort of truce befalls the two of you. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest because preparing for nationals is the only thing that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Aaron is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. It’s becoming clear that the lives you lead are more similar than he ever could have imagined.

Despite there being no reason to do so, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Reid and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after their practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Aaron swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, no one believes him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Derek certainly tries on numerous occasions. It’s Aaron’s steely resolve and deadpan expressions that normally save him from public ridicule, but when the guys aren’t looking he sneaks you a small smile to signal he isn’t upset with anything you’ve done. What he doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. The official NHL app now sits on your homescreen, nestled between various social media platforms.

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program.

“It’s really nothing, Hotch is just curious about the sport and I’m the most available one for him to latch onto,” you sigh, hoping she doesn’t question you further. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on singles and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself when climbing up the ranks, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their performance. After a few more failed attempts you cut your losses and head off the ice, more than exhausted.

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the locker room door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Aaron, and he’s holding an ice pack.

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you.

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before he speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. “Didn’t realize a hot shot like you would actually pay attention to what I do.”

Aaron smirks and shrugs with a nonchalance that seems a little too forced. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by his understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Aaron notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything.

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Aaron doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Aaron,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home.

⭑

Something shifts between you after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘Hotch’ and nothing else, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. You’re sure there have been times where he wanted to go home but stayed seated on the cold concrete bleachers to offer his support on a hard day. Once Aaron’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days.

Aaron doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. He understands, he really does, but sometimes he worries you don’t care enough about him to actually put work into the friendship. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside yours. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice.

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Aaron brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

He’s been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but Aaron’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs.

“You’re fucking joking. Aaron, you could be somewhere warm and enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Aaron snorts.

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Hotchner,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do your own. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Aaron yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Aaron’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly.

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you know that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off — you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Aaron to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight.

“What’s up?” Aaron’s tone is relaxed and casual, the complete opposite of how you currently feel. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and make a reply impossible to choke out. His tone changes instantly when he realizes your distress and all activity on the other line halts — the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. I don’t think I can do this. Why did I ever think I could do this?” Now across the parking lot and faced with the task of driving home, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat.

“Of course you can, you’re the only person I know that could do it,” he reassures, “I’ll meet you at your place,” The light jangle of keys lets you know Aaron isn’t going to take no for an answer. You don’t fight him, not having the energy to defend your normal pre-competition ritual of radio silence with the rest of the world, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment.

Aaron must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Aaron ignores them and hikes your bag higher on his shoulder. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize he stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Aaron slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

After unlocking your door and settling, both of you flop onto the couch, chopsticks in hand. There’s a blanket of silence over the room as you eat, but it’s far from awkward. Countless hours have been spent just like this, both of you caught up in your own heads and thinking about your futures in sport for there to be discomfort at the lack of conversation. Aaron’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let him pull you into his side and turn the television on to some basketball game.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the commercials switch on at the end of the first half.

Aaron sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “It’s what friends are for.”

Slowly you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Aaron listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he holds you tighter, making sure you’re comfortable and providing a space to let it all out . Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Aaron’s words make it easier to believe in yourself.

The two of you spend the night on the couch, end up falling asleep, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off in the morning. You can’t stay in the little bubble Aaron created for the two of you — the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over the fantasy you wish never had to dissipate. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking was the least of your worries, but the gesture is sweet and you aren’t quite ready to say goodbye yet. When you reach the airport entrance, Aaron pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since the meteoric rise to friendship

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Aaron jokes, handing you your suitcase.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Aaron a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you don’t want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting.

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble.

He wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously, with only the gleam in his eyes letting you know you aren’t getting scolded. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.”

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport, suitcase trailing behind you. Aaron stays parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Aaron’s classic rock playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole way.

⭑

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing — Aaron’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute — he watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just knowing Aaron’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed.

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Aaron. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to him frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to.

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Aaron asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home.

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate.

Aaron hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” He confirms you do in fact skate after 11:30, and conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Aaron recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year.

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before catching a taxi to the rink in an effort to not be late. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters.

The time between practice and your warmup is spent pacing the halls of the dressing and equipment rooms, doing your best to keep your mind off the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Some of the other girls send you odd looks as you pass, hair wild and running shoes untied, but you know you’re doing what you have to. After what feels like decades you finish getting ready and go to find Brenda and go over any last minute tweaks. You find her walking down the hall towards you, holding your phone that’s already lit up with an answered call.

“It’s Hotchner,” Brenda says as she tosses you the device.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Aaron laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask, slightly started.

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Aaron stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling that’s taken root in your bones. The television cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Aaron about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping.

⭑

Aaron tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat.

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Aaron is beyond excited to be in Salt Lake City. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches.

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and thick gloves on your hands. Aaron notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Aaron sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors, doing poorly to hide the nerves he has on your behalf.

⭑

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. No one is in the hall with you but it feels too small, as if the walls are in danger of closing in. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates.

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s show time.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score.

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, which won’t do you any favours with analytics people, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had anticipated. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.” She means well, but you aren’t convinced.

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small screen of your phone while you get undressed, too upset to continue being rinkside like some of the other competitors. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. The playlist Aaron made you blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be, and it’s working as a substitute for the fact he isn’t here with you. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy, there's a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended.

The door cracks open slightly, and the head of your best friend peeks out from around it. “Fancy seeing you here,” Aaron says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his open arms. Aaron’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him.

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated to see him, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah and not with the family and friends he doesn’t get to see during the season.

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” There’s a gleam in his eye that hints at something more but you’re just so happy to see him you don’t care about his intentions. Aaron’s smile matches yours as you shake your head.

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Aaron into answering all your questions about how he got here you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you, which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Aaron.

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Aaron, who lets you direct him out of the arena, leaving a gawking crowd behind, and into the cab he called while you were wrapping up.

It’s a silent ride, as Aaron knows you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. There’s no pressing you to talk during the elevator or as you struggle to unlock the door with the temperamental room key you were given. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair.

“Nowhere yet,” Aaron says, looking up from the article on his phone. “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Aaron smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos he bought and going down a conspiracy theory wormhole on YouTube. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You earnestly tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap like an idiot every time you landed a jump.

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright, so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Aaron pokes fun at your beanie and thick scarf, and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Aaron’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip.

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Aaron pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps in a playful manner that has a smile creep onto your face before you could help it.

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey.

⭑

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel as comfortable as possible for tomorrow given the circumstances. Aaron executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel, you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Aaron pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily for the both of you.

You wake before both your alarm and Aaron. It takes you a second to get your bearings and realize you’re pinned against his body, though it’s pleasant and you truly don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Aaron for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake.

“Hotch,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Aaron, come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

He listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with Aaron still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot he wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye.

“Will I see you after practice?” Aaron asks, voice still gruff with sleep.

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Aaron nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Aaron to keep you company, but you do the best you can to push the thoughts of him out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, asking polite questions about what the two of you got up to last night before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of skating to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Aaron.

Don’t want to disrupt your incredibly rigid pre-comp routine (I’m mostly joking), but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you.

Included is a link to a Spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing he regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before.

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice.

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Aaron thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves.

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates.

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited, and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet if things go poorly.

Aaron is standing at the edge of the boards open to spectators during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time in between your skate really getting into the zone. So much hinges on the four minutes of ice time you have left.

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you jog lightly in place to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your shaking hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd.

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel every beat of the music, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Aaron’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with him. The music fades from your consciousness slightly, but you’re still transporting the crowd to the fantasy world you created. As you strike your final pose the music fades out completely and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same dramatic manner you chirp Aaron for doing when he celebrates goals.

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your gear in the dressing room. You know Aaron is the one who threw the Gritty toy — no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team outside of the training facility. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey, Aaron replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features.

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly, heartbeat so pronounced in your ears you have to strain to hear. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda.

“Come on,” she laughs, “Aaron’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of his name you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Hotch!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point.

“Hey, golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Aaron’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching the final skater increases your anxiety tenfold — she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase.

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash on the small screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda evenletting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Aaron, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him.

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Aaron’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Aaron finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months.

“You’re a national champion,” Aaron mumbles, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received.

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper back, so much love in your voice it’s threatening to spill over.

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Aaron. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen — you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about.

⭑

“A, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Aaron’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home, but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list.

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left, Aaron!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy — just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Aaron’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for US Figure Skating to announce who they’re sending to the world championship.

“How’s practice been lately?” Aaron asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were immediately shuttled into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Aaron’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them.

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Derek told at practice that morning, and you giggle as it gets recounted with flailing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Aaron play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights.

Aaron stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a few bumps in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whatever it may be. Aaron’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop.

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Aaron corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with him into downtown.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.”

Aaron’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor have any announcements been made on social media. In response to the radio silence you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience and necessity to be early to imaginary deadlines he set himself..

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Aaron’s ridiculous Axl Rose impression. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated — most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Aaron included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time he won’t be around.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Aaron lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door about his proclivity for cheesy gestures.

Aaron greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles that the onlooking girls understand all too well.

There was no reason for you to be nervous — everyone is incredibly kind without their significant others around, just as Aaron promised. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon as you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you and Aaron got together. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years.

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and training your eyes to follow Aaron around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t heard anything about assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement until this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut.

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?”

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Aaron to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall.

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, keeping it relatively chaste in fear of getting chirped by his teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Aaron sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as if the two of you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?”

Having Aaron be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Aaron presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is.

“That’s my girl.”

⭑

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer to the rink know you’re a world class athlete.

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again, kiddo.”

You do try again — fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel is getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Aaron had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly.

“Hotchner!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Aaron smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your general direction.

“I’m wounded, babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I can call you whatever I want?” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it because investigating him never leads to anything good.

Aaron watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Aaron to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted, and since you’ve gotten together Aaron has become rather fond of them as well.

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March, and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Aaron. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much.

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal.

Aaron laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror.

It’s almost a week later when you see him again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team not wanting to push you too hard before taking off for Europe. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence — some of them no doubt want a comment from you about worlds and how you expect the competition to go. Aaron has no idea you’re even there until long after practice ends, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey there, all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger.

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Aaron obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates.

“Fuck off,” he yells at Morgan and Reid, the two of them hollering so loud people can probably hear them all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, “and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lay on the couch.

“The chariot awaits, m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city.

Aaron’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment — instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Aaron’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Aaron is playing you can’t help but smile.

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Aaron figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when he pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift.

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Aaron’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible.

“What was that, sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable.

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Aaron flawlessly — like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Aaron has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities.

For the first time in this final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off.

⭑

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition — off ice training, multiple practices a day, and press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Aaron, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Aaron could be by your side like he was at nationals.

The morning air is brisk as you exit the rental car US Figure Skating provided and head for the arena doors. It’s quiet while you get ready for the first of the day’s three practice sessions, but as soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is — your skates feel the way they should and you didn’t forget any gear at the hotel. It has to be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you’ve almost convinced yourself everything will be fine.

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you — all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep.

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off from a regular fall until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front.

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain, which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly.

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay.

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. A string of tears fall from your eyes as the stretcher you occupy is wheeled into the building, mostly for lost opportunities but also because your nerve receptors are beginning to recognize pain again. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep.

There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel once you’ve been cleared.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Aaron. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Hotchner. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset he looks. “I’ll be fine A, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aaron. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some medication before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring Aaron for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself.

Brenda holds you that night as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. People steer clear of an angry-looking girl in a wheelchair, and the two of you get through customs incredibly fast. Aaron’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot, and most likely will be for a while.

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down.

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Aaron drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Flyers management is allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can exist on your own for a few hours. Aaron’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower, and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so he keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Aaron’s help.

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Aaron sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Aaron’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there.

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Aaron reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater.

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Aaron smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

⭑

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Aaron keeps you going. He insists you do your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain.

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Aaron pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength.

“Ready to do this thing?” Aaron asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You nod enthusiastically and let him lead you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Aaron steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Aaron joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again.

“I do believe you promised me a few laps, lover boy,” you wink.

“Yes ma’am,” Aaron giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Aaron.

⭒⭑⭒

consider reblogging and giving feedback if you enjoyed! it helps a lot x

[spencer-reids-adventures]

Heyo! I live your writing and I also have ADHD as well so I know what it's like to struggle creatively. Could I have Spencer trying not to have a meltdown in front of his team, but does when one of them do something like move his files or something.

cw meltdown, sensory overload, self harm

Everything is Bad and Terrible and Awful, but Spencer thinks he might be able to get through this moment if he can just sit still and try to tune out everything that's going on around him.

Of course, that's impossible. His senses are assaulted by the sounds of shuffling papers, the smell of coffee, the buzz of side conversations and the air conditioner that's on a little too high. Spencer feels like he's going to drown in all of it, but he's determined to get past this without having to leave his desk. He won't be a burden on his coworkers. He won't let them think he can't work.

He's counting his breaths and trying to relax when there's a loud thud and Emily drops a stack of files on the corner of his desk.

"What's this?" Spencer asks, cringing at how strained his voice sounds.

"I borrowed them to look for something," Emily tells him. "I'm done with them now."

He glances at the files, eyes running down the labels, and realizes that she's just put a pile of finished files in the same spot as his unfinished ones.

Don't panic, he thinks. You can fix this. It's fine.

But it's not fine. The files don't belong there, and now they're mingling with the others, and they're going to all get confused and his piles will be meaningless, and all the work he just did will be for nothing, and the files will be ruined because everything will be out of order, and someone will figure it out and Spencer will get in trouble, maybe even fired, all because these papers are in the wrong spot--

"Reid? What's wrong?"

Spencer realizes how quickly he's breathing and he can tell he's about to fall apart, so he quickly stands up to make his way out of the bullpen. Emily reaches out for his arm and he yanks it away like he's been electrocuted, eyes wide and panicked, and he feels trapped.

He goes for the closest safe space, which happens to be underneath his desk, and buries his face in his arms as he starts to sob.

He cries for a long time, until his head starts to clear, until he realizes that this meltdown is likely on display for the entire bureau to see, and then he's hit with overwhelming feeling of self-hatred. He shoves his fist in his mouth and bites down hard, then slams it down on his thigh - anything to get rid of what he's currently feeling. He's about to pound on his leg again when he feels someone grab both his hands, and his eyes fly open.

"You're okay, Spencer," Hotch tells him, sitting on the floor across from him with both of Spencer's hands in his own. "You're okay, but I can't let you hurt yourself. All right?"

Spencer struggles to see around him, to see who all is witnessing this absolute disaster.

"It's just you and me," Hotch assures him. "Emily came and got me, and I sent everyone out to take a break for a little while. It's just you and me here right now."

Spencer is mortified at the idea of the entire bullpen clearing out because of him, but he supposes it's still better than them seeing him like this. He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut as though he could just will all of this away.

"How can I help you?" Hotch asks. "Is there anything you need?"

Spencer doesn't even bother trying to speak; he already knows he won't be able to. Instead, he shakes his head and takes his hand back to sign, "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Hotch says. Spencer makes a motion like a pen writing in the air and Hotch understands, grabbing a notepad and pen from Spencer's desk and handing them to him.

The files on the corner of my desk are out of order. Emily set some finished ones on top of the unfinished ones.

He hands the paper to Hotch and waits while he reads, twisting his hands together until Hotch takes them back in his own. Spencer is desperate to punch or scratch, but he can't. He feels like his whole body is on fire. Like nothing will ever make this uncomfortable feeling go away.

"We can fix the files when you're feeling better," Hotch promises. "I'm sure you'll be able to remember where you left off on the unfinished files, and we can figure it out from there, right?"

Oh. Of course there's a simple solution. Why couldn't Spencer think of that?

"If I go get you some water, will you be able to refrain from harming yourself?" Hotch asks. Spencer shakes his head, seeing no point in lying.

"Okay," Hotch says easily, and they continue to sit. Hotch tells him about a cold case he's been working on, and his words relax Spencer, get him out of his own head for a little while. Finally, he realizes that he actually is quite thirsty, and he signs, "Water please."

"You promise you'll be safe?" Hotch asks, and this time Spencer nods.

When Hotch returns with the water, Spencer sips it slowly. Somehow he knows that with Hotch here to look out for him, everything will be okay.

[bau-hugs]

Autistic Spencer Reid headcanons because these are the only thought I have in my head:

Spacial awareness is just not Reid’s strong suit. He’s constantly running into walls, turning a corner too quickly and banging his elbow, tripping on random things — it’s kind of a disaster (and the team is always concerned because he’s got hella bruises and Reid doesn’t know how to explain to them that he forgets walls exist)

He definitely sticks random things in his mouth without noticing as a way of stimming which completely bypasses his whole germaphobe thing and he hates it. This consequently means that he has also accidentally swallowed things he definitely shouldn’t have. This includes a bouncy ball he got from a gumball machine—Emily gave him a quarter for the machine as a joke but Spencer took her seriously—, an eraser, and a penny (lord knows where that’s been). Derek eventually gives up and for his birthday gets Spencer actual fidget toys for him to chew on so that he’ll stop sticking germ infested, easy-to-swallow things in his mouth.

Garcia occasionally wears fun little rings that match her outfits and Spencer somehow manages to always find a way to steal them off of her hands and use them as fidget toys (Penelope makes it her life’s mission to find out how he does it) . Does he get the occasional weird look from a police officer for wearing eccentric rings on his hands? Yes. Does he notice these weird looks? Not even a little bit

Spencer hates breaking the rules — no matter how stupid and arbitrary they are — and subsequently also hates seeing other people break rules which makes people see him as uptight and a goody two-shoes (they’re not wrong). But what people don’t understand is that just because he doesn’t like breaking the rules doesn’t mean he won’t (listen, he would do anything for his team)

Elle used to let Spencer braid her hair in the jet when they had downtime so that he would have something to do with his hands and could get his mind off the case for a little while. Once she leaves, JJ wordlessly takes over that role for him which Spencer endlessly appreciates—although he doesn’t know how to verbalize this appreciation and instead attempts to pay her back by buying her coffee for the rest of time

Rossi and Reid bond over being picky eaters (Rossi being picky because he expects five star food for every meal and Reid because of sensory issues). However, Rossi is absolutely horrified at the things Spencer will eat—among some of these foods are cheetos (specifically puffs), fruit loops, plain Kraft american cheese slices, and blueberry poptarts. Once a week Rossi invites Reid over for dinner—barring any work complications—and tries to make a meal that Spencer will actually eat but still has some semblance of nutritional value.

Hotch has gifted Reid a tie for Christmas every year since he joined the BAU (partly to probe him into dressing more businesslike but that subtle nudge has gone over his head every year to date). The one year he didn’t give Spencer a tie—and instead got him a heartfelt gift that he put actual thought into—Reid had a meltdown so bad that Hotch went and bought him a tie from the only open store on Christmas

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Sticks & Stones - Chapter 11 [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Taglist is closed.

A/N - here is chapter 11! Lyrics are from Believe It or Not by Nickleback, which you can listen to here.

/// indicates change of perspective. Starts in Spencer’s POV.

This fic is a slow burn. Strangers to friends to very eventual lovers. Smut to come in later chapters but you will have to bear with it!

CW: mentions of Maeve, angst, graveyards, lap grinding, making out, ejaculation.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

WC: 3.4K

—————————————————————

Chapter 11 - Believe It or Not

Believe it or not, everyone has things that they hide.

Believe it or not, everyone keeps most things inside.

Believe it or not, everyone believes in something above.

Believe it or not, everyone needs to feel loved.

I don’t think I’d ever been so grateful for my eidetic memory as when Y/N kissed me. It enabled me to memorise exactly how her lips felt against mine in that brief moment. Honestly, I’m sure I wouldn’t have forgotten it if I didn’t have an eidetic memory.

We got called away on a case the following day and I probably had a stupid smile on my face the whole time.

It wasn’t just because she’d kissed me, it was what that represented. The fact that she’d been able to make the first move showed how much she’d grown in the few months I’d known her.

It meant she was getting her confidence back. She wasn’t shying away from the things she wanted. And the fact that I was one of the things she wanted drove me absolutely wild.

Stella’s words kept interrupting my happiness however. Could she have been right? Was I really developing feelings for Y/N?

I needed to talk to someone about it, and the first person my mind went to was Alex.

As soon as we arrived back in state I called her and she fit me in for coffee between classes.

I met her on campus, already with a drink in hand for her and we walked the grounds together.

“So,” she asked me as we strolled. “You seemed to want to see me pretty urgently. Does this have anything to do with Y/N?” I saw her smirk in my peripheral vision. She was always so good at reading me.

“Yes.” I bought myself a little time sipping my coffee. “I’m scared Alex. Petrified really.”

“How so?” She questioned.

“I think I have feelings for her. But I haven’t had feelings for someone in such a long time.”

She turned to look at me as we walked but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

“She’s wonderful. You could do a lot worse Spencer.”

“I know. But…I didn’t think I could feel these things anymore. I’m so confused Alex. I think I’m falling in love with her but I just don’t know how that can be possible.”

Alex wrapped her hand around my wrist and pulled me to a stop so I was forced to look at her. She was giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Isn’t it a good thing Spencer? After Maeve you never thought you’d be able to feel again.”

“Maeve was the only person I’ve ever been in love with and look how that ended.” I sighed, feeling tears in my eyes.

“Perhaps you’ve been confessed. What a lovely thought.” She grinned, making me roll her eyes.

“Trust you to make a Sword of Truth reference.”

“Spencer,” she looked hurt for me. “Not all love has to end in disaster. Take James and I or JJ and Will.”

“What about Hotch and Hayley? Or Rossi and any one of his wives.”

“You’re focusing on the negative Spencer. They only make up a small percentage of the population.”

“That’s not true. Statistically forty to fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. And it’s even higher for subsequent marriages.”

Alex gave me a smile with a shake of her head.

“No one said anything about marriage Spencer. Just let yourself feel something. It really isn’t the worst thing in the world.” She sipped her coffee with a sad smile before checking her watch. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got another class soon.”

“It’s ok.” I smiled at her. “Thank you for this. It helped…I think.”

“Just stop thinking so much all the time ok? You never know what might happen if you just shut that giant brain off every once in a while.” She gave my arm a squeeze by way of saying goodbye and I watched her walk away.

She was right and I knew she was. Once I was alone I had a sudden overwhelming urge to see Y/N. I checked my watch.

I knew exactly where to find her.

///

The bell above the door chimed as I stood behind the counter cashing up. I didn’t look up from what I was doing.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed.” I spoke, trying not to forget the figures in my head.

I heard footsteps coming closer and by the time I looked up, my company was right in front of the till.

“Seeker!” I smiled at him, coming around to his side of the counter. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He didn’t speak, he was just staring at me with a wide grin on his face.

“Uhm…is everything ok?” I frowned a little, feeling slightly self conscious.

He still didn’t speak, instead he moved quickly, placing his hands on my face and then he pressed his lips to mine.

I gasped in shock and as my lips parted, his tongue dove into my mouth.

He pushed me back into the nearest wall, hungrily exploring my mouth and I let him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and he pushed his body against mine as he deepened the kiss.

To say it took my breath away would be an understatement. I felt like I was floating, my whole body had given itself over to him. And I knew I could trust him with it.

He caressed my face as he kissed me, grinding his hips into mine and I could feel he was erect. It made me wet in an instant.

His hands moved to my hips, clutching desperately at me and pulling me closer even though that seemed impossible.

When the kiss broke we both gasped for air to refill our lungs. But he didn’t go far. He rested his forehead on mine and moved his hands back to my face.

“Good god Dahlia, what are you doing to me?” He let out a breathy laugh. “Something about you is making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time and honestly I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what any of this means. It’s too soon to call it love but it is certainly more than lust, I know that much.”

“I-I…” I stuttered, blown away by that kiss.

I had dreamed of those lips on mine for what felt like a lifetime and now I had experienced it, my mind was a complete haze.

Spencer smiled at me and caressed my cheek with his fingers.

“Say something, please.” he chuckled a little.

“I...I...t-thank you.” Thank you? That was the best I could come up with?

He kissed me again briefly.

“You are very welcome.” he smiled so brightly at me, as though I had done him a favour when in reality it was the other way around.

We stayed like this for a while, our foreheads pressed together and his hand on my cheek. We were wrapped up in our little world where it was just the two of us and everything was perfect.

Spencer had that effect on me. He had a way of making me forget all the terrible things I had been through. Spencer never looked at me like I was a victim, he never treated me like I was broken. When I was with Spencer, I felt as close to normal as I’d ever felt.

And it was a feeling I never wanted to let go of.

“Are you done here?” He asked me softly after a while of silence.

“Yeah I think so.”

“Let’s go home shall we?”

I simply nodded.

Home sounded perfect.

///

It had been a couple of weeks since our kiss and we were yet to repeat it. I wanted to, god how I wanted to, but it was important that she be the one to instigate it this time.

I’d been scared what her reaction would be at my pouncing on her in such a way. I’d always wanted everything to be on her terms.

But I just couldn’t help myself. She had no idea what she did to me simply by existing.

I needed to give her a chance to process what had happened and the next move was up to her. It was like a game of chess and it was killing me to see where she might go from here.

But the kiss was enough to keep me going for now. I dreamt of it most nights, usually waking up with a throbbing between my legs.

I could be patient. I just hoped I didn’t have to be patient too long.

The last week or so however, the kiss had been the furthest thing from my mind. The date had snuck up on me but once I realised it was all I could think about.

I had been snappy towards everyone the last few days, Y/N included. The team knew why I was acting this way but she didn’t. I should have explained it to her but I couldn’t bring myself to speak about it out loud.

My mood didn’t deter her though. We still spent all our free time together but she knew something was up. And I knew I should tell her.

But I couldn’t bring myself to.

We were watching a movie, she was at one end of my couch with Cara’s head in her lap while I was on the other end, as though I couldn’t create enough distance between us. Usually I would have my arm around her and she would bury her head in my chest while Cara laid across us. But it didn’t seem fair on her tonight. It didn’t seem fair to either of us.

Suddenly I felt as though I was struggling to breathe. All these feelings I had towards Y/N were stifling me and that combined with the time of year made it feel as though the walls were closing in on me.

I pushed myself up from the couch, causing both Y/N and Cara to look at me.

“I need some air.” I croaked out, already heading for the door.

“Do you want company? I’m sure Cara wouldn’t say no to a walk.”

“No.” I spat a little harsher than I’d meant to as I threw my shoes on.

As I heard her get up from the couch I opened the front door and quickly disappeared, probably leaving her confused and worried.

But at that moment I didn’t care. I just needed to get away.

***

The sky was grey and it looked as though it was going to rain and how perfect would that be, I thought bitterly as I trudged across the dewy grass.

It had been a while since I’d last been here and I tried to ignore the guilt that had made itself home in the pit of my stomach.

I tried to reason with myself, between work and Y/N I had simply been too busy, but that wasn’t entirely true. If I’d really wanted to visit, I would have.

I found her with ease, despite not visiting regularly I knew the location like the back of my hand.

The map to her final resting place was etched permanently on my heart.

As soon as I reached her grave, my legs gave out and I fell to the damp grass in front of her headstone.

“I’m not going to give you some inadequate excuses as to why I’ve not visited because I know you’ll see right through them. You knew me so well, and you know the reason I haven’t visited is because I was scared.” I sniffed, willing myself not to cry. “Next week it will be six years. Six. Years. How on earth has that happened? How can it possibly be that long since I last heard your voice Maeve?”

I sat silently, as though waiting for a response I knew was never going to come. I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands.

“How can I still miss you this much after all this time? When you died, everyone told me it would get easier and quite frankly I think that’s complete bullshit. Nothing has been easy since you’ve been gone, in fact quite the opposite. And now I’ve finally met someone else who makes me feel alive again but that makes me feel guilty. How is that fair on you? You don’t get to move on and meet someone else so why do I? I stopped feeling things such as that when you died and I tell myself it was involuntary, that’s just the effect your death had on me but I know that isn’t entirely true. In part it is, but in part I forced myself to shut down my emotions. I never wanted to allow myself to feel this kind of pain again. And what if she gets hurt because of me? You died because I wasn’t enough to outsmart Diane. I can’t be the reason someone else I care about dies.” I hadn’t realised quite how much I’d kept pent up until it was all spewing out of my mouth.

A gust of wind passed me by and it felt like Maeve’s gentle caress. Maybe she was telling me it was going to be ok.

“I failed you Maeve, that’s the simple truth. I don’t know if I can live with myself if I fail her too.”

I put my head in my hands as my tears caught up with me. Almost at the exact same time my first tear fell, I felt the first raindrop on my arm.

As the skies opened, so did my tear ducts and I sobbed into my hands next to the grave of the love of my life while the rain cascaded around me.

And strangely, it was cathartic. Between my tears falling and the rain, it felt like it started washing away my guilt. It felt like Maeve was telling me it was ok. Or maybe I just needed to believe that.

But either way, I started to feel better.

Maybe the rain was cleansing me, or maybe it was a simple coincidence. But I needed something to cling to at that moment. And that something was the rain.

///

I should have gone home after Spencer left but I couldn’t bring myself to. Whatever he was going through, I needed him to know I was here for him in whatever capacity he needed me.

I was worried about him. I’d never seen him like this before. It was quite possible I’d been so wrapped in my only problems I hadn’t noticed he was struggling.

I stayed on his couch with Cara at my side. I put my headphones on and turned the music up loud, hoping to drown out my thoughts. It was a playlist Stella had put together for me, one she’d named “Kitten’s Happy Tunes.”

I pulled out my journal and started to write down my feelings, something Spencer was always encouraging me to do.

I thought he said one of the most important rules was to tell him when something was wrong which I do. But shouldn’t it work both ways? He didn’t tell me he was struggling, I just hope he’s ok.

Maybe it’s me? Maybe he’s starting to realise I am everything Brett said I am.

Cara jumped up all of a sudden and her tail started going and I pulled the headphones off before turning to see Spencer standing behind me.

“I never meant to make you feel that way.” His lip quivered and he pointed to the words I’d just written.

I closed the journal as he came to sit next to me.

“You are not those things he said to you. I promise you. This isn’t because of you.” He sighed, his eyes full of tears.

“Is this…when I was staying at the BAU, Jennifer mentioned someone called M-Maeve.”

I saw his whole body stiffen and I knew I was right.

“She had no right telling you about her.” His jaw clenched.

“She d-didn’t tell me anything. She just m-mentioned her name.” Was he mad? Should I not have said that?

He unclenched his jaw and sighed heavily.

“She was…the love of my life.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “And she was murdered right in front of me.”

I couldn’t hold back the gasp that left my lips. He spoke like he had come to terms with it but it seemed too casual to my ears.

“She…oh gosh.” I swallowed. I had no idea what to say.

“It was a long time ago. But it’s coming up to the anniversary of her death and it snuck up on me. Her death destroyed me and I haven’t let myself feel things for anyone since. But then I met you and out of nowhere all these feelings I thought I was incapable of came rushing to the surface and honestly I don’t know how to cope with that. I’m scared and I’m confused and I am falling deeper and deeper for you with every passing day. But fuck Dahlia, that terrifies me.” He stopped to take a breath and took the chance to take hold of his hand.

I threaded our fingers together and held his hand tightly.

“I’m scared too, Spence.” I admitted. “I spent a long time with a man who constantly belittled me and told me I wasn’t good enough. My idea of love and relationships is about as warped as they come. But I am definitely feeling things for you and I don’t know if I should be or not. I'm constantly terrified you’re going to hurt me the way he did even though I know you would never do that. But all I’ve ever known is that kind of love. I’m scared, Spence, constantly scared. But I’ve never felt so alive.”

I couldn’t stop myself any longer. It had taken everything in my power over the last few weeks to not kiss him again but this time I couldn’t hold back.

I let go of his hand and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into me and letting our lips clash together.

He didn’t seem to mind at all as he quickly took hold of my face and his tongue found its way into my mouth.

He pulled me into his lap and I straddled him, kneeling either side of his thighs.

I felt him growing hard beneath me within a matter of seconds and I still didn’t understand how I could have that kind of effect on anyone, let alone him.

Without thinking about it I started grinding in his lap, feeling myself getting wet between my legs. Spencer moaned into my mouth and bucked his hips up to meet me.

My fingers found their way into his hair, getting lost in his thick curls. His hands fell from my face to my shoulders, down my arms and to my hips.

He held my hips tightly, continuing to buck up to me, his hard member rubbing between my legs. God how I wished for fewer clothes. Between his slacks and my pajama pants it was too much fabric between us.

The kiss was growing messy and sloppy as we were both painfully aroused. I grinded myself on his erection, unable to stop myself. I needed to feel him in any way I could.

///

Goddamn Dahlia. I had waited for this for weeks and now it was happening, I was overwhelmed.

The way she was kissing me and riding my lap made my head spin. Usually I was good at holding back my release but Y/N was something else entirely.

I managed to keep back my moan as I felt my climax fill my pants. I instantly felt sticky.

That had never happened to me before. She wasn’t even touching me, we had several layers of clothes between us yet somehow, she had made me come in my pants.

I broke from the kiss, desperate for air. We were both panting.

“What’s wrong?” She asked with a hint of concern.

“Nothing Dahlia.” I smiled at her. “I don’t want to rush you.”

I helped her off my lap before she inevitably felt the wetness in my pants. I would be mortified if she realised what I’d done.

“Why don’t you order some food while I jump in the shower?” I got up, trying to subtly place my hands in front of my crotch in case it was obvious.

“Ok.” She nodded with a small smile.

Normally I would have kissed her forehead before I left, but I needed to clean myself up.

As I walked to the bathroom I could feel I was sticking to my underwear.

Seriously, what was this woman doing to me?

—————————————————————

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[masterwords]

the silence drowns (part thirteen)

Summary: Morgan interrupted Foyet in Hotch’s apartment and saw everything. Now Hotch is staying with Jessica, Morgan is trying to figure out how to save the day and Foyet is on the road.

Warnings: Another pretty tame chapter! Just some kissing. Everyone needs a reprieve before the bloodbath. :)

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 2.8k

Notes: Nothing to say about this one. Enjoy some Clooney and Hotch, don't get used to it.

Chapter List

Read on AO3: The Silence Drowns

**

The sky was the kind of wide-open blue that called to you from wherever you were, scolding you for not being out and falling into it. Even Clooney was pacing beneath the window, sniffing the sunny warm air as it wafted through the screen. After a long cold snap, it was a welcome shift.

“In a minute, dude,” Derek muttered, sanding away the last of the texutre on his shoddy mud job. It would need another coat, there was still tape visible at the seams and if there was still tape then it wasn't stable enough. He almost thought he was dragging his feet on purpose, like if he finished the job then it would be even more obvious that his life had fallen apart and had no meaning. Strauss still kept him at arm's length, he could sit at his desk and work through consults and paperwork, but he wouldn't be leaving town if they got any active cases. Not yet. The investigation was still ongoing, or so she said...he really just didn't care anymore. The wall, the carpet, that was focus enough to stop him from drifting too far into the panic of the web Foyet was weaving.

He sneezed. A lot of dust in the air, a lot of sanded down mud and drywall. The place was a disaster, really. He needed to do a lot of cleaning...that made him want to take Clooney out. The blue sky sounded better than pulling out Hotch's vacuum.

“Alright, alright, “he said to Clooney but really just to himself. He was going a little stir crazy. He lived on his own, it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, but something about it being Hotch's place and when he was in Hotch's place...well...Hotch should be there. It was unsettling.

They went out the front doors instead of the back today. No reason, except that he'd closed and locked the door behind him, glanced to the right and turned to the left. Clooney began tugging him along excitedly, even if it would take them a little longer now to get to the park, it was an uncharacteristically beautiful day. He could afford the time. He has absolutely nothing else going for him, everything was stagnant. Waiting on a serial killer to make a move was unsettling in every way and he'd rather not think about his life in terms of that.

There was a car just ahead of them attempting to parallel park on the street. He paused, watching with some amusement while Clooney sniffed at a patch of bright yellow dandelions that were currently being visited by some very fat little bumblebees. It was a car he didn't recognize at first, but then the bright mop of blonde curls that emerged from the driver's side caught him in the chest. He couldn't breathe.

Clooney knew, too. Maybe he realized it first. He was looking at the passenger door, his tail wagging and whacking Derek's leg furiously. It moved so fast his entire back end was wiggling.

“Me too,” Derek whispered in answer to Clooney's obvious anticipation, dropping to one knee to calm the dog before he got too antsy and ripped Derek's arm clean off. It was bound to happen the minute Hotch actually emerged from the vehicle. He hooked his fingers inside of Clooney's collar and whispered in his perked-up ear. “Easy boy, easy. I wanna see him too.”

Jessica waved to him as she walked around behind the car to the passenger door and opened it. She was unbuckling his seatbelt for him like a mother to a child, and Derek wasn't sure how bad it was if she had to do that, but it couldn't be good. “You need some help?” he called to her, tightening his grip on Clooney. “I can take Cloon back inside and be right back.”

“We're okay!” She sounded confident enough that he didn't think she was lying. Relief washed over him as Hotch was unfolded slowly from the vehicle and standing on his own beside the vehicle while she closed and locked everything up. Clooney was on his feet now trying with all his might to rush the vehicle, rush to Hotch, and Derek thought the dog might break his arm to do it. He bent his elbow, hauled the dog back and wrapped the leash tight around his hand to shorten it before standing.

“Someone's missed you,” Derek said as Hotch approached slowly, his walk more of a shuffle than anything. He nodded and smiled only a little, avoiding eye contact. All his focus was on moving forward. Jess caught Derek's eyes and shook her head solemnly, shrugging. “We both have.” Still nothing. Not even a glance. Maybe it was just that he was so intent on getting inside that he couldn't expend the effort but the look on Jessica's face gave him doubt. She hung back, walked with him while Hotch pulled himself up the stairs...only a couple of them but it took him agonizingly long to mount them.

“He doesn't want me to help,” she whispered. “Today's been a bad one. I don't know where his head is at but...just be cautious.”

Derek handed her the dog's leash with a silent nod and rushed to catch up to Hotch who was struggling to pull open the heavy front door to the building. He snagged it just in time to take the weight and thrust them both through into the air conditioned lobby and corridor. He wanted desperately to put his hand at the small of Hotch's back, a quiet gesture he'd done a thousand times over, but he held back. Something about Hotch's demeanor screamed that he wasn't up for casual touch and Derek wasn't going to push him on that. Hotch placed one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the wall as he walked toward his door. Every step forward became slower and slower, like something was pushing him backward.

“You sure you're up for this?” Derek asked, stepping between Hotch and his door. “You don't have to come in yet. I'm not quite done with the work.”

“Derek, move please.” At least he said please. He looked angry; a storm was raging inside of his mardi gras eyes but he still found it in him to say please. He was still Hotch, Foyet hadn't taken that from him.

Derek had the key, Hotch didn't. He had the power. Not that he wanted it, except to try and speak reason into an unreasonable situation. Hotch had no business going back into that apartment so soon. “Changed the locks,” he said softly when Hotch fumbled with his key chain. “I don't know how Foyet got in here, but I figured anything was possible...”

Expectantly, Hotch just stared at Derek. He thought for a minute that Hotch would tell him he'd overstepped, but he just stared with those sad eyes. “Please open the door.” He had nothing to say about the locks, it had already occurred to him that it was possible Foyet had picked his way in, or worse, had a key. He was glad Derek had thought of it too.

“Last chance...” He'd been so adamant that Hotch be with him until this moment, until he really thought about the weight of what they were doing and now...well he was the one who told him to come home. This is on him.

“Derek.” He's said please enough times, it was about to turn. Hotch would stop the niceties just as quickly as he'd started them. Derek pulled out his own keychain and popped the door open quickly, still holding the knob. He was in control, he would choose when they entered. Clooney's tail thwapped against Hotch's leg, but Hotch paid it no mind, he was staring at Derek, willing him to stop playing games and just open the damn door.

This was his home.

Except it wasn't. He knew it the minute he walked in that everything had changed. Or maybe it was him that had changed.

“You replaced all of the carpet?”

“It's not finished,” Derek answered quickly, as if that changed the sheer amount of work he'd put in. “It was remnants, stuff I had hanging around...” Lies. He was already telling lies. But he knew Hotch was minutes away from asking how much he owed Derek for the work and that was the furthest thing from his mind. His blood had soaked into the carpet too. Hotch was just staring, taking in the scenery. The square of new drywall, still obvious and glaring, held his gaze the longest. “Aaron?”

“I need a minute. Please.”

Derek dropped back while Hotch stood rooted in place, staring around at his home that had gone through so many changes recently. He wasn't really looking, his eyes were trained somewhere far away, he was just feeling it maybe. Taking Clooney from Jess, Derek walked the dog into the kitchen and hung up the leash before dropping a handful of food into his waiting dish. Just a treat. Anything to keep him from jumping up on Hotch right now, knocking him over. He wasn't exactly frail, but he didn't look ready to withstand a dog that size and all of the affection he had to give the friend he hadn't seen in far too long.

In the front room, Hotch had moved to the couch. He wasn't ready to go any further, was stuck there but Jessica at least forced him to sit down before he fell. Clooney took that as all the invitation he needed to rush over and sit on his feet. He stared up at Hotch expectantly and was met with an absentminded pat, and then a scratch, and then almost like magic his features softened, and he was stroking Clooney from the top of the head and down his neck, fingers tripping through thick fur. Jessica smiled. It was the first time Hotch didn't look troubled in too long.

“He missed you,” Derek said, approaching the couch with hesitation. He wasn't sure how close he was allowed to get. There were oceans of pain between them and part of him just wasn't sure how to cross that divide. It had seemed so easy on the phone, so simple, but Hotch was right. It was complicated.

Foyet had put something there that neither of them knew how to get around. Bigger than the knife, Derek had watched...he'd been forced to watch Hotch at his most vulnerable, be complicit in his assault, and know there was nothing he could do.

“Sit,” Jessica snapped, pushing at the back of Derek's shoulder like she could read his mind. “For god sakes. I'm going to take a shower in peace...I haven't had a good, long shower in forever. Between Aaron and my parents...you know what? I might turn it into a bubble bath.” Her words were sharp but she was smiling and Hotch was still staring at Clooney.

“I'm sorry, Jess,” he whispered, and she rolled her eyes dramatically before turning to walk down the hall.

“Knock it off. Do not leave this apartment, keep the door locked. Be good. Or don't, be bad, make out like horny teenagers...I don't care...I don't care. Just give me one hour to myself.”

Derek laughed loud, and he hoped that Hotch would follow suit but the best they got was a halfcocked smile, just the corner of his lips ticked up. It was a start anyway.

Words didn't happen right away, but Derek did sit. He sat close, pressed their shoulders together and watched fascinated at the way Hotch seemed to pour all of his worry and all of his troubles into petting Clooney. The dog, to his credit, only returned love. He rocked back and leaned hard against Hotch's shins, turning his head in to every touch and when Hotch seemed hesitant like he might stop, like he was losing himself in some faraway thought, Clooney searched out his hand and bumped it with his nose. More. He brought him back.

“How do you feel?” Hotch asked, finally breaking the silence. “Were you...were you hurt?” He was ashamed to say he really had no idea. He hadn't even considered it, but being back here it was all coming back. In bits and broken pieces, but sewing themselves together with their edges frayed. Derek's head was bleeding, his hands were tied. His hands were tied.

“I'm good. A few stitches and some bruises, nothing much.” He didn't want me, he thought sourly. I was a distraction, he wanted nothing to do with me at all. Just for me to be out of the way. But he did seem to enjoy the audience. “Are you...”

“I don't know.” That was the truth. Hotch had no idea. Jessica kept the wounds clean, they were closing up one by one and the pain...well he wasn't sure about that, either. It seemed stronger than ever but maybe that was more in his mind, the memory, the knowledge. The pain of what happened was worse than the actual wounds, but she was keeping him well-medicated. He was a zombie some days, today being a rare exception. He was clear today, and it was problematic. Clear meant angry, and clear meant in pain. Clear meant tears and frustration and fear. A couple of the wounds were still deep open gashes, a couple had been closed up a day or two now with bright pink new skin. Jessica told him they were healing well and because he really couldn't stand to look at them without getting sick, he just had to believe her. At least halfway. She would lie to him, but maybe not about this, she couldn't hide it. She cried over this.

They both did. He hated that most of all.

“Does it hurt?”

Hotch finally looked at him, almost incredulously. Yeah, Derek knew it was a silly fucking question but he had no idea what else to say. He just wanted Hotch to talk to him. Now he was just daring him to talk.

“Yes,” was the answer after a long and pensive pause. He'd thought about lying, really. Saying no it's not that bad. Really considered it, but the divide between them was closing agonizingly slow and lying would open it right back up. “It is getting better.” Derek believed that.

“Can I get you anything?”

Hotch smiled. Or tried to, anyway. It wasn't exactly a smile but damn it was close. “You're playing host in my own home?”

“It's kinda mine now, man. You snooze you lose. I have squatters rights.” Derek sucked in a deep breath and pushed up to standing, smiling a little easier now. “Besides, you didn't have any damn groceries in here. I filled the place up.”

Hotch tried to stand on his own, pushing against the arm of the couch, but he struggled and ended up back in his seat with a wince and a groan. It wasn't really his fault, Clooney was still on his feet so Derek nudged the dog out of the way and extended a hand to help him upright. Touching Hotch's hand, helping him to his feet, that was good enough but he couldn't help going for just a little more. As long as Hotch was willing, he was greedy. He'd been so damn lonely.

He pulled him in, closed the distance and nudged Hotch's chin with his free hand until they were almost nose to nose. “I've missed you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Hotch's lips. Warm, cherry flavored, he waited only long enough not to be pushed away before he attempted a real kiss. His hand moved slowly up Hotch's arm delicate over the mound of gauze and sliding into place at the nape of his neck. He pressed the kiss deeper, met with no resistance. If he pushed harder, if he tried to keep him there longer it would be too much, so he stopped short and pulled back just barely, left it there. With his thumb he spread his own ChapStick remnants over Hotch's lower lip, smiling, leaning forehead to forehead.

“I missed you too.” Hotch wasn't sure how far he was really able to go yet, but he'd been afraid of any contact at all and so far, that was alright. Better than that, it was good. Derek was good. He'd almost forgotten and let Foyet take that from him, too. The doubt had crept in along with the isolation. He had Jessica and he had her parents, but Haley and Jack were gone (safe, but gone), Derek was gone, his team were gone, he was an island of Foyet's creation. But as Derek sauntered into the kitchen to grab them some iced tea, he watched with a spreading warmth in his belly because he had something good.

Something still worth fighting for.

[themetaphorgirl]

alright but can i request a patron saint hotch loopy on day quill one shot?? bc i would love to read that even if it takes like 3 years to get around to it 🥺🥺🥺

did I get in the mood to write something cuddly and kind of silly with lots of Alex and Aaron: The Wonder Twins vibes???

yes I did. also I wrote over half of this on my phone during my break at work.

----------

“...so when you think about it colloquially, it’s perfectly acceptable to refer to the monster as Frankenstein, so-“

Alex moved Spencer’s glass of orange juice out of the way before he could knock it over with an overenthusiastic wave of his hand. “JJ, what are you doing?” she asked, exasperated.

JJ reached into her cereal bowl, picked up a couple of pieces, and tossed it into an empty mug. “There’s too much cereal in my lucky charms, I only wanted the marshmallows,” she said.

“You can’t eat just marshmallows, Jennifer.”

“I’m not. I got donuts too.”

“Hotch wasn’t here to stop her,” Emily snickered. 

Alex sighed. “Where is Hotchner?” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.” 

“He said he slept through his alarm and he’d meet us here,” Derek said, stabbing his fork into a hashbrown. 

“That’s also not like Hotch,” Alex said. She caught Spencer before he could topple out of his chair onto the floor. “Darling, I’m so glad you’re this enthusiastic at seven in the morning, but please sit down.”

Spencer obeyed, sliding down from his knees to sit on his bottom. “I got the wrong juice, I don’t like this kind,” he said. “I got the kind with pulp.”

“Why didn’t you get the kind you like?” Alex asked. 

“Hotch gets it for me because I’m too short to see the labels. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

Alex pulled her phone out of her skirt pocket. “He hasn’t texted me or the group chat,” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.”

“Should we be worried? I feel like we should be worried,” Penelope said. 

“We don’t need to worry,” Alex said. “Spencer, what are you doing?”

“Getting the pulp out of my juice. I shouldn’t have to chew juice.”

“Please put the spoon down.”

“I’ll get you juice,” Penelope promised.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “And can you please get something for JJ that isn’t dehydrated marshmallows?”

“I like them.”

“Eat a fruit, Jennifer!”

Derek paused as Penelope left the table. “Uh...we might need to worry about Hotch,” he said. 

Alex twisted around in her seat to look behind her. “Oh, fuck,” she sighed. 

Hotch’s tie was knotted wrong, leaving one end of the tie dangling by his belt buckle, and his blazer was misbuttoned. His dark hair flopped over his eyes, still sleep-mussed, and his backpack was unzipped. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.” He tried to hang his backpack on the empty chair next to Alex but missed completely, sending it crashing to the floor. “Well, shit.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Emily said. 

Hotch blinked. “I overslept,” he said, rubbing his ear. “What time is it?”

“Almost time to go to homeroom,” Alex said. “Are you okay?”

He kept rubbing his ear. “Huh?” he said. He sat down heavily next to Alex. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Do I have time to eat?” 

JJ slid her mug of cereal over to him. “You can have the rest of my lucky charms,” she offered. 

Hotch scooped a handful of dry cereal into his mouth and frowned. “What happened to all the marshmallows?” he asked. 

“I ate them.”

“You can have my juice,” Spencer offered. 

Hotch reached around Alex, picked up the glass, and took a swig. “Ugh, there’s stuff in it,” he complained. “I don’t want to chew my juice.”

“That’s what I said!” Spencer said. 

Alex frowned. “I don’t think you’re okay,” she said. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “Yikes, Aaron. You’re burning up.”

“Hm?” he said. He coughed, a thick sound rattling deep in his chest. “I’m okay. I drank like...half a bottle of DayQuil.”

“I can tell,” she said, poking at the damp orange stain on his uniform shirt. He squinted down at it and frowned. “Also, drinking half a bottle of DayQuil doesn’t mean you’re okay. I think that’s the opposite of okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch said. “I have a test in second period I can’t miss.”

Emily caught his arm across the table. “Stop, stop, stop,” she said. “Do you know you’re about to pour your juice into your cereal?”

Hotch paused long enough for Alex to carefully take the glass out of his hand while he blinked in confusion. “Maybe you should make up the test later,” she suggested. 

“No, I can handle a test,” he said. He blinked, then clapped a hand over his face. “Oh, shit. I think I only put one contact in this morning.” He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “Shit. Aw, yikes.”

“You need to go back to bed,” Alex said. “Or the nurse’s office.”

He swatted at her hand. “No, I don’t, Alexandra,” he said. “It’s just a chest cold. Stop treating me like Spencer.”

Spencer scowled. “I think I’m insulted by that,” he said. 

Alex put Spencer’s fork back in his hand. “Eat your breakfast,” she said. “Listen, Hotch, I can’t stop you if you want to go to class. But nobody’s going to judge you if you stay in your room and rest.”

Hotch coughed into his elbow. “I’m gonna get a Red Bull,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair and nearly knocking it over in the process. 

“Oh, he’s definitely sick,” Derek said. “You hear his Virginia accent coming out? He sounds like Colonel Sanders.”

“Don’t worry, Al, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Emily said. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Spencer, you have to drink your juice. You and Hotch have no immune systems and if he gets sick, you’re going to get sick, and I can’t deal with both of you coughing up a lung.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer said. “Although vitamin C-“

“Drink your juice.”

By the time breakfast was over Alex was confident that Hotch wasn’t going to last the whole day. His cough was deep and persistent, and he kept absentmindedly rubbing his ears. She couldn’t exactly blame him- she’d pulled similar stunts herself when a big test or project was coming up- but this was more than a mild cold. Most likely he’d make it to lunch before he relented. 

To her surprise, it was even sooner. 

She got to chapel early and pulled out her book to read, but she nearly dropped it when Emily’s voice cut through the soft chatter of the hall. 

“Hey, Alex, come get your twin!”

Alex picked up her book and set it back beside her. “For the last time, Emily, stop telling everybody that Hotch and I are twins,” she said. She stopped. “Oh, no.”

Hotch was leaning heavily on Emily’s shoulder, his eyes glazed over. “Hey, I think I need to sit down,” he said. 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Emily huffed, struggling under his weight. “You shouldn’t have gone to class in the first place.”

“I had a test,” he said. 

Alex crossed her arms. “Yeah?” she said. “How’d that go for you, bubba?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t remember taking the test,” he confessed. “I remember sitting down at my desk and then...everything got kind of blurry.”

Alex sighed. “Please tell me you’re going back to your room to rest,” she said. 

“I mean...it’s not that bad.” Hotch said. “I’ve been sicker before.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Emily scanned the chapel doors. “Oh, wow, is that Haley Brooks over there?” she said. “You should go over and say hello. Haley! Hi, Haley!” 

“No!” Hotch said. “Jesus, Emily, I don’t want to talk to her right now, I look like shit!”

“Then you should definitely go back to your room before she sees you,” Emily said. She gave him a gentle push towards the back exit doors. “Come on, hurry up.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Alex called, but he was out the door already, his still-unzipped backpack dangling off one shoulder. 

Emily tilted her head. “I don’t think he heard you,” she said. “He looks like death warmed over through. I’m kind of worried. Which means your spidey-sense must have bypassed tingling and gone straight to exploding.”

“I should have gone with him,” Alex said. “Although I’m not sure I would be able to explain missing classes.”

“Just tell your teachers you have to take care of your brother,” Emily suggested. 

Alex rolled her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know you and Dave keep telling everybody we’re related,” she said. “We’re in different grades. We have different last names.”

“C’mon, it’s fun, you’re the Wonder Twins,” Emily said. She squished Alex’s cheeks and laughed. “You look enough alike to pass for siblings.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Alex said flatly, batting her hand away. “We’d better go sit before chapel starts.”

She kept her phone close through chapel and her third period class. He didn’t text her, but that wasn’t reassuring either. No news wasn’t necessarily good news.

The bell rang at the end of third period, but she hesitated before she started the walk towards the dining hall. She tapped her fingertips against the back of her phone case, and after a moment she typed out a text. Her phone buzzed seconds later with an answer.

Jamie <3

11:26am

yeah I figured youd want to check on him. dont worry about the baby i’ll make sure he eats a vegetable. love you!!!! 

Alex felt the back of her neck heat up as she smiled at the screen. The whole love thing was still shiny and new and made little sparks prickle at the nape of her neck. 

She slung the strap of her satchel across her shoulder and made the trek across campus to Lincoln House. Hotch had given her a spare key fob- Derek was constantly losing and finding his, resulting in multiple replacements floating around- and she let herself into the quiet lobby. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people around.

“Ah, Miss Miller. What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall?”

Alex jumped. She was not expecting to see Mr. Gideon standing in the lobby and staring at her. “Checking on my brother, he’s, uh, he’s sick,” she blurted out.

“Oh, the big one or the little one?” he asked. 

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said. “Aaron or Spencer?”

“It’s, uh, it’s the big one this time,” she said.

Mr. Gideon nodded sagely. “Your twin,” he said. “Well, go on up. Hope he feels better soon.”

He walked out to his office and closed the door; she sighed heavily. Maybe Emily and Dave were on to something after all.

She made her way up the stairs to the seventh floor and knocked lightly on his closed door. “Hotch?” she called. “It’s Alex. I just wanted to check on you.” He didn’t answer. “Hotch?” She tried the handle. “Oh, of course you locked the door.” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and stuck it in the keyhole. 

The lock popped easily after a bit of fiddling and she opened the door. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Hotchner,” she sighed. 

His unzipped backpack had dumped half its contents in the middle of the floor when he’d dropped it, along with his uniform blazer and his right shoe. Hotch was sprawled out on his bed on top of the covers, his long gangly legs dragging on the floor and his left shoe still on. He was still wearing his uniform and his rarely-worn glasses perched at a crooked angle on his nose, threatening to fall off at any moment as he snored. 

“You’re dead to the world, aren’t you, bubba?” she said aloud. She set her satchel and blazer down on Hotch’s desk and sat on the edge of his bed. His breathing was shallow and congested, and his face was flushed red. “Hotch. Hotchner. Wake up for a second.” She pinched him lightly and his eyes shot open. “Hey, good, you’re awake.”

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, knocking his glasses sideways. “How did you get in here?”

“Picked the lock with a bobby pin,” she said.

He scrunched up his nose. “Like Annie Drew?”

“It’s Nancy Drew, and maybe that’s where I learned it from, I read a lot of mystery novels when I was an impressionable middle schooler,” she said. She tucked her legs underneath her and touched the back of her hand to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hot garbage,” he said. “This cold is kicking my ass.”

“I don’t think you have a cold, bubba, I think you have bronchitis,” she said. “Did you take anything when you got back here or did you just crash?”

“Well, I’ve had most of a bottle of DayQuil today,” he said. He struggled to sit up. “You know what happens when you drink most of a bottle of DayQuil?”

“No, what happens?”

“Nothing good, I’ll tell you that for free,” he said. 

Alex winced in sympathy. “You threw up?”

He ran his hands through his hair and dragged his palms over his face. “It was neon orange, Al,” he said, slightly muffled. 

“That’s no good,” she said. “Did you-”

He broke into a cough, thick and heavy and rattling in his lungs, and Alex rubbed his back. “Hey, you’re okay,” she said gently. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay,”

It took a moment for him to settle down and breathe normally again; his glasses tilted drunkenly on his nose and his eyes were watering. “That sucked,” he rasped. 

“Yeah, I bet,” she said. “You’ve got the sore throat, right? Feels like you swallowed broken glass?”

“I was going to say barbed wire, but yeah,” he said. 

Alex squeezed his knee. “Get out of your uniform and lie down,” she said. “I’ll go get you something to drink. How much water have you had today?”

“If Red Bull counts, then I’ve had two waters.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get you water and a gatorade,” she said. “You get changed.”

She started to leave the room. “Hey, Alex?” he asked. She paused in the doorway. “Can you get me a purple one?”

“Yes, I’ll get you a purple gatorade.”

“The light purple, not the dark purple,” he called after her.

“I remember, I remember,” she called back. 

She went down to the vending machines and got him two bottled waters and a light purple gatorade. For all his mature-for-his-age, old soul vibe, Hotch was as hard to handle as Spencer when he wasn’t feeling well.

His door was cracked when she got back to his room, but she paused. He’d changed into flannel pajama pants and he was struggling into one of his wrestling tee shirts. Alex bit back a wince and ducked back into the hallway. She rarely saw the scars on his back, but he usually kept them well hidden and it never got easier to see it. He didn’t like to talk about it, and she didn’t blame him.

When she was sure the coast was clear she stepped back into the room. Hotch sat on his bed, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands. “Headache?” she asked as she set the bottles down on his nightstand. 

“It feels like there’s a rock concert playing directly in my brain,” he said.

She went into his bathroom and dug around in the medicine cabinet. He didn’t have much for himself; it was mostly medicine they kept on hand for Spencer. “Oh, I can give you the big boy ibuprofen instead of the chewable stuff,” she teased. She set the bottle of ibuprofen down with the drinks. “This first though. Hold still.”

She set the thermometer in his ear and he jumped. “Ow,” he complained. “You could have warned me.”

“If I warned you, you’d try to argue,” she said. It beeped and she held it out so he could see the readout. “A hundred point four. You’re not going to class today, or tomorrow either.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I got my test done,” he said. 

“How do you think you did?” she asked. 

“I don’t think I failed.”

Alex took his hand so she could place the pills in his hand, then opened one of the bottles of water. “Take these. Drink all of this. And then go to sleep,” she said. 

“I’m not tired, I had so much DayQuil,” he complained as he popped the pills in his mouth. 

“Which you’ve already puked back up,” she pointed out. “You need to get some sleep.”

He chugged a third of the water and paused to cough. “I just need to rest,” he said. “Can you hand me my laptop.”

“No.”

Hotch scowled. “Alexandra. Give me my laptop,” he said. “I have an essay due on Friday.” 

She grabbed his laptop and wrestled it into her school bag. “You can have it back when you’re not running a fever,” she said. 

“Alex!” he whined. “I need to work on that.” She bit back a laugh. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to take you seriously with your nerd glasses on,” she said. He huffed, which turned into another cough. “Seriously, Aaron. You need to take it easy. And it’s school policy that you can’t attend classes until you’ve been fever-free for twenty-four hours.” He rubbed his ear. “Besides, you know Spencer’s going to try to spend quality time with you, and he’s not going to be able to handle it if he catches what you have. The more you rest and take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll get over it.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

“I usually do.”

“You just had to play the Spencer card.” 

“I was saving it just in case.”

Hotch set the empty water bottle back on the nightstand and shifted around until he was under the covers. “Are you going back to class?” he asked. “Lunch is almost over.”

He sounded nonchalant, but he was avoiding her eyes and tugging at a loose thread on his comforter. “I can stay a while longer,” she said. “Besides, if anybody asks where I was, Gideon can tell them I was with you. You know he thinks we’re twins too?”

“For such a brilliant man, he’s kind of clueless,” Hotch said. “I’m not going to sleep, but I’ll rest, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “Do you want to watch something?” She pulled at the laces of her ankle boots. “Do you want to watch wrestling?”

“I don’t watch wrestling.”

Alex looked him up and down. “We all know you’re a secret wrestling fan,” she said. “And even if you say you’re not, I can read your tee shirt.”

“No one ever wants to watch wrestling with me,” he said.

“Yes, well, you’re sick, you should get to watch what you want,” she said. She set her boots aside and handed him the remote. “Now scoot over.”

He paused, the remote balanced in his hand as the TV blinked on. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I said so,” she said. “I mean it! Scoot over.”

He obeyed, still clearly confused, and she pulled and tugged at him until they both fit on his narrow twin bed, his head resting on her stomach. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Wow, you really are mostly limbs, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had a couple of growth spurts,” he said. “You’re sure you want to watch wrestling with me?”

“Go for it,” she said. 

Truthfully she had no desire to watch wrestling, but she knew it would make him happy, and when he was this sick he deserved things that would make him happy. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, and before long she heard him snoring again, the sound thick and rattling in his lungs. When she was sure he was asleep she tugged his glasses off and set them aside on the nightstand. Most likely he would wake up cranky and groggy and he’d try to argue that he could go to class, but for now she could keep him calm and quiet, and hopefully the sleep would help. 

“Maybe you’ll be a little bit less of an absolute disaster when you wake up,” she said, and she kept stroking his hair while he slept. 

[fandomlit]

scarves and celebrities (spencer reid x reader)

requested by @chemiste “ok ok ok so just freaking started watching CM and AAAAAAAAA, would you be able to write a thing about how the reader is famous and some members on the team always follow her news cause they're major fans and they find out shes in DC, same day spencer comes in with a scarf but someone (lmao probs morgan) snatches it off him and his neck is covered with hickies and the team is like WHAT and then y/n causally comes in to the office and is like hey ready to go spence? and everyone is gobsmacked”

summary the team gets to spend an entire day curious of their resident genius and his antics. but much their surprise and amusement, all of their questions are answered at once.

warning swearing, sexual reference

a/n please send in some requests y’all !!

gif cred belongs to @accio-fan-fiction​

“since when is pretty boy this late?” morgan scoffed, plopping another file onto the young genius’s empty desk. emily and jj just shook their heads.

“we’ve had some rough cases lately,” jj shrugged. “maybe he slept in or just lost track of time.”

derek just shook his head before he sat back down at his desk. 

“did you guys see the news?!” penelope squealed excitedly as she reached the team’s desks. she brandished her phone to them with a grin. “y/n l/n’s in dc!”

“oh, i saw that!” emily smiled, swiveling her chair to look at the familiar social media post. 

“who’s that?” jj asked, looking around as morgan chuckled at the phone shoved in his face. 

“y/n l/n is hollywood’s new sweetheart, according to literally every news outlet right now!” penelope exclaimed, turning to shove the phone in the blonde’s face. jj flinched with a laugh. “she’s extremely talented and so nice-”

they all froze and looked over when spencer coughed casually, walking in with his hands shoved in his pockets. he sat down and began to sort the piled files on his desk.

“why so late, spence?” emily asked with a shadow of a smirk.

spencer cleared his throat again, adjusting his posture. “just lost track of time, is all. won’t happen again.”

“’course it won’t,” derek chuckled, turning to his computer with a smirk.

“anyway!” penelope exclaimed. “she’s amazing, and she’s in dc! could you imagine if we saw her?” she swooned, holding her phone to her chest.

“who are we talking about?” spencer asked, looking up with a furrowed brow.

“y/n l/n,” emily answered. “we’re all fans.”

“and trying to convert jj!” penelope added enthusiastically. her phone beeped at that moment. she glanced down and frowned. “duty calls. back to my nook.” she bounced off.

“you a fan, spencer?” jj asked, seeing the look on his face.

he shrugged. “i’ve heard of her.” and he got to work without another word. none of them questioned it.

later in the break room, spencer was pouring himself another cup of coffee when derek walked in. he clapped a hand on the genius’s shoulder with a casual greeting. spencer returned it distractedly.

“so what’s up with the scarf?” derek asked, searching the fridge for a bottle of water. spencer brought a hand up to the material wrapped around his neck as he took a sip of his coffee. he shrugged.

“just cold this morning,” he sighed. 

derek arched an eyebrow at him. “for a genius, you’re a shitty liar.” spencer frowned, looking down. “whatcha trying to hide, reid?”

“nothing,” spencer said, quickly moving past his coworker and back to the bullpen. derek watched him scamper away curiously.

a bit later, spencer was walking toward the break room to pour yet another cup of coffee while penelope excitedly made her way back over to the team. spencer had been looking down at his phone as she hustled over.

the perfect recipe for disaster.

“guys-!” spencer looked up just as penelope squealed, but it was too late for either of them to prevent their collision. spencer’s shoulder was knocked harshly by the unrelenting computer tech, making him stumble and--miraculously--his scarf slip. 

the team watched the whole ordeal, jaws dropping as the scarf did. the woven material had been hiding a scattered series of deep purple marks that lined the doctor’s neck. he cleared his throat, hoping his hair covered his flushed face as he bent down to retrieve his scarf. penelope watched with her mouth agape.

“sorry,” she breathed when spencer stood back up, tucking the scarf back around his neck.

he cleared his throat, offering an embarrassed smile and no eye contact. “it’s okay.”

“spence?”

the entire team turned to look over to where the voice had called. in all the chaos, you had snuck into the facility. if they thought they were shocked before, they were sorely mistaken.

you offered a smile to the staring, slack-jawed team. you looked back over to the absolutely embarrassed doctor. “am i early?”

“nope,” he said quickly, shaking his head. you walked toward him as he rushed to his desk, placing his mug down and grabbing his jacket and bag. he gave you a smile as you looked over the organized materials of his desk.

“spencer, you’re not gonna introduce us?” jj smiled innocently.

spencer resisted the urge to glare, instead simply pursing his lips as you looked around at the smug team with a grin. “y/n, this is jj, emily, derek, and penelope. team...” he motioned to you. “..you know y/n.”

“we’re huge fans,” penelope explained with a smile.

“aw,” you gushed, placing a hand over your heart, “that’s so sweet! spencer’s told me a lot about you guys!”

“really?” derek asked with a smile, turning to you. “like what?”

“well-” spencer gave you a desperate look and you just giggled, patting his cheek. you placed a hand on his shoulder and looked back over to the team. “why don’t we all discuss it over lunch sometime this week? my treat.”

“really?” penelope gaped.

“of course!” you grinned. “we really need to get to our reservation, but i can get spencer to work it out with you guys later!” they all voiced their agreements. you waved as spencer took your hand and began to pull you away. “great! it was nice meeting you all!”

they watched as you and spencer walked off with smiles. their last glance at you two was of you tugging on his scarf gently with a smirk and knowing look. when you two disappeared, they gave each other shocked and almost hysterical looks.

"that’s crazy,” emily laughed, shaking her head and scoffing.

“what is?” hotch asked as he walked past their desks, file in hand.

“spencer’s dating a celebrity,” jj explained. hotch looked up with a furrowed brow. the blonde just nodded at him. “yeah. we couldn’t believe it either.”

he shook his head. “no, not that. you guys didn’t know?” their eyebrows raised. “someone tell rossi to remind me to look at those new recruit applications. you’re all losing your touch.” and he walked away like it was nothing, leaving the team indubitably flabbergasted.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Valentines Day for Nerds (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s favourite holiday is often taken up mostly by work, but this year his enjoyment doesn’t seem to be as disruptive in the BAU bullpen. The team soon realise why.

AN: It’s a bit late- who am I kidding? IT’S ALWAYS HALLOWEEN IN OUR HEARTS! This was a part of @imagining-in-the-margins fic swap, for the brilliant @agntprentiss <3 

For my smut fic from the swap, check out A Little Indulgence (18+ only!)

Reader uses she/her pronouns!

Word count: 1.7k words

Gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins​ <3

Your name: submit What is this?

The first breach of boredom was Penelope practically skipping into the bullpen, her arms cradling a bouquet of flowers as if it were an infant. The bold orange roses contrasted with the dyed black petals of its counterparts as they were planted upon Spencer’s desk.

“Delivery for Doctor Reid!” trilled Penelope, clapping her hands now that they were free of said delivery. Dropping his pen onto his unfinished paperwork, Spencer pivoted the base of the bouquet before he found a small black envelope.

It held a little card with two pumpkins, happy faces carved into them both. Inside were the following words:

 Black is for new beginnings,

Orange is for enthusiasm,

Spooky times are afoot tonight,

Watch out for ectoplasm!

I spent ten minutes trying to think of a rhyme for that. Happy Halloween, Cara Mia!

Y/N xxx

Spencer beamed as he placed the bouquet at the edge of his desk, next to the fake severed hand that now held the card in its stiff fingers. He scratched his bristly cheek. Less than a day until he could shave this off. It’d be worth it though.

“Is it from Y/N?”

He looked up to see Penelope had lingered like a lost spirit, waiting to see if her trials of passing on the bouquet had been worthy enough for her to move onto the next world – her Batcave. She was poised with a hopeful expression.

“Yes,” Spencer said, watching Penelope lean up on her tiptoes as she tried to rein in her delight.

She clapped her hands, her purple painted nails clicking as they tapped together, “Are my two favourite ghost hunters up to much this Hallow’s Eve?”

“We’re going to see the Phantasmagoria re-enactment after we go trick-or-treating with Henry tonight.”

It was hard to ignore the absolute glee with which Spencer spoke. Even if one completely ignored the way his voice carried a light excitement, the way his eyes lit up and his broad smile almost fell off his face was enough to connote that he was very excited for tonight. It was also hard to ignore the mild bemusement on the faces of everyone who heard.

Glad to be back and bearing witness to his elated behaviour regardless, Emily cracked a smile, “Maybe she’ll cling to you when she gets scared.”

A heat crawled up Spencer’s neck and he tried to return to work now in hopes that his gift’s display would be cut off. He’d rather sit in the glow of receiving the flowers without mockery.

To the team’s credit, no one ribbed him for it.

The flowers were not the last gift though.

Soon Penelope reappeared, “Your Cupid has returned with another gift for you!”

As he tore at the paper and revealed an Edgar Allen Poe pin – the titular Raven he instantly attached it to his satchel strap – in pride of place, just like the bouquet.

Derek was the one to notice how Spencer’s sandwiches had been cut into little pumpkins. Some digging and Spencer revealed that he had gotten Y/N to order a cutter online. He held his lunch in one hand, his collection of classic Halloween short stories in the other, with a childish glee that no one wanted to squander.

When Spencer climbed the steps to drop off a file to Hotch around mid-afternoon, Rossi walking behind him noted the brand-new socks. A classic odd pairing, and obviously they were Halloween themed. This kid left no opportunity untaken when it came to celebrating Halloween – more than his own birthday.

But Rossi was not closed enough to get a good look at them, and no one else was as close. So, he recruited Emily and Derek to discover what the pattern was. It was Emily and Derek who upped the stakes by wanting to get a glimpse without arousing suspicion. Now that outright asking Spencer was not an option, the game began as they dropped several pens as an excuse to bend over and strain for a flash of those socks.

Derek eventually resorted to a pantomime attempt at tripping in front of Spencer’s desk and gave the jig up straight away by shouting to a stressed Emily (whilst also catching the attention of Hotch through his office’s blinds): “IT’S IT!”

A few language barriers hurdled later, and hindsight brought them both clarity. The red splodge on Spencer’s ankle was officially defined as a balloon.

“So tell us! What’s the other one?” Emily said, her voice strained with how much she was invested in this single sock.

Spencer hiked up his trouser leg to display the skeletal zombie sewn into the sock. “It’s Curtis Danko from When Good Ghouls Go Bad. Y/N had it commissioned for me!”

JJ was watching nearby, unaffected by the tensions of the sock bet. She knew the film because Y/N had wanted to show it to Henry the other week when she babysat him. But upon further inspection, the R.L. Stine film – while intended for kids – might be a little intimidating for Henry to watch without his profiler mother and godfather, police officer father, and favourite auntie there to protect him from the cursed statue.

No one else in the bullpen knew the film.

The team soon discovered that Spencer was not the only one to be on the receiving end of such gifts. Six o’clock rolled around and Y/N entered the bullpen. She was wearing a fuzzy black scarf, some sparkles shining within the wool. At the tail of it, a lucky black cat patch was sewn onto the end. It caught Rossi’s eye and he hid behind a folder as he smiled. The three times that Spencer had forgone a card game with him (in favour of knitting the scarf on the flights back from cases) had been riddled with playful teasing. It was good to see that it was worth it.

Especially when Spencer saw Y/N wearing it and his back snapped straight up. His chair flew backwards, spinning around with the effort that Spencer had launched himself from it, and he and Y/N embraced each other with casual affection.

“How was work today?”

“Not as boring as I thought. But, I have to say: I’m meant to call you Cara Mia.” Spencer’s eyes darted to the card Y/N had sent that morning.

Y/N caught onto his meaning, “Should I stop?”

“Never.”

She rubbed her nose against his and Spencer went pink again, giggling like a teenager. True, he was as smitten with Y/N as Gomez was with Morticia. Then he remembered he was in the workplace as Y/N went to greet the rest of the team, and Spencer’s pink became a scarlet.

“Aww, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned at him from his desk chair, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s like Sergio!” Emily said, admiring the scarf with her thumb rubbing over the stitches around the cat patch.

“Make sure he’s safe tonight,” Y/N squeezed her hands for a second.

Then JJ appeared from her office, coat and bag over her arm, and she, Y/N, and Spencer wished the bullpen a Happy Halloween before they left.

They had three hours before the Phantasmagoria started. Plenty of time to get ready.

Henry was right behind the front door of his home. The second it opened, he bounced at Spencer’s feet, his tiny hand clutching onto two of his fingers to drag him inside. He was babbling away at such speed that Y/N could barely keep up. She gave Will a wave across the ironing board where he was diligently ironing Will’s cape.

“Well don’t you look handsome!” Y/N beamed at Henry while JJ combed his hair back, slick with gel. It was something he agreed to but only if Spencer was doing the same. Which he was, occupying the downstairs bathroom as he prepared his own costume.

The moment Spencer had finished shaving everything bar the moustache, he was plonked in front of the television. Henry smoothed out his cloak and put in his plastic fangs in to watch the rest of his new favourite Halloween film, The Little Vampire. He mumbled along with Rudolph’s lines and sat enraptured as he pointed out to Spencer the flying scenes. Luckily for him, Will and JJ were getting dressed as Frederick and Freda Sackville-Bagg upstairs to join in the Halloween spirit – last year’s Halloween date night disaster long forgotten.

Henry put in his plastic fangs and hissed at Y/N who emerged in her long sleek black dress. As she stepped across the room as elegantly as Morticia, Spence spied that she was wearing the black spiderweb tights he had bought her today.

“Hello, Gomez,” She smiled radiantly at Spencer, smoothing out his suit jacket as he stood before her. He presented her with a red rose that matched her lipstick to a tee.

As she breathed in the flower’s scent, he kissed her cheek, enjoying her giggle at the bristle of his ‘stache, “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you, and you’re handsome as ever.” She swung their linked hands between them in the opposite way she poised on her tiptoes. “Maybe we should have taken a tango class.”

And she laughed loudly at Spencer’s wincing at such a thought.

“It’s ok, Cara Mia. I’ll settle for a kiss instead.”

Oh, that was something he could do forever. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles then the inside of each wrist.

Unfortunately, Henry interrupted the stream of kisses that were headed in Y/N’s way. “Ready to go!” He skipped his way between the happy couple.

It was hard to be mad at Henry, especially with how adorable he looked beside his parents and with his bright orange pumpkin bag ready to collect candy. He felt safe with his four favourite adults guarding him.

“Tonight,” Y/N whispered into his ear and he could hear the smirk in her words, “After the Phantasmagoria.”

Spencer beamed, his dimples delightfully framing that smile. One day maybe, they would have their own Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert to join them. And maybe then Derek would dress up as Uncle Fester.