#but aaron is prettier so it's fair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winterscaptain · 3 years ago

Text

roadblock.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: aaaaaaand we're back! i'm working on the next bits of the season 11 arc, so stay tuned!

words: 7.4k content advisories: language, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, death, and discussion of sexual assault, brief alcohol mention, brief discussion of gun death, food consumption

summary: “home is anywhere that you know all your friends and all your enemies.” ― orson scott card, hart's hope

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You roll over in bed, stretching with a little noise from the back of your throat. Somewhere along the way, you land across Aaron’s chest and settle, shifting a little to get comfortable.

“Good morning,” comes a rumble from under your cheek.

You hum, still not fully awake. “Morning.”

“You get prettier every day I know you, you know that?”

“Flatterer,” you reply, offering a halfhearted smack of the hand over his heart.

Aaron chuckles and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight to him. “It’s been nice having you home a little more.”

“Don’t get used to it.” You finally open your eyes and tip your head up, pressing your nose to the hollow under his jaw. “I’m benched, not retired.”

There’s a kiss pressed to the top of your head. “I know. It is spoiling me, though, just a little.”

It’s spoiling you, too, if you’re honest. Given the recent events with Derek, you’re sure Emily has a hand in artificially lightening your desks, keeping your consults manageable and outlining expert witness testimony in writing whenever possible. Still, you’re somewhat busy.

Tara’s been out in interviews most of the week, working on one of her publications with an inmate in federal prison, and the rest of the team has been working out of the office or away on judicial obligations.

You’re sure Spencer would be tired of acting as an expert witness by now, but he seems to be in high spirits every time he returns from a trip.

It’s kind of impressive, for someone who hates handshakes and commercial flights so much.

“Doing work behind a desk is fun for about three days, then I’m kind of over it.” You sit up, stretching again and removing your pajama shirt so you can pretend to get your day started. Aaron reaches for you, tucking his head into your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. With a snort, you ask, “Having fun?”

He nods, burrowing deeper.

“All you men are the same - you see a pair of boobs you’ve seen probably a thousand times and your brain shuts off.”

“Only one brain,” Aaron says, mumbling into your skin. “The other one works just fine.”

You snort. “That’s hardly a brain. It’s more of a sentient appendage.”

Aaron hums noncommittally.

Can’t hurt to let him stay for a minute, right?

“You have three minutes and then I have to get up. Jack has a test today and he can’t be late.”

A little dissatisfied, but resigned, chuff gets past your sternum.

Good enough.

+++

The federal building is relatively quiet when you and Aaron arrive a little after nine. As usual, Penelope and Emily are up in the office, discussing any recent developments on the Montolo case while Dave putters about the kitchen.

“Morning,” you say, slipping past him and heading toward the fridge. Aaron, in all his thoughtfulness, packed you a lunch today while you took care of Jack’s.

Dave looks up. “Bellissima! Good morning.” He picks up his coffee mug but doesn’t take a sip. Between you, Kate, and JJ, everyone has been mindful about public caffeine consumption for over a year, now. The niceties are second nature. “Any big plans for the weekend?”

You shake your head. “It’s Aaron’s birthday on Monday, but we’re not doing much. You?”

He shakes his head. “My publisher has been after me. She apparently doesn’t believe me when I tell her I’m retired.”

“You didn’t stay retired from this job,” you point out. “So, that might be fair.”

“Retirement is a state of mind,” Dave says, waving you off. You follow him as he wanders back into the bullpen. “As long as I’m not writing books in my head, I’m retired.”

You tip your head. “Decent rule.”

“What’s a decent rule?” Spencer asks, looking up from his mini chess board.

You take a seat at your desk and fire up your computer. “Rossi says he’s retired as long as he’s not thinking about writing books.”

Spencer shrugs, turning the board. “That seems reasonable.” He looks up at Dave. “Is your publisher bothering you again?”

Dave tips his head. “Apparently, the forums are anxiously awaiting my encore, but I don’t have anything for them.”

“Yeah. MIT keeps emailing me about another publication, but I had Garcia take them out of my inbox.” Spencer shrugs. “I hardly look at my email anyway.”

You laugh a little. It’s true - the best way to reach Spencer via email is to email anyone else on the team and request to pass the message along. More than one department has learned its lesson trying to wheedle communication out of Boy Wonder, to no avail.

Speaking of email, yours is relatively orderly. Only three new items in your inbox since you left the office last night, and two of them are non-urgent items for Derek upon his return, compliments of IT forwarding his email to yours.

The time passes quickly while you work on the only remaining email that needs your attention. Soon enough, Spencer stands and waits by your desk, ready to walk with you upstairs to the roundtable room.

“You can go on without me, Spence. I’ll be there in a second.”

He shrugs. You can see it out of the corner of your eye. “I’m not in a rush.”

You huff a little laugh and hit Send. “Thanks. Ready?”

He nods, and you head up.

+++

You settle in at the table. Derek and JJ’s usual seats are empty, and you can’t help but feel like the room is getting rather small.

“Meet twenty-year-old Jose Rivera, night manager at a place called Dee's Original Diner.” She clicks through two portraits of two young men. “And then this is Eddie Butler. He was seventeen. He was a fry cook, high school senior, and basketball star.”

She clicks again. “And finally Renee Acosta. She was sixteen years old. She was a cashier at the restaurant, and she was a junior in high school.” She clicks again. “And they were all murdered last night just after closing. The safe and the cash register were both emptied, and all the victims' valuables were missing, too.”

“Any surveillance video?” Dave asks.

“No. Because the system burnt down in a fire that was set after the murders took place.”

You sigh. “The arson was probably just a forensic countermeasure.”

“The coroner has the bodies right now,” Penelope says, “and it looks like the cause of death to each was a gunshot wound to the head.”

“Garcia, pause!” Spence leans forward. “Where did this happen?”

“Oh,” she says. “I was saving the worst for last.”

“Las Vegas, New Mexico?” It’s hardly a question. If you already had an inkling as to where this was going, so did Spencer. Your face falls, as does Emily’s.

“Mm-hmm.” Penelope’s nod comes with a pinched face.

“Wait, what's the deal with Las Vegas, New Mexico?” Tara asks.

Your mouth twists. “The same exact type of robbery-homicide took place there six years ago.”

“At that time it was at a place called the Burger Corral and there were four victims,” Penelope adds.

“Teenagers,” you continue. “They sexually assaulted the girls, then shot them execution style, robbed the place, and then burned it down to the ground.”

You look to Emily, who adds, “We consulted from here and the NCAVC coordinator in Santa Fe did the groundwork.”

“Any suspects?” Tara asks.

You shake your head. “None, but we knew it was probably someone with a personal connection to the town.”

“Problem was it's a pretty transient place,” Dave says. “Tourists, truckers, and a lot of the work opportunities are seasonal.”

Spencer nods. “Given the level of violence, we profiled it was two or more criminally experienced unsubs, most likely under the influence of some type of narcotic, but they never struck again and the case went cold.”

“Looks like it’s hot now.”

Tara looks up from the file. “So, are these guys back or is this somebody playing copycat?”

“That's what we need to find out,” Emily says. Aaron appears behind her. “Hotch will be joining us now that we’re down two hands. Wheels up in thirty.”

+++

Now you really feel spoiled. Having Aaron on the case with you brings a certain level of comfort to you, especially with Derek and JJ out for the count.

You know for a fact that JJ has called daily to confirm she’s not actually needed, but Emily has been quite firm with her. Now, she says, is the time for JJ to enjoy her growing family and get all the rest she can. She’ll be back soon enough.

Aaron takes your bags as you walk across the tarmac. You might all be a little delayed getting off the base due to some in-air exercises by Marines in their Black Hawks and Osprey helicopters. You can hear them, but the clouds mask their movement as they fly above you.

“Feeling good about traveling this morning?” He asks. What he really means is, how nauseated are you, but he’s too polite to ask with Tara walking so close by.

You nod. “Just fine. I have stuff in my bag if I get queasy at all.”

He shifts the bags, throwing one over his shoulder and taking the other in the same hand. He offers you his free arm and you take it, winding your fingers in the fabric of his coat. A little smile pulls at the corner of your mouth.

It’s not overly cold - just under sixty degrees - but it’s nice to be so close.

+++

“Las Vegas, New Mexico,” Spencer says, supplying you all with some fun facts and context prior to the briefing, “was actually founded seventy years before its Nevada counterpart. In the late nineteenth century, it was a booming railroad hub with a reputation for lawlessness, and apparently, outlaws are a part of the town's genetics. Billy the Kid lived there, and Doc Holliday himself had a saloon there before going to meet Wyatt Earp in Tombstone, Arizona.”

You smile. Tombstone is a favorite movie of Aaron’s (and Jack’s as well). Love for both cowboys and Val Kilmer runs deep in your household.

“The more things change, the more things stay the same.” Dave says.

Tara looks up as if Dave hadn’t said anything at all. “All the victims in both instances were teenagers, except for Jose Rivera.”

“A younger staff,” you note. “That's pretty typical for a night shift.”

Dave nods. “The unsubs might have considered that. It would be easier to subdue a group of kids.”

“Almost an identical M.O.,” Tara says. “Copycat or no, why go back to this town and do this again?”

“They could be sending some kind of message to announce their return.”

Aaron seems to like that idea. His eyes flicker to Spencer for a moment and he squints, thinking.

Dave has another thought while Aaron ponders. “Or it just might be criminal ego. They got away with it the first time. Why not do it again?”

“With unsubs this violent,” Tara asks, “how do you just disappear and go dormant for six years?”

Aaron tips his head. “They may have been in prison. That would explain the criminal experience.”

“Crime U,” Dave says, a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone, “best education taxpayer money can buy.”

Emily cracks a smile, but gets down to business quickly. “When we land, I'll have Garcia compile a list of recently released convicts in the area. Rossi, you and Reid go to the coroner when we land. Lewis, you're with me and the Hotchners at the local PD.”

+++

When you arrive at the precinct, you flash your credentials to security and they get you checked in.

“Agent Hotchner, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

The woman behind the counter takes your credentials and scans them, handing them back with a security tag. It’s a little more advanced than most local stations, but given the history of the town, it makes a fair amount of sense.

Emily’s right behind you. “Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief.” She gets settled, tucking her credentials back into her pocket and clipping her ID tag to the pocket of her pants.

You wander to the side of the lobby, where photos sit behind plexiglass. It’s almost like a museum, with pictures dated back to the town’s founding in the 1860s.

Headed for civil war and people are still posing for portraits.

You shake your head with a little laugh. The door opens and you follow Emily and Tara inside. Aaron follows behind you in an attempt to keep the focus on Emily. Even though he outranks her, she’s the lead on this case and everyone needs to know it.

“Agents,” A man says, coming out of his office and crossing the bullpen to meet you, “Chief Montoya at your service. Thank you for coming.”

Emily extends a hand. “I'm Agent Prentiss. This is Agent Hotchner, Dr. Lewis, and our Section Chief of the Northwest Investigations and Operational Support Division will be working with us on this case, Agent Aaron Hotchner.”

It’s always made you laugh, the way that Emily puts as many words as she can possibly fit between your name and Aaron’s. It seems to work, because the chief doesn’t say anything or offer any curious looks.

“Nice to meet you. There's been a development. Renee Acosta's parents discovered a voicemail she left when the assailants broke in. Over here.” He gestures to a place behind you and you follow him.

“Lewis, why don’t you sit with Renee’s parents and see what you can do after listening to the voicemail.”

Tara nods, moving to hover over one of the officers. She puts the headphones on and focuses in.

You look around, finding the eyes of a man tracking your team.

“Chief Montoya, who is that?” You ask, tipping your chin toward the watcher.

“That’s Brooks Tanner. His daughter was a victim of the original attack six years ago.” Chief Montoya meets your eyes. “He’s a friend.”

“You mind if we talk to him?” Emily asks.

Chief Montoya gestures broadly. “By all means.”

Emily turns back to you. “Would you mind? I’ll go over the previous case with Hotch while you two conduct the interviews.”

“Not at all.” You turn to Montoya again. “Do you happen to have the case file handy?”

“Of course.”

+++

“I can't believe it's been six years,” Brooks says, looking out the window into the bullpen. His back is to you, but you don’t mind. “It feels like yesterday. Fell asleep out on the couch. Next thing I know, my wife's shaking me, yelling about how they killed Jenny. It all felt like a dream. I keep hoping maybe I'll wake up one of these days.”

All these years of doing this job, the humanity of it never stops smacking you in the face. You have, however, learned how to hold your composure.

“And where is your wife now?”

“Went back to her family in Reno about a year after it happened. Her heart was broken too bad.”

“But you stayed.” It’s not a question.

“My daughter's buried right up the road. I ain't goin' anywhere.” He turns toward you. “I thought for sure you'd have caught 'em last time. I was positive.”

You nod, understanding. “Mr. Tanner, we're going to do everything we possibly can, I promise you.”

“You just promise me…” He takes a few steps toward you, but you see more hurt than threat. “You'll catch those sons of bitches and you're gonna make 'em pay.”

“We will do our best,” you tell him. You glance down at the photo in the file. The striking young woman, smiling between her parents, seems bright, happy.

Mr. Turner shifts his weight. “When are you due?”

You take a little breath, looking down to realize your hand is pressed to the side of your belly to relieve a little pressure under your ribs. “March.”

Mr. Turner hums. “I remember those days. My wife says that keeping the heat on your back helps with those muscle aches.” He shrugs. “I think she said it even helps with the gas, too, but I don’t want to be impolite.”

“Thank you.” You giggle a little, despite the circumstances. “I think this condition reveals something a little impolite about all of us, so I’m happy to take all the help I can get.”

“You’re already a mother, aren’t you?” It’s almost not a question.

You nod. “Yes. I’ve known my stepson since he was very young. I feel very much like his mom, but I’m not his mother.”

There must be something in your voice because he asks, “What happened to her?”

“She was killed,” you reply. You don’t sugarcoat it.

Mr. Turner doesn’t say anything.

“I know people say they understand what you’re going through, but I know that’s impossible. Losing a child is unlike anything else.” You pause, glancing down at the picture of Jenny again, thinking of those horrible minutes where you were sure you lost Jack. “But I know that pain of grief. I will do whatever I can to honor your daughter, sir, and bring her justice.”

He nods once, puts his hat back on his head after tipping it, and walks out of the station. You’re almost certain it’s a peace offering.

+++

You return to Tara, who has finished up with the Acosta family. She has a laptop now, but her headphones are still firmly planted over her ears. You watch her flinch, sigh, then remove them.

“You all right?” You ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, just, um…” She takes a breath. “Just listening to that voicemail again. With my work I've never been big on the whole compartmentalization thing. I just feel like I can't understand others' emotions if I don't deal with my own, you know?”

You shrug. “The best way out is always through.”

“Too bad it's not always the easiest way.”

“No shit.” You sit down beside her, leaning back in the chair so you can run your hand over your aching hip. The second trimester is a bit of a bitch, so you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like when he gets even bigger. “You hear anything else on the recording?”

“Yeah. You guys profiled that you thought there might be multiple unsubs. I can only hear two on this recording. So, unless there are others outside, we're dealing with a partnership.”

That’s not ideal.

+++

When Dave and Spencer return from the M.E., they have information that confirms you’re dealing with the same unsubs. No copycat, no similarly-minded weirdos. The same people.

Spencer stands at the front of the room, walking everyone through the evidence. It’s mostly for Tara, but you all could use the refresher. Plus, nobody has the patience to sit and stare at the evidence board for an hour, parsing through all the similarities and differences. Spencer’s grasp of pattern recognition always comes in handy, it seems. “Six years ago the unsubs separated the victims by gender. The bodies of the boys were found out by the register, the two girls were found in the back office.”

You nod. “Yeah, we profiled that was about control. Isolate the males who were more of a threat.”

“Exactly,” Spencer says. He sounds very much like a professor at the moment. “They even blindfolded them. But they didn't do that this time. No blindfolds and the three victims were found in the same area, all within a few feet of each other.”

“Dee's Original Diner had a back office,” Dave points out. “Why didn't they use it?”

“And look at the body position.” Spencer gestures to the board. “The victims from six years ago were prone, like they were shot while kneeling.”

You gesture to the board. “But Jose Rivera and Eddie Butler were both sitting up.”

“Maybe they posed them that way.” Tara says.

“I don't think so,” Spencer replies. “Ballistics suggest they were seated when they were shot, and look at the way they're facing. It's like they wanted them to see each other.”

“Not see,” Dave says. “Watch.”

Your brow crinkles. “You think they made the boys watch the sexual assault?”

“Well, if they did, they probably made her watch the murders.”

“Psychological sadism,” Tara answers simply.

“A ritual aspect.” Dave’s eyebrows raise. “That's new.”

“And very specific,” Tara says. “Why didn't they do this before?”

You hum. “Well, they could be evolving.”

“Or…” Spencer leans on the table. “It's possible only one of them was involved six years ago.”

A little ripples goes around the room and Dave puts voice to your thoughts. “Which would mean he has a new partner.”

+++

When Emily and Aaron return from the chief’s office, you fill them in on your findings. They’re not overjoyed that it's the same unsubs, obviously, but they’re at least pleased you can pull from the previous profile as a starting point.

“Alright. Good work today. Let’s get settled at the hotel and grab something to eat.” Emily checks her watch. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I haven't eaten since we left Quantico.”

You can’t say the same - Dave and Spencer brought you a sandwich on their way back from their field trip. They’ve both done their best to not babysit or hover, but they’ve been very attentive to your food and water consumption on the last couple of trips.

Aaron pulls your coat from the back of your chair, opening it so you can slip your arms in. His hands brush your shoulders for a moment as he fixes the collar. It makes you smile.

+++

The two of you end up snoozing on top of the covers after dinner, trying to get a little bit of sleep and adjust to the minor time change.

You’re curled in front of Aaron, his whole body snug around yours. His arm falls over your waist, his fingers laced between yours over your abdomen. It’s comforting to hear his breath, to feel it brush over your ear. His other hand curls beneath the pillow under your head.

There’s a moment where the surrealness of your positionality hits you again, just like it did a week after your first… everything with Aaron.

You’re here, on a case, wrapped in his arms, taking a nap, and pregnant with his child. Of all the things you could have anticipated, next to none of these were on the list of coulds, shoulds, or woulds. Your fingers tighten around his and he returns the gesture, holding you impossibly closer.

You’ve grown used to everything down to the way he brushes his teeth in the morning. When you return home from a case, your home smells of both of you - something you can’t describe, but you know it’s yours, together. It’s a strange thing to notice, surely, but his apartment always had a smell specific to him and Jack, even after the Haley in it faded in time.

Now, you’re the added piece of the environmental puzzle - the part that fits in so neatly you wouldn’t know to look for its absence.

The thoughts swirl around in your head, keeping you from sleep. Eventually, Aaron’s phone rings. You know exactly what it means, given the blossoming profile of these unsubs and the nature of their crimes.

“What is it, Emily?” Aaron answers, not unkindly. He just sounds tired. “...Yes. Alright… We’ll meet you there.”

He hangs up and turns to you. “Two more bodies.”

With a sigh, you get your shoes on and round the bed, tucking yourself into Aaron’s chest. He wraps his arms around you.

“You doing okay?” He asks.

You nod. “I just miss you. I miss this.”

He hums, thoughtful. “I miss this, too. It’ll be nice to be out on a couple of cases until JJ gets back.”

“You’re good to have around, you know.” You tap his chest over his shirt. “You’re pretty useful.”

He chuckles. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. Otherwise I’d have you recalled into the IOSS analyst division.”

“Give me a break,” you tell him with a snort. You step back. “You’d never catch me as an analyst.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “If you read your reports from behind my desk, you’d probably change your mind.”

“Good thing I don’t, then.”

+++

“Do you want to go in?” Emily asks when you arrive on-scene. You shake your head. “Let’s not push it. I’ll get statements from out here.”

She nods, leaving you outside with Aaron. Chief Montoya arrives a little while later but doesn’t greet you as he walks into the pharmacy. You can’t really blame him - this has to be difficult.

Collecting the statements isn’t too difficult, all things considered. There are very few witnesses, given the size of the town and the late hour. You and Aaron finish up with decent time to spare, waiting outside for the crime scene techs to finish their work.

The press arrives shortly thereafter, rolling up in their news vans and bathing the parking lot in bright white light. You watch as Chief Montoya confers with Emily before taking measured steps toward the door.

He handles the press with grace and integrity, looking more than a little worse for wear.

“You think he’s okay?” You ask Aaron.

He shakes his head. “No. I don't. His job is to keep this community safe, and now he feels responsible.”

Spencer walks out and waves you off to the side, away from the TV cameras and microphones.

“Victims are Randy McAdams, his niece Jane McAdams.” Spencer holds a little notepad, but you know it’s mostly for show. He just keeps it to fiddle with while he’s talking, finding a place to focus his eyes somewhere over your left shoulder. “The unsub looted the methamphetamine hydrochloride stores and the register before shooting both victims. They were facing each other, just like the victims in the diner.”

You sigh. “At least he’s keeping the ritual aspect consistent. You said unsub - was it both of them?”

“No. The surveillance footage only shows one of them, which means the partner was elsewhere.”

“That's a huge risk to stay in town and pull this so soon,” Aaron says.

“That’s what Emily said as well, but they're meth addicts, though. The risk may be of little consequence.”

Aaron hums. “Is the coroner’s office done in there?”

“Yeah,” Spencer replies. “Everything is bagged and tagged. Bodies are headed to autopsy now. If you’re asking specifically about biohazards, they’re minimized.” Spencer looks at you. “Should be safe for you to go in.”

You reach out to squeeze his shoulder before following Aaron into the pharmacy. Emily and the rest of the team, sans Tara who’s back at the station, stand in a small huddle.

“Six years ago they up and disappeared,” Dave says, “This one doesn't seem like part of their playbook. My money says it's the new guy.”

You tip your head. “Well, he was smart enough to hide his face and he didn't burn the place down. We still have to wait for the autopsy, but she's fully clothed. Doesn't look like there was sexual assault either.”

“But he still made them watch,” Dave points out. “Look. He positions them so they're facing each other. That aspect is important to him, almost compulsive.”

+++

The five of you return to the station when everything has settled down a little bit. Penelope, of course, has been working away since Emily sent over the latest batch of information.

You’re all stationed in the conference room when Penelope rings in.

“Hey, kid,” Dave says, “you got something good for us?”

“I am happy to report that I have finished my nationwide ViCAP search of criminals who like to make their victims watch them commit violent crimes,” she replies. “I'm sad to tell you it is an appallingly populated genre. I got a whole lot of bad boys and it's not even Saturday night.”

You crack a smile, looking up at Aaron. He returns it with a fond roll of his eyes. You turn back to the phone. “Well, narrow it down by surrounding states. The unsubs are probably from somewhere in the region.”

“And eliminate anybody over the age of forty-five,” Tara says. “These crimes are impulsive and violent. They're probably not that old.

“Copy you. That brings us down to four…” There’s another beep. “Ooh. Wait. Rewind. Actually two. 'Cause two of those guys have died.”

“What's that leave us?” Aaron asks.

“Uh, first up is forty-one-year-old Glen Capshaw from Yuma, Arizona. He made his nine-year-old son watch him beat up a bully's father. Apparently made the ten-year-old bully watch, too. Which is mean, but weirdly fair, maybe?”

You hum skeptically. “He doesn't fit our profile. Who else?”

“Okay, next up is twenty-six-year-old Lester Turner from Lubbock, Texas. When he was sixteen, he raped a fifteen-year-old girl, made her twelve-year-old brother watch. Beat up the brother really bad, too.”

“Well, that would explain the ritual aspect,” Emily says. “What else you got on this guy?”

“Uh, he served nine years, two of them in juvie, the rest of them at Texas State prison, which is owned by the Citadel Corrections company. He was released last year.”

“So, he was actually locked up during the Burger Corral incident.” Tara shifts her weight back where she stands, crossing her arms over her chest.

“They may have met in prison,” Emily says. “He could be his new partner. Garcia, give me everything you've got on Turner - known associates, cell mates, the whole nine.”

“On it,” Penelope chirps. “Stand by, queen of my heart.” The line falls silent.

+++

Conversation around the conference room and lots of scanner surfing fills the next hour. You’ve refused Emily’s subtle prompts to get you back to the hotel for a lie-down rather politely to this point, but a more pointed comment about taking it easy has your teeth on edge.

“Emily, damn it, I’m fine.”

Emily raises her eyebrows, but before she can say anything, your phone rings.

“Yeah, Pen, whatcha got?” You try to keep your tone light, but obviously fail because…

“Yikes, what’s gotten into your cornflakes?”

You sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “I’m fine. Let me put you on speaker. What do you have for us?”

As promised, she delivers on speaker. “Besides the fact that I'm all hopped up on dark roast and espresso beans? I have intel to share. 'Tis why I have called thee.” She takes exactly one breath. “Deep background search into Lester Turner brought me down into a wicked place. Turned out he shared a cell block with a Benjamin Wade and a William Duke Mason.”

Emily tries to get ahead of Penelope’s caffeine-fueled findings. “What's so—“

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh!” Penelope rebuts. “You know better than to interrupt me when I'm all 'fiened out. You're gonna ask me what is so sinisterly special about Wade and Mason, and I'm going to tell you. They were messed up bikers, who, five years ago were arrested in El Paso for an armed robbery at a gas station where the clerk was killed. It turns out they tried to torch the place, but the cops came and caught them.”

You can almost see her satisfied smile. Even Emily’s soured mood in light of your bad attitude seems to have lightened.

“Alright, can you send—“

“Stop it. Check your tablets. It's already there.”

Emily tips her head. “Can I ask a question now?”

“Definitely not, because that's not the kicker. Get this. Before he dropped out of high school and ran away, William Duke Mason spent his junior year in what New Mexico town?” There’s a pause. “Yes, you may talk now.”

“Las Vegas,” Aaron offers. You look at him and the corner of his mouth curls up just a tiny bit. It’s a check-in.

Are you alright? Really?

You nod a little bit.

Tired of the babysitting?

Your deep, measured breath tells him all he needs to know.

“Precisely! See, Mason's name was on that list of ex-cons, but it wasn't flagged because he's actually from Dallas, and high school records weren't part of my search parameters, you guys.”

“Garcia, where are Wade and Mason now?” Spencer asks.

“Oh, I can tell you that definitely. Wade is still in prison because he was the shooter in that robbery, but Mason was paroled last month.”

Emily nods. “Lewis and I will fly to Texas and talk to Wade. Let's put out an APB on Turner and Mason.”

+++

Dave sidles up to you, settling just off your shoulder. “You’re looking a little chartreuse there, kid.”

You shake your head once as if to clear it. Apparently, you’ve been caught staring wistfully at Montoya’s coffee mug. “I hope it’s not the nausea,” you reply, laughing a little. “I miss coffee.”

Dave snorts. “Well, there’s more than one thing in that cup you’re not allowed to have.”

“What?” Your brow crinkles. “What do you mean?”

“Nevermind,” he says, waving you off. “Just an observation.”

Aaron appears in the archway. “Hey. Ready for profile delivery?”

You and Dave scramble for a second, grabbing your notes. You follow Aaron out to the bullpen, where the officers have gathered in front of the evidence board. Spencer is already there, fussing with some thumbtacks while he waits for you to get settled.

You get started, identifying the William Duke Mason of the original attacks and giving brief physical descriptions of him.

Aaron picks up where you left off. “William Duke Mason's mother Violet moved here from Dallas after she married a rancher named Jeff Koldyke, who worked for the Romero property for a short time.”

“Don't remember any of them,” Chief Montoya says.

Spencer nods. “It's not surprising you don't remember Mason. As a teenager, he would have been withdrawn.”

“Especially because we think he hated it here,” you add. “He was already fatherless, and then he was uprooted and dragged to a new place where he had no friends. As a teenager, that can be traumatic and may somehow be a source of animosity towards the town itself.”

“Who's that guy?” One of the officers asks.

“His name is Ben Wade,” Spencer supplies. “We actually have reason to believe that he was involved in the Burger Corral murder six years ago.” He passes it off to Aaron again.

“Five years ago, Wade and Mason were arrested in Texas. So we know they were partners back then. Then in prison, they met Lester Turner. Turner gets released and a few months later Mason gets out. A partnership is born.”

You nod, picking up. “A lot of criminal ego in play. So we think they may have come back here in order to emulate the success they had with their old partnership.”

“They're methamphetamine users,” Spencer says, “so it's likely the limbic systems in their brains have been damaged. This is disconcerting, because it can dramatically alter behavior and give rise to a series of psychopathic tendencies and eventually turn into full-blown psychosis.”

He’s right. Even then, you have to point out, “The dynamic between Turner and Mason is rare, like two Alpha males co-existing.”

“A rift will grow between these two if it hasn't already,” Aaron adds. “In fact, we're counting on it. Hopefully, they'll make a mistake. Thank you.”

Montoya stands. “Alright. Let's get to it.”

A little rumble of affirmation ripples through the assembled officers as they disperse. You and Aaron head back into the conference room almost immediately, finding something to do in there.

“How did that go, you think?” You ask.

Aaron’s eyebrow lifts. “I think it went alright.” He glances over his shoulder. “I think Rossi has the rest covered.”

Your gaze follows his. “What do you mean?”

“I think….” Aaron’s chin tips as Chief Montoya turns to leave. “...We might have some light work for the EAP if he doesn’t follow Rossi’s advice.”

You snort. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. I told Dave if he could take care of it one-on-one, we would wait to alert city council. Not sure if it’ll stick, but our first priority is these unsubs.”

“Agreed.”

+++

A little while later, one of the officers runs in with a note from dispatch. He passes it to Aaron. “We’ve got a report of a homicide and property crime on the outside of town. Two witnesses left behind. We’re starting the scene with a couple of patrol units, but I thought you guys might like to check it out.”

You read the details over Aaron’s shoulder. “Thank you, lieutenant. We’ll definitely want to check this out. Are there any more details on the witnesses?”

“Yes!” He says. “Caller said there was a man and his son.”

“Perfect.” You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “Please let the Sergeant know that nobody is to interview the child until we arrive. Dr. Reid and I are trained in children’s forensic interviews. It could damage your case to take a statement without the training.”

He nods. “I’ll get right on that, ma’am.”

A hand on your shoulder stops you before you can get your coat. It’s Aaron.

There’s this indecipherable look on his face, one that you’ve seen a few times.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how lucky we are to have you on this team.”

“What did I do this time?”

“Nothing. I miss seeing you do your job.”

You reach out and he takes your hand. “Ready to go?”

He nods. “Yes, Agent Hotchner. Following your lead.”

+++

Spencer takes the lead on the forensic interview while you take notes. The witnesses are incredibly helpful.

Aaron wanders out of the gas station just as you finish up. “All the surveillance has been destroyed. What'd the father say?”

“There were two of them,” Spencer replies. “Both on motorcycles, both matching the descriptions of Turner and Mason.”

Aaron squints, looking off into the distance. “They let them live. I wonder why.”

You step up, checking your notes. “They said the one with the short hair just stood there pointing his weapon but never pulled the trigger.”

“That must have been Mason.”

“Apparently the other one wanted to shoot them, Mason wouldn't let him, they had a brief argument and then fled. But here's the thing - they've never left a survivor before.” You close your little notepad. “I think something between them must have changed. If they were arguing, it could mean the partnership's dissolving, exactly like we thought.”

“These guys are headed south, maybe Mexico,” Aaron says. “We should alert border patrol.”

+++

The ride back to the station is quiet enough after Aaron has finished all his phone calls. Spencer is nearly asleep, his head tipped back and eyes closed.

Aaron reaches across the console. You take his hand.

+++

Your written expert witness testimony is blurring before your eyes while you sit behind your laptop. You’ve said it before and you’ll say it again: court is the worst part of your job. It’s the mind-numbing desk work you’re not looking forward to in the spring.

“Agents.”

You look up, finding Chief Montoya in the doorway.

“Chief,” Dave says. “You're back.”

“I made some phone calls. One of my guys knows a girl who went to high school with Duke Mason. She said he used to date a girl named Tammy Vasquez. Even after they graduated, I guess he still would come around. Anyway, the rumor is he got her pregnant.”

“Is she still here?” You ask.

Montoya nods. “She sure is. Lives just outside of town.”

Spencer’s already on the phone. “Garcia, tell me everything you can about a Tammy Vasquez. She's from here in Las Vegas.” He puts her on speaker while she types away.

“Um... Tammy May Vasquez. She is a waitress at the Spic and Span Diner in New Mexico. She has a five-year-old son named Cole.” She pauses, clicking her tongue behind her teeth. “He's a cutie.”

“So, she must have gotten pregnant right around that first set of murders.,” Tara says.

“What can you tell us about Cole's father?” Dave asks.

“Absolutely nothing,” Penelope replies. “It says father unknown on the birth certificate.”

Your brow furrows. “What if Tammy is the reason Mason came back?”

“Send us an address, Penelope.” Spencer looks at Aaron. “We should talk to her.”

“Sent!”

“I can get you up there quick if you don't mind an escort.” Montoya offers.

“Yeah,” You reply. “That would be great. Let me call Emily while you guys get on the road.”

+++

Instead of fussing and getting shot down again, you take a seat at the table with the scanners while the rest of the team gets ready to roll.

You look up as Emily calls for Aaron. “Hey, Hotch. You’ll need a hand coordinating those roadblocks.” She tips her head toward you. “Get some fresh air. We’ll meet you back here when it’s over.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you get up and grab your things. Aaron almost hides a smile, but you’re better at catching them than the rest.

“Don’t look so smug,” you tell him. “It’s not like this was your idea.”

He shrugs, following you out to the door with his hands in his pockets.

+++

You reach the state highway and Aaron hits the gas. He’s always done that to make you smile, to watch your head press back into the seat out of the corner of his eye.

After he hits cruising speed, you turn your head to look at him. “You’re very handsome today.”

Aaron smiles, just the smallest upturn of his lips. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. It’s probably the sunglasses.”

“These?” He asks, tapping the frames. “If my memory serves, someone very smart and very beautiful bought them for me.”

You nod. Even though he’s not looking, you know he can see you. “I did. For your forty-fifth birthday, if my memory serves.”

“It does.” He reaches across the console and takes your hand, kissing the back of it without taking his eyes from the road.

The rest of the drive is quiet as he hums over the New Mexico highway.

+++

“I hear some praise is in order, Chief,” you say, walking back into the station. “Good shooting out there.”

He shrugs. “Thanks. Your people did the good work.”

“It’s a team effort,” you insist.

The conversation bounces around for a little while, but the wrap-up is pretty quick. You’re not quite sure what all happened when the chief took the afternoon to himself, but it seems to have paid off in spades.

Emily pulls you aside, her fingers glancing off your sleeve.

You cross your arms under your chest and tip your head, waiting and listening.

She just chuckles, brushing off the implication of your posture. “Don’t be so defensive. I just wanted to tell you that you did good work today and I’m happy we were able to find something safe for you to do outside of the precinct.” She reaches for you and you uncross your arms, letting your hand fall into hers. “How are you? Really?”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Your friend. Also, your supervisor, assessing morale.” The twist of her mouth tips you off to her sarcasm.

You sigh. “I’m frustrated. I don’t love feeling shut down all the time.”

“It would be easier to avoid shutting you down if you didn’t insist on volunteering for dangerous fieldwork.” It’s only half a joke.

She’s not wrong. It would be a lot easier if you swallowed your pride and stopped getting out of your chair.

The kicked puppy look doesn’t help, either.

“Right.” You tip your head. “I get it. It’s just…”

“- It’s an adjustment,” she finishes for you. “And I know it’s even harder to be grounded with JJ out and now Morgan.” Her hand is warm where it rests on your forearm. “I promise nobody expects any more or less of you than they did before.”

You cover her hand with your own. “Thanks, Em.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl up into a warm smile. Her eyes shift to something over your shoulder. With a squeeze of your arm, she lets you go.

You turn and find Aaron waiting behind you with your coat. You let him put it over your shoulders and wrap his arm around you.

“Ready to go?”

+++

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic #fem reader

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mrsmaybank · 4 years ago

Text

My Little Sun - Reid x Reader

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” “So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

CONTENT WARNINGS: AGE GAP, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, STALKING, LANGUAGE probably the misuse of a Russian word IF THERES MORE LMK

A/N: Okay, let me be honest rq this idea lowk scared me but the words really just fell out of my brain really easily so, yk fuck it whatever. ANYWAY, if you like, please let me know!

pt 2, pt 3 “I love you Spencer.” The words immediately melted me.

“I know so many things.” She gave me an unapproving look.

“I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I do! Now for once in your life, listen to me.” She nodded her head in concession.

“I’ve just read more, I’ve written more, I’ve discovered and studied more than the average person. I could tell you a little bit about anything with one hundred percent certainty. I could--and want--to tell you the names of all the stars, I could recite verbatim the entirety of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus or Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, which you know, speaking of I will ‘cause I still can’t believe you haven’t read it,” Her smile flattened into a straight line, and I laughed. “Orrr, I could also tell you something simple, like why we get the hiccups.” I shook my head.

“Regardless, I know so many things and I’m rarely taken by surprise because of it. Everything in life is a pattern of change, and as a human, we will always adjust and adapt to whatever situation we are in. For better or worse, we don’t feel the same thing for very long. This is why an addict takes a couple more every time, a sadist hits his second victim harder than the first, they’re searching for the high of the first time, and it will never come.”

She nodded in understanding,

“I know this is true, it’s factual, and yet every time I look at you it feels like the first. You’ve broken the laws of human psychology.”

“First time you saw me was at a gas station Spencer.”

“No. The first time I looked at you after I knew I loved you.”

“Where were we?”

“My car. You were dancing. You looked ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sexy? You mean?” She smiled.

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.”

“So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin.

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.”

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled.

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine.

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine.

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted.

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss.

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed.

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.”

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic.

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.”

“You are. So, so much smarter.”

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest.

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.”

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?”

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.”

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other.

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

“Must you work?” I sent the message to Spencer as I rolled over to his side of the bed in anticipation. I breathed in heavy, liking the way the pillow smelled like his laundry.

“Unfortunately.” he responded. “Think you’ll be home this weekend?”

“It’s not looking like it, little one. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t reply. I was too sad to reply. I knew it’d make him feel guilty, which I didn’t want to do, cause like, his job and saving people and shit is important. But, it still wasn’t fair! At all. There was something very important I had to tell him.

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

Total darkness, and then way too much light. My head hurt and I couldn’t move. I was handcuffed to a wooden chair. There were chains around my torso and ankles. The room was a medical sort of bright. It smelled like bleach and rotting fruit. The walls were dilapidated, seeming to be made of tiles that were once white, but have turned yellow.

What the FUCK?

“Hello!” I shouted. My voice was so coarse it hurt. Shit. My head pulsed so badly it practically hurt to think, but I still racked my brain.

Where am I?

How’d I get here?

Why am I here?

I woke up again. Fuck, why can’t I think? Why can’t I do anything?

“Hey, y/n.” A woman’s voice. A very stoic, cold, sounding female voice.

I’m not alone. Thank god, oh my god, I’m not alone.

With the little strength I had, I lifted my head to see her. She wasn’t what I thought. She was alright, she wasn’t tied. She did this to me?

She took a sip from her silver flask, “Do you know who I am?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Typical.” She stood up and grabbed me by the hair, “You fucking disgust me.” Like, she said, she threw my hair away like it disgusted her.

She sat back down on the bench in front of the chair I was chained to, “My name is Brook Austen. I was a professor at Georgetown last year. Taught a couple seminars at your school, that little university you go to, the students there were nothing like mine. Not nearly as intelligent, but as expected, Georgetown is much more prestigious, obviously.”

I was confused, and she knew, but did not care.

“You’re not the brightest, y/n. Only slightly above average high school grades, strikingly mediocre academic performance now.”

Where the hell is she going with this?

“And you know it doesn’t surprise me, per say, because every man on this goddamn planet is a piece of fucking shit! But I thought that, maybe, just maybe, Spencer was different.”

She grimaced, “I thought he’d want more than just a pretty face! ‘Cause you might be prettier y/n, but I’m smarter.” Her words were laced with utter hatred.

Her demeanor changed, and it almost started to seem like she was talking to herself. “I'm older. I’m more successful. I’m fucking better.”

She approached me again, grabbing my face so I was looking her in those scarily light green eyes, and she wrapped her hands around my throat. “I’m fucking better then you! Better, better, better!” Every time she said better she shook my neck and gripped tighter so I couldn’t breathe.

“Stop! Please! Please stop!” I shouted, “I’m-I’m pregnant!”

She began to break down, “You’re pregnant?” A maniacal chuckle left her throat, “You’re pregnant?”

“Is it Spencer’s?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Wow.” She laughed once more, “Fucking wow.”

“How could Spencer choose this!? You’re nothing like him. You are a pathetic fucking college student. A fucking daddy issue ridden slut! I’m a celebrated academic, just like him!” Tears began to slip from her eyes, “How could he not choose me?”

This woman is NOT well in the head.

“You--you like Spencer?” I asked.

“You don’t get to ask the fuckin’ questions here.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it to the tip of my chin, “I do. So you’re gonna answer them.” Or, she started manically laughing, “I’ll kill you.” She swallowed, “And your baby.”

I screamed at those words, “No,” I sobbed, “NO!”

I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look at the woman in front of me, there was a timed red dot blinking. A camera.

“Is that-- is that a camera?”

She nodded, “I want Spencer to see you and his child die.”

“He….No! No, please, No!” I choked on a sob and she smiled.

“He doesn’t know.” She paced, “He doesn’t even fucking know!”

She waltzed over to the camera and brought it closer to us, “Hey Spencer.” She began waving, “Hey Penelope. Aaron. Derek. Jennifer. Emily.”

Her demeanor changed once more, into that of a cheerleader of all things, “So, quick recap.” Brook pursed her lips, “Spencer your twenty three year old fucktoy is pregnant. Congrats!”

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

Y/N was two things I didn’t know she was this morning: In serious danger, and the mother of my expected child. I felt frozen in trepidation.

We all watched in horror as Brook greeted us. All by first name. She knew exactly what she was doing and it freaked me out even more.

“Reid, you need to step out.” Hotch grabbed my shoulder, “Now.”

I was sick with fear and ill with rage. I sat down because I could feel my knees go weak. Hotch started again, “We know who she is. We will find her. Y/N will be alright.” He paused, “So will the baby.”

I replayed the events of the live footage in my head, her screams of pain and terror, her trembles and confusion. I’d failed her. I’d failed her and now I knew I’d also failed our child.

JJ sat down next to me, “Spencer, when did you meet Brook?”

“I uh,” I wiped my face, “A year and four months ago. I did uh, I taught uh, I taught a string of seminars at Georgetown. It was biweekly. Her office was next to mine. We spoke for the first time when she offered me a coffee.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I said yeah, I fucking like coffee.” I felt instantaneously guilty for cursing, and especially at JJ but I was too frazzled for it to last long enough to apologize.

“I know Spence, I’m sorry. Just keep going.”

“Then, the next week, we got lunch together.”

“Was it, you know, friendly?”

“What are you implying Jennifer?” I snapped.

“No Spence, we just need to know. You know that.”

“It was-- it was just lunch. A very normal colleague to colleague lunch. We talked about the school’s history. And uh, where we grew up. It was small talk.”

“Ok, was this the last time you spoke to her?”

“No. There was one more time. Y/N was there.”

“Tell me about it Spence.” She grabbed my hand,

I breathed out, “It was the next week I taught after lunch. About two hours before my class. I was lesson planning, and Y/N was doing homework on my desk. She came in. She asked if I wanted to go get lunch. She saw y/n and--Fuck.”

“What Spence? What?”

“She asked me who she was, but it was like, she didn’t want y/n to know she was asking. She thought she was…”

“She thought she was what?”

“A student.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“The truth. That she was my girlfriend.”

“Did you see her anywhere else after that?”

“No. She never came by my office again. When I would see her by chance, she would scurry away. It was strange.”

“Think really hard Spence. Did you ever see her again after you stopped teaching at Georgetown.”

I racked my brain, “Yeah. I did. It was two months ago. Three days after I proposed to y/n. She was getting a coffee at this coffee shop by y/n’s school.. I was bringing her some lunch”

“Spencer she's been stalking you. Your proposal was the stressor.”

“But--I’m a profiler. I would’ve noticed.” I stood up with a realization. “What Spence?” JJ asked, standing up as well to look at me.

“She’s been stalking her, not me. She knew I was a part of the BAU, she knew I would’ve noticed.”

“I’ll tell the team.”

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

A/N2: If this doesn’t totally flop, I’ll write PT 2, that elaborates on the reader’s and Spencer’s relationship. I think through flashbacks from both Y/N and Spencer would be a cool way to explore their relationship and of course the whole reader being kidnapped thing plot could develop. Again, if you enjoyed this pls let me know!!

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toriwakes · 4 years ago

Text

Pretty Boy 187 [s.r x reader]

summary: reader finds out that her new found tumblr crush is none other than her coworker.

content warnings: she/her!reader, mentions of alcohol

a/n: hi!! i’m so happy to be posting again. i’m really proud of this, so i hope you all like it! as always, let me know if you have any requests!

convincing spencer to get tumblr was tough. not only did he hate technology, he didn’t like social media either.

“it’s gonna be fun! c’mon, please?” you’ve been bugging him about it for about a week. “spencer, please just download it. if i have to hear (y/n) whine again i’m gonna loose it.” said derek, plopping is papers on his desk. “you like it when i whine.” you teased, causing derek to flash you a toothy grin. “alright! jeez.” you clapped of joy and jumped to help spencer, but he stopped you. “no way, i’m not letting you follow me.” he kept his phone facing away from you, your arms dropping to your sides in defeat. “fine. i’ll find your account somehow.” “we’ll see about that.”

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

over the next few weeks you acquired a few new followers, only one catching your eye. ‘prettyboy187’ followed you on a quiet friday afternoon. the username caught your attention at first, but when you checked is profile? that’s when you were hooked. half of his pictures were just aesthetically pleasing: outside of his window, his extreme sugary coffee, some books. but others...

it was an excerpt of a poem and his hand was holding back the pages. you doubt he meant to capture it so beautifully. just his hand was godly. you wasted no time dming him.

hey :)

how desperate did you look right now? he followed you barley an hour ago. you cant stop staring at that picture.

hello

he didn’t sound happy. well, he didn’t “sound” anything, you guys were texting. but you could feel his tone through the screen. where you overthinking this too much? you shuffled into your bed, wrapping yourself in the covers as you pondered what to say next.

i just wanted to tell you i really like your account. are you a photographer or something?

no, i’m not. my friend convinced me to get this app and i noticed people post aesthetically pleasing photos on here, so i’m just doing the same haha.

ok, well you don’t post nice pictures. at least, not that type. maybe you’d post a picture of the snow or your bed, but every now and then you’d bless the feed with a picture of you in a swimsuit. it was more for opinions on the suit than anything else.

ohh. maybe i should start doing that.

how do you mean?

oh.

that sounded like a very judge-y ‘oh’. your eyes scanned your own profile to see what he could’ve hated. there was you in your favorite red swimsuit, a picture of your computer with netflix on the screen. the rest of the posts were of the same type, so you couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was.

what is it?

no, nothing. your recent picture. that’s a nice swim suit.

oh. that’s what he meant. you practically threw your phone across the room and squealed. thank the universe that he didn’t dislike you already. you shot him another text. just like that, you had your first ever tumblr crush.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“what’s up with you pretty girl?” derek asked when you walked into work. you supposed you still had the blush on your face when pretty boy wished you a good morning and day at work. “nothing!” you said, obviously it being something. as if on cue, spencer walked in behind you also giddy. “what, you’re both sweet on someone now?” when neither of you responded, derek laughed. “what?” emily inquired, taking her seat. “spencer and (y/n) both have a crush.” emily’s jaw dropped. “spencer has a crush?” everyone broke into laughter, jj overhearing and almost dropping her files. “why is that so surprising?” spencer defended himself, derek giving him a ‘you know the answer to that’ look. “well?what’re their names?” he pushed. you bit your tongue. you didn’t even know his name. yikes. “let’s start.” aaron called. saved by hotch. thank goodness. “this ain’t over.” derek warned the two of you. yes it was. by the end of the day morgan would’ve forgotten all about this.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you were right like always. morgan didn’t ask anymore about it, instead offering to get drinks. you turned it down, desperate to get home and text your boy. and you did, only at 11pm.

hey, sorry it’s so late. had a long day at work.

no worries, so did i. listen, i have a question.

this boy only sent messages that would make your heart drop. with a pacing heart, you texted back.

yes?

his ‘online’ button flashes on. then he was typing. then he was deleting. it seemed like hours before he responded.

what’s your name?

godamnit. you didnt have a display name because you didn’t want anyone you knew finding your account. what’s a fake name you can use? maybe...

lila.

why did you pick spencer’s ex’s name? you don’t know. you remember being insanely jealous of her because she got to kiss spencer in the pool while you were posted outside. your crush on spencer was still very much alive, but not as much as it was with pretty boy.

that’s a pretty name.

thanks. now you have to tell me yours ;)

you’ve never been so nervous for a text conversation in your life. for some reason, the back of your head wondered what it would be like if you were texting spencer. it was just a thought, though. spencer would never say half of this stuff.

call me morgan.

oh NO. please no... you stalked his profile again, terrified that you’ve been flirting with your coworker this past month. alas, your eye caught another body picture- this time of his arm. no tattoos like derek. not to mention he was much smaller. not that that’s a bad thing. you don’t think you’d ever be able to handle derek...

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you arrived at work yet again with a blushing face. “come on, you can’t keep hiding this from me! tell me something at least!” derek whined. “okay! his name is morgan. and i know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not you, my boy is much more attractive.” derek’s mouth formed into an ‘O’ shape in fake offense. “that’s damn near impossible. ain’t nobody prettier than derek morgan.” spencer walked in now, again with a dorky smile on his face. “spencer. (y/n)’s got a crush on-“ you jumped to cover his mouth, the sound of your crush’s name muffled. “what- hey! no fair! derek gets to know but i cant?” spencer whined. derek held his hands up and sat back down, not wanting to get you mad. smart. “three can’t keep a secret.” was all you said before sitting down to clean your workspace.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

the new highlight of your day was texting morgan. you learned several things about him; he has a job he can’t specify for personal reasons, he really wants a dog but he feels like animals hate him. you told him about your cat joel, and how they could absolutely love him. he appreciated that.

if i tell you something, do you promise not to freak out?

depends. are you about to tell me you’re a serial killer?

no!

you giggled to yourself at your humor.

i wanna meet you.

you promised not to freak out, but you were freaking out. it was just now setting in that you didn’t know this man at all. where he lived, how old he was, even what he looked like. you took a few deep breaths and asked a question.

where do you live?

quantico virginia.

no hesitation on that one. he lived in the same town as you? you didn’t know how you’d be able to turn this down...

shit, me too. let’s meet up then.

i’ll send you a good place to get drinks.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“every time you walk in here, you’re blushing. now so are your ears.” you beamed at derek, sitting at your desk before spilling. “i’m gonna meet him.” “wait what? are you sure that’s safe?” you rolled your eyes. “i’m an fbi agent. i’m not scared of a little danger.” you playfully winked and derek blew out a huff of air. “if anything happens, you know you can call me.” you pouted at your friend and nodded, appreciating his concern. spencer was spinning in his seat. “you happy too?” you asked. he only nodded and didn’t elaborate. you we’re going to press on, but hotch called you all in and you lost your chance.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

on rare occasions, the bau got tough cases with very happy endings. this was one of those cases. the plane ride home was extremely joyous and derek offered to get drinks again. this time, everyone accepted (all except hotch). you texted morgan telling him you were going out tonight and you wouldn’t be back till late. you laughed to yourself. it was like he was your boyfriend.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

the night was young and you were fairly tipsy. ok that’s generous, you were drunk. you were spending most of your time with penelope and it took you a minute to remember spencer. “ohmygosh! spence!” he was startled at your presence but he gave you that flat mouthed smile of his. “how are you! you’re my favorite scorpio.” you nodded as you said it, as if trying to convince him it was true. “thanks? i’m good. you’re drunk.” he pointed out. “no shit. hey!!! you never showed me your tumblr user! you gotta show me that girl you like, bet you she’s really sexy.” you didn’t even know what you were saying at this point, whipping out your phone and snapping a picture with spencer. “what are you doing?” he asked, watching you type. “posting this on tumblr! i want everyone to know you’re my favorite in the world.” he wanted to ask favorite what, but a ping on his phone distracted him. lila posted. he smiled and checked her page.

holy fuck.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“(y/n)?” he asked, not looking away from his phone. “yess?” you responded. “what’s your tumblr?” what is your tumblr? “uhhh..i don’t know, check.” you tossed him your open phone, and his eyes only grew wider. “you’re lila?” the words rang through your ears like a siren. “what?” the word was breathy, you couldn’t add stability to what you said. spencer showed you his phone, ‘prettyboy187’ on the screen. “you’re morgan?” still no confidence in your voice whatsoever. your feelings were supposed to change, you weren’t supposed to like that morgan was spencer. but they didn’t. you didn’t even think about the fact he saw your swimsuit photos. you loved that morgan was spencer, and you still wanted to see him on the weekend. “are you mad?” you asked, not being able to stop yourself from sipping from your glass. “no. should i be?” you smiled. “no. do you still wanna meet up this weekend?” “yes. but i don’t wanna get drinks.” he wasn’t even drinking, why is he complaining. “where should we go then?” “my house.”

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #ssa spencer reid #ssa reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years ago

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Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve

Title: Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~10K

A/N: Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 14: Superheroes and Chapter 15: Foyet.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The bar was thrumming with activity and the energy that accompanies people who've all had a long, hard day at work and would like to do nothing besides forget. The team had gotten back from a case in the evening, and with only Friday separating them and the weekend, had all decided to head out for a night of drinking.

You look around, your hands wrapped around a glass of scotch - Derek, Penelope, and Emily were dancing in the makeshift dancing area, JJ was playing darts with some guys, Spencer was cheating people out of their money at a game of pool, and Rossi had long ago excused himself to go sit by some woman at the bar. You'd be dancing too, but the unsub had gotten the jump on you during the takedown and you'd been nursing a sprained ankle ever since. Hotch had stayed with you - whether it was simply to keep you company or because none of the other activities appealed to him, you're unsure. Likely the former - he was pretty good at darts too.

He's sitting across from you in the booth, a glass of scotch in his hand as well. He doesn't make a face when he drinks it, which you have to admire - it was such a man thing. You only drank liquor to get drunk and had been surprised with the drink by Rossi, who had insisted that you needed to drink something stronger than a glass of wine after the day you'd had. You take another hesitant sip from your glass, trying hard not to give away how little you like it. He could've ordered you a mixed drink - something sweet so you didn't taste just pure alcohol.

"What've you got going on this weekend?" you ask Hotch. The case had been miserable all around and you wanted to talk about anything but that.

He looks up at you, the faint hint of a smile on his face. "Haley and I worked it out so that I can have Jack the entire weekend. I'll have to think of something to keep him occupied."

You knew that Hotch would be content to do nothing as long as it was with Jack, but he liked to make the most of their time together and did his best to plan things out that Jack would like. "I saw a poster that said the Air and Space Museum has some special exhibit on this month. It looked interesting." You knew Jack would enjoy that - his latest toy was a rocketship that went everywhere with him.

"Saturday?" he asks, eyebrow quirked up in question.

"Make it 11, and you've got a deal," you tell him, with a small smile. "I am no longer entertaining plans at 9am."

He lets out a slight huff. "If you just went to bed at a normal hour it wouldn't be that hard to wake up in the morning."

This was an old argument with the two of you. Hotch insisted on always being the first in line to any ticketed event. He hated waiting - he'd start to fidget and get annoyed and keep leaving the line to walk to the front and see what was taking so long.

"Take it or leave it." You were sticking your ground. He could use the lie in too, he'd just never admit it.

"We'll pick you up," he says, bringing his glass to his mouth and taking another sip, eyes meeting yours from above the rim.

It was interesting how you and Hotch had settled into this routine of constantly doing things with Jack. You reckon he likes having another adult around when he's out with Jack - it definitely made things easier to keep a little kid entertained. You'd once mentioned to Emily that you were having dinner with him and Jack and she'd looked at you a little oddly, saying that she'd been on the team forever and had never once had dinner with her boss and his kid. You'd responded by telling her that she probably wouldn't enjoy it all too much - Emily liked kids just fine, but her and Hotch tend to get on one another's nerves a bit after a while. They were far too different even if they did work well together. Hotch would try and fail at limiting her to two glasses of wine with dinner and she'd annoy him by just putting the dishes straight into the dishwasher without caring how she did it.

"Someone sent this over for you." You turn to see the waitress place a drink at your table, and indicate towards a man in a wrinkled suit, seated at the bar, who waves at you.

You can feel your face turn into a grimace as the waitress looks at you expectantly. You avoid looking at Hotch across the way. You didn't need to see his reaction. "Would you mind telling him thanks, but, no thanks for me?" you ask her apologetically.

She nods understandingly, taking the drink back and walking towards the bar.

You turn to look at Hotch, completely exasperated. It was nice. It was a nice gesture - sending a girl a drink. Friendly. Yet, you're just a little at your wit's end lately when it comes to men. It all just feels superficial.

Hotch can read you pretty well by now, so he asks if you're alright.

You look at his concerned face. You know why - usually you don't mind this sort of thing. Hell, you pretty much encourage it with the way you act, flirting with nearly everyone simply because you can. It's like a sport to you.

"Are you asking as my boss or as my friend?" you ask him, eyes cast down towards your drink, following patterns in the wood of the table.

"Friend," he says, adjusting to lean in a bit more towards you.

Sighing, you shift a bit, dropping your leg from where you'd been keeping it elevated next to him. "Lately, I just feel like I can't get guys to see me. Like every guy I meet, they either want to date me or kill me," you tell him, referring to your job. "But beyond that, it's like I don't even matter."

Hotch nods understandingly at your frustration, his face a grimace at your explanation. He's unable to deny that that is very much the case when it comes to women quite often - especially in your line of work. You're all far too aware of the horrors of dating, being called in on numerous cases on dating gone wrong. "Aren't you still seeing that guy - Kensington?" he asks with a slight uptick of his jaw.

"Well, if you can call seeing someone six times over the course of about an equal number of months, then yes I suppose so," you scoff lightly. "Twice we got called in on cases halfway, once he got interrupted by a work emergency, and then most recently I accompanied him to an event at which most of the other dates were the kind that demand a retainer in exchange for services rendered," you say, alluding to the super model types you'd kept company at Cedric's business event a couple of weeks back. You could fit into his world quite easily, but you didn't want to. You'd left that behind for a reason.

Hotch chuckles slightly at that, amused at your tone and manner in which you referred to women who were essentially either escorts or sugar babies. You didn't really fit that mold - of that he was quite certain. For one, you definitely didn't need the money.

"Don't get me wrong, I actually do like him. We get one another and our background and upbringing is similar enough. He makes me laugh. However our schedules - both of ours - are highly unconducive to dating and in his line of business he needs a girlfriend who can leave everything at the drop of a hat to stand by his side."

"So unless you leave your job or he leaves his, it won't work out," Hotch finishes your thought for you, a resigned expression on his face in commiseration.

"Exactly. Which is a shame because he's actually one of the good ones. He's rich but not pompous, educated and intelligent without being condescending about it, and actually shows genuine interest in me and my job. Believe it or not, as basic as those things might seem, they are actually difficult to find all in one man."

He hums. "I can imagine," he says, taking another sip of his drink, a slightly amused expression on his face. You rarely talked to him about your dating life so he was actually very interested in this insight. He wonders briefly if there's any significance to you having listed the fact that Kensington was wealthy before any of his other qualities. From what he knows of you, he doubts you'd truly care if your partner had money or not. More than likely it merely helped establish a commonality, nothing more. However, from what he does know of the men you've dated recently, they all appear to be quite well off nonetheless.

"Anyways, all that is to say that I'm not exactly looking to entertain complete strangers in bars at the moment. I don't trust my luck."

"Probably for the best, anyways," Hotch comments, appraising the crowd at the bar. There really didn't appear to be anyone worth talking to - especially none of your caliber, per his judgement.

"What about you? How's the post divorce dating scene?" you question, feeling a little bolder than you usually might, since the two of you are already discussing the matter. Turnabout was fair play.

He's a little surprised at your forwardness. You tend to do your best to not meddle in his personal business, despite the amount of time you two spend together. He believes it's your way of maintaining some modicum of professionalism to your outings. Your conversations tend to revolve around cases, your classes from college, an article in the newspaper, or the ever present game the two of you like to play of profiling complete strangers walking by. He says its to hone your skills, but really he just enjoys how invested you get - how competitive and passionate, color rising in your cheeks as you defend your assessment, annoyance tinging your tone as you disagree with him, admiration when he notes something you hadn't, and pride when he praises your observations, your cheeks flushed a prettier pink and your eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"I wouldn't know," he discloses, a slight flush in his cheeks. He hadn't dated at all since the divorce. He hadn't had the time and he hadn't really had interest in anyone. Not when you exist, so overtly present in his day to day life. He knows he's - in some capacity - using the outings with you and Jack as the closest thing he's got to dating again. Not to say that it was that - dating. However the fact that his weekends were typically filled by you and his son made it so he wasn't exactly left wanting.

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. Their divorce had been a while back now - you knew for a fact that Haley was dating, having ran into her with some man when you'd offered to drop Jack off for Hotch when you all got called in on a case last minute. You hadn't mentioned it to him, but you're sure he knew as well. "You're joking. Really? No one?"

"You might recall, I got divorced because I didn't have the time for my existing relationship. A new one requires quite a bit more attention than that," he says dryly, self deprecation dripping from every word.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at him as you stir your drink with the toothpick it came with, spearing the cherry inside and popping it into your mouth.

"You should just go for it next time we're in some whatever town. Every female detective we've encountered constantly gets all moony eyed around you," you inform him matter-of-factly. They're all so obvious too, eyes always drawn to his ring finger in search of a wedding band, and upon finding it empty, hanging onto his every word. Flicking their hair and fluttering their lashes at him, keen on proving themselves to be competent by sticking their noses into the profile.

"That's hardly true," he contradicts, shaking his head, the color in his cheeks having creeped down his neck.

You chuckle at that. "Maybe you're not as good of a profiler as you think you are."

He glares at you, however the lightheartedness remains in his eyes so you know you're in the clear for your jab.

"Anyways, all I'm saying is, whenever you decide to get back on that proverbial horse, I think you won't find a shortage of options," you tell him kindly. After all, Hotch worked harder than any of you. He deserved to find happiness again.

He rolls his eyes at your statement ever so slightly. His right hand was a much less complicated and demanding lover for the time being - he was making do just fine.

"So, on to the next for you then?" he asks, attempting to divert attention back to you and your existent dating life rather than him and his non-existent one.

You shake your head, a humorless smile appearing on your face as you start to feel just slightly light headed from the alcohol. Maybe accepting random pain killers from Emily hadn't been quite the right move. "Nah," you mumble into your drink. "Cedric can stay, if only because I don't have an actual good reason to end it yet. Besides him, the other two on the back burner are quickly losing what little appeal they held to begin with. I might actually take a break."

Hotch smiles as if he doesn't quite believe you're capable of actually taking a break. Your reputation for never being without a date far preceded you.

Truth be told, at first it was simply easier to always be dating someone in the aftermath of the John wreckage. If you could constantly keep yourself occupied and distracted in that area, while you actually gave turning straight a fair shot, then maybe you'd make it through instead of going crawling back to his bed. Maybe you'd stop seeing his broken face when you told him you couldn't be with him. Maybe the memory of leaving him standing alone in front of that tattoo parlor in the Village wouldn't cause your heart to ache and rebel against your own actions. Maybe. Just maybe.

Now, the pain of Julian's death and the subsequent fallout with your family was merely hurtful when you chose to think of it or were reminded of it inadvertently It was no longer ever present. That seemed like progress. Like somehow despite everything - the pain and torture you'd inflicted upon both you and John had somehow been worth it if it meant you could go to sleep without thinking of Julian. Wake up without your father's face looming ever present in your mind.

You and Hotch look up when you see the rest of the team approaching the table one by one as the night drew to a close. It was last call and about time to head home so you could all have a hope of making an appearance at the office the next day.

"You want a ride home?" Hotch asks you, noticing your slight struggle to get out of the booth.

"It's totally out of your way," you protest, yanking your coat on and fishing for your keys in your pocket.

"I insist, come on. You can't drive properly with that sprain right now. He walks towards you and placing his hand at your lower back, guides you out of the bar behind the rest of the team. "Your car should be fine and we can grab it in the morning."

You know he's right, so you allow yourself to lean against him ever so much more, letting him help you out to his car. Hotch helps you in and closes the door behind you, before walking around to the driver's side. You take control of the music, plugging in your phone, intent on introducing him to more modern music. The two of you made it through seven Top 50 songs on the drive to your place, Hotch complaining throughout and not finding anything redeemable in any of the songs you'd chosen.

Aaron looked over at you as he neared your house, your head moving along to the music and your fingers dancing across your thighs to the tune, a large grin plastered on your voice as you tried to convince him that this this one he surely had to enjoy. He actually didn't mind most of the music you picked out to introduce him to - you didn't just pick anything, you always did your best to pick something you thought he'd truly enjoy. However, he worried that if he started to openly like any of them, you might stop trying so hard.

He pulled into your driveway and walked around to help you out of the car, lending you a hand along the path and up the steps to your door. He stands on the lower step as you unlock the door, before you turn around to tell him goodbye. When you turn, you're almost at his height due to the different steps you two are stood upon and you're not quite sure what compels you, but you reach for him and lean in to a hug, tucking your head onto his shoulder. If he's surprised he doesn't react as such, wrapping his arms around you as well briefly.

"Thanks Hotch."

"I'll pick you up at 8:30AM tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good. I'll be the one standing right here, holding the cups of coffee."

He smiles, rolling his eyes just slightly, before turning around and walking away.

*------------*

He first becomes aware of only pain. A piercing, stabbing pain that he can feel everywhere, centered around the abdominal area. He can't move, everything feels heavy. Opening his eyes is a struggle and he manages to only open his eyes a fraction, before being forced to close them tight again. It was bright. White and too bright for his sensitive eyes.

He's slowly starting to realize where he is - becoming increasingly aware of the pain and the bandages, the needle connecting an I.V. to his arm - he's in a hospital. He tries to remember what happened - he'd dropped you off, waited until you made it inside and waved him off, before leaving. He'd gotten back to his apartment. It had been quiet. Eerily quiet. Then Foyet was there. After that all he recalls is pain and Foyet's voice - over and over and over.

Do I seem impotent now?

You should've made the deal.

This will never be over.

Aaron finds it too difficult to keep his eyes open and closes them once again, slipping under.

The next time he wakes, a technician was present and the girl quickly hurried out when she noticed him move.

Once the nurses became aware that he was conscious, it had been a flurry of activity - doctors and technicians in and out to ensure he was alright and to up the pain medication. Some talk about internal bleeding and nine stab wounds to which he'd simply nodded along. He tried to ask for Dave - someone who could make sense of all of this. They told him no visitors yet, but that family had been informed.

Once Dave enters, that's when he finds out everything. Foyet had dumped him outside the hospital. After he hadn't shown up to pick you up that morning, you'd raised the alarm and Garcia had tracked him down. Nothing was missing from his apartment from what they could tell, despite the mess. The only thing left out was his address book. Dave had it with him and Aaron looks through it, going immediately to the one page that mattered. It wasn't there.

Haley Brooks.

Rossi had sent you to go get Haley since the Marshalls were getting ready for her. You'd left Jack with JJ, assuring him that you'd be right back. He'd already seen his father and you'd watched from a distance as Hotch had adjusted to sit up, insistent on not letting his son see him as anything but alright, even in the context of a hospital bed. Haley had been with them and you watched as her eyes flitted from Hotch to Jack - fear for her son and what he might have to go through, due to his father's job, her main concern. She was worried for Hotch too, of course. She must be. However, their initial interaction that you'd witnessed hadn't been quite how you'd expect a wife to react to her husband being in a hospital. Though, you suppose, she wasn't really his wife anymore. Not that it mattered to him - you're pretty sure in his eyes, she might as well still be.

You approach, and you can hear Hotch and Haley in conversation about what's going to happen next. Foyet had taken only the page in his address book with her name on it, so his intentions were perfectly clear. Haley and Jack were being targeted by a serial killer. That meant they needed to be protected, and you knew that Hotch would have to break it to her.

"Do you know where they're taking us?" Haley asks. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice. You wait outside, trying not to eavesdrop but it was impossible not to overhear.

"No I don't. And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

"Jack has school, Aaron. He has friends. I have a job now." Her voice is accusing and you want to tell her that none of that matters right now. The only thing that matters is the two of them being safe.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We will catch him. And you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you." Hotch's voice comes out low and you can hear the anguish caught in his throat as he speaks to the mother of his child - telling her to take their son and go. Breaking his own heart in the process by keeping Jack away from him. Knowing that that is exactly what Foyet wants. Wants him to suffer.

"Are you sure that we're in danger?" she asks, her voice suggesting that maybe he was overreacting. You feel a surge of anger course through you at that. For her to even suggest that he was overreacting when he was laid up in a hospital bed with multiple stab wounds was simply…you didn't have the words. He wouldn't make her go through this over nothing!

"Yes."

You decide to intervene then. Before she can question it further and agitate him more. He needed to rest. You knock quickly, alerting them both to your presence. "Haley, the Marshalls are ready for you."

She nods and grabs Hotch's hand. You avert your eyes to give them their privacy as Hotch tells her to be brave and strong. He'll see her and Jack after she's met with them.

Haley walks towards you and you point her to the tall female agent standing at the end of the ICU doors, wearing non-descript clothing in order to not garner too much attention. She nods and looks at you, and you see a hint of something pass through her eyes, like she wants to speak, but then seems to think better of it and walks towards the direction you'd pointed her in.

You watch her go, before turning to Hotch. His eyes followed her until she disappeared around the corner, and then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. You hesitate for a second, before walking in. Your presence wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, you hope, so you walk towards the bed and take a seat in the chair to his left, waiting until he decides to look at you.

"How're you feeling?" His face is turned towards you as though he's partially surprised you're even there at all. You wonder if he would've preferred you have left him alone instead.

"They're got me some pretty strong meds," he tells you, indicating towards the I.V. drip connected to his arm.

You lean over and read the chart hanging from the side of the bed, eyes glancing over it. "They got you on all of the good stuff - Hydromorphone will get the job done for sure." You try to smile but you know it won't reach your eyes right now.

"How long did it take you to sound the alarm?"

You shift, tilting the chair to look at him better, your teeth worrying your bottom lip and eyes narrowed, trying to work out why he'd ask that. The smell of a hospital was starting to get to you a bit - that odd smell that feels like despair and cleaning supplies. "Ten minutes. At 8:35, I called your cell and you didn't pick up. I called again at 8:36 and 8:37 and 8:38. At 8:39 I told myself I was acting crazy and that the weird feeling I had wasn't anything really. I just needed some breakfast. At 8:40, I called Penelope and had her track you down." You remembered the ten minutes of pure panic you'd gone through when he hadn't been outside at exactly 8:30AM. With anyone else, it wouldn't be a cause for concern. With Hotch, you'd expected him to be there at 8:25AM and so you'd been ready to go by 8:15AM with a travel mug of coffee for the both of you in each hand. He also always texted you when he left his place to come to yours and you hadn't gotten an ETA text that morning. Maybe that's what had originally put you on edge.

He looks at you, an odd look on his face at your explanation as if he's trying to decide what to make of it - the entirely detailed and rambling explanation he got from you, likely catching him off guard a bit. Great, he thinks I'm insane.

A small smile makes its way to his face however, and you're glad he's still capable of that, despite everything. You haven't yet looked down at his bandages. Foyet had stabbed him nine times. You'd seen the notes that Rossi had taken - what Foyet had said to Hotch as he stabbed him. Talking about how Hotch has profiled him as being impotent. The mere act of stabbing Hotch while taunting him with that particular piece of the profile -it filled your stomach with churning acid. It was the closest to sexual assault that Foyet could inflict upon Hotch and you're trying hard not to think about the emotional and mental ramifications of it all for him. The physical was one thing - that's something that people can move past with time. The violation of one's home and one's body however - the toll that takes on ones being and sense of self - that's much more difficult to bury.

Just to even think that he was exaggerating - you're mad all over again at Haley. You shouldn't be. You know that isn't fair at all. She was having her whole life upended. And yet…he was the one in a hospital bed and you're having a hard time recalling her seeming at all concerned for him. She must've been, of course. But…he didn't deserve to be made to feel like shit because of it. It wasn't his fault. Knowing him, he really would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

You avert your eyes to stare at the wheels at the bottom of the bed. They'd wheeled him, unconscious, past you when you'd first arrived at the hospital, not bothering to go into the office and instead arriving straight from your place via a cab. You'd been the first one there, having Garcia call the rest of the team. You'd called Rossi so that he could be the one to call Haley. He'd known her longer. You'd limped your way into the ICU, bypassing every single security check with a flash of your badge.

Pointless really. They wouldn't let you see him. Family first. You had to wait for Haley and Rossi to arrive - they were his emergency contacts. You briefly wondered if that was because he'd never bothered to update it after the divorce or if that was truly still the case - if she would be the person he'd want to have during an emergency.

"Can I say something?" Your voice comes out small and hesitant. He hadn't said anything in the wake of your explanation earlier.

He nods, looking at you curiously.

You wet your lips, clearing your throat a bit and sitting up straighter. It's not your place, and yet.. someone should say it. Someone should tell him.

"Sometimes, when we love people, we allow them to hurt us. We allow them to ignore our pain in favor of elevating their own. We allow them to bypass our feelings and our needs because we believe we aren't as worthy of having what we need acknowledged. I get why, of course. Especially right now, but.." You trail off, not knowing how to finish what you'd started in a way that didn't complete overstep the boundaries that you'd already crossed. He'd know you had heard. He didn't need to know that right now, you didn't exactly love his ex wife. You liked her just fine. But right then, you didn't appreciate how she'd treated him.

Hotch looks at you, breath caught by your words. He hadn't realized you'd overheard the conversation between him and Haley. There could be no other reason for you to be saying all of that. You'd said it all softly, hesitantly, knowing you were crossing some sort of line and yet you'd still said it because you felt he needed to hear it. We love.. We allow… We believe… You were speaking from some amount of personal experience. Your first question to him had been about how he was doing - unlike both Rossi and Prentiss who had asked him what happened. He's not sure why the distinction matters, yet it does.

Haley was right too, however. He can't be upset with her. This was all his fault. He hadn't made a deal with Foyet and now his family - his son - their lives were being upended. Haley had already put up with a lot during their marriage. The divorce should've meant that she no longer had to bear the consequences of his job. He can't help but feel guilty for that - for putting her in this situation. Especially when he's so overtly aware that he could've kept it from happening.

He watches as you sit in that chair, eyeing him apprehensively, chewing on your bottom lip. You care. He can tell you care. You care so overwhelmingly that it's hard to deny it. Sometimes he wishes you didn't. It would make things a lot easier on him if he could think that he felt something for someone that didn't even think about him - that he never crossed your mind even. However, there's far too much proof to the contrary. So instead he has to live with knowing that you care about him, that you think of him, that you likely - in some capacity - love him. The way one might love a friend or a mentor. Somehow that's worse because he has to then deal with you saying stuff like this. Things that make it seem like only you care.

He doesn't know what to say and he can feel tears forming that he's quick to blink away, hoping you hadn't noticed. He swallows and just nods, not trusting himself to say much of anything that didn't involve asking you to stay - possibly forever, because for the first time since he'd woken up in the hospital, he feels seen.

You try to smile and change the subject, fill him in on the Marshalls' plan with Haley and Jack. Offer to get him ice chips or some food that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. He notices how at ease you seem in the hospital, and comes to the conclusion that maybe a family member had spent some time in one. You seem to know which nurses to talk to in order to get whatever you needed. You watch like a hawk when they come to do anything with his medications. He's pretty certain you would've slept there overnight had Rossi not asked you to help Morgan with something on the ongoing case.

He misses you as soon as you leave.

*------------*

You catch Jack and Haley on your way out. You know you won't be seeing Jack for a while. The Marshalls would be taking them today. Everything was going to change for them.

You nod at Agent Montgomery - the U.S. Marshall that's going to be on their case for the time being. She shifts, moving to the doorway to give you guys a moment.

Haley is seated at the table, her hands holding onto some paperwork. She meets your eyes briefly and nods before returning to the documents. There's a pen in her hands and you can't help but note that her fingers shake around it a bit.

Jack is seated at another table nearby, Agent Montgomery having cleared the breakroom for their meeting.

"Hey buddy." You kneel down to where Jack has been sitting, coloring a printout that one of the nurses must've provided. Jack turns to you, showing off his work. "That looks amazing, Jack!"

He beams with pride at your praise. "Thanks, Y/N."

"I have to head out, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Jack gets up and hugs you, wrapping his little pudgy arms tightly around your neck, allowing you to sweep him up entirely. You know this is the last time you'll get to hold him for quite a while, so you allow it to linger, hugging him back tight. "I love you, Jack." Whispered into his ear while you blink back tears.

You release him and stand, making sure he's settled back into his activity and occupied, before turning to Haley. She stands, walks with you a small distance away from Jack. It isn't fair, what's happening to her. You don't really hold anything against her. It's awful, entirely awful what's happening - her whole life was about to be uprooted because of your jobs. Because of all of your collective failure to catch Foyet the first time. It was your mistake and her and Jack were going to pay for it.

You look up at her and you can see how entirely scared she is of what's about to happen. To have to do this on your own was one thing. Doing it with a partner, another. To have to do it all alone while supporting a child - she wouldn't have anyone she knew to rely upon. All by herself and unable to trust anyone.

"We're going to find him. We're gonna catch him. I promise." You know words were of little solace but that's all you have to give right then.

She smiles, a watery smile to match the unshed tears in her eyes. There's a shaky nod before she moves forward, hugging you in much the same manner Jack had. She's a bit taller than you, so you try to stand straight, allowing her to lean against you. "Take care of him." Her voice is a whisper against your ear, as though she's entrusting you with something extremely precious. Which she is, you suppose. She's counting on you to make sure that Hotch would be alright. That Jack's father would be fine, awaiting his son's return.

"I will."

*------------*

It had been a week since Foyet had left Hotch outside the hospital. A week since Haley and Jack had been taken into WITSEC protective custody and given new identities in an unknown location. A week since Morgan had become the new acting Unit Chief of the BAU, taking over in Hotch's stead. To the public - to the outside world - and especially to Foyet, it had to seem like his attack on Hotch had left him completely alone and broken - no wife, no kid, no team to lead.

You hated it.

The team had been assigned a new case late Sunday evening after you'd all pretty much spent the past couple of days in the hospital. Hotch was discharged earlier in the day and was under strict orders to stay on bedrest for the time being. You'd all flown out early Monday morning and it was now Saturday evening, the case having stretched out the entire week due to the Unsub's kill schedule.

You got back home after submitting your report, grabbing a water and a pack of the little bunny crackers you keep on hand for Jack. You're pretty sure you won't be seeing Jack before those expire and someone should eat them. You shower and get dressed for bed, thinking about Hotch. You knew he was home and would be coming back to work next week, doing the absolute bare minimum bed rest that the doctor had mandated. You're fairly certain the doctor had been intimidated into it by Hotch's severe face, daring him to say anything longer than a week.

It's fairly late by the time you actually crawl into bed, plugging your phone into the charger by the nightstand and flickering off the lights, plunging the room into darkness save for the red glow of the alarm clock stating that it was now eleven o'clock. You wonder if anyone has checked in on him while the team has been away. Perhaps Jess, but she must also be out of her mind with worry about Haley and Jack.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you've grabbed your phone and scrolled to his name in your Favorites, pressing on it. You hold the phone up to your ear and listen as it rings, once, twice, thrice, until you hear the sound of it being picked up.

"Hotchner." His voice is low but doesn't sound sleepy, so you're at least confident that you hadn't woken him up. Having nothing to do but lay around must be messing with his carefully regulated sleep schedule.

You suppress a laugh at his formal no-nonsense greeting, even though he undoubtedly knows it's you. "Hey." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

"Is everything alright?" There's a slight edge evident in his voice and you realize that maybe calling him at eleven at night when his wife - ex-wife - and kid are being kept away safe wasn't exactly the right move.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's alright. I'm sorry. I just called to check in. How are you?"

There's a pause where you can hear the ambient sounds of your house settling in along with him shifting - the rustling of a bedsheet and the groan of the frame as he moves to adjust himself. So he had been in bed when you called.

Finally, you hear, "I'm alright. Thank you for dropping off the food."

"Yeah, yeah of course," you respond, your heartbeat picking up a bit for some reason. You figure it's because you're unsure of the call itself still and knowing that Hotch was in bed and you'd likely disturbed him in some sense at least, makes you feel a little uneasy.

For his part, Aaron had been going stircrazy, sitting at home with nothing whatsoever to do. The Marshalls had taken Haley and Jack the very same day. Dave had taken him from the hospital and back to his apartment and Garcia and JJ had dropped by the same day with some groceries and a couple of ready to eat meals for him.

He spent most of Sunday sleeping, the strong painkillers making him drowsy. Monday morning, he awoke to his doorbell and his nurse, Eric, from the hospital was there to help him with the dressage. He didn't think that was covered by his insurance - he could only imagine how much home visits from a medical professional cost - and had told Eric there was some sort of mistake. However, Eric had insisted that someone at the hospital had already worked it out and insurance wasn't an issue - this was a covered service apparently. Since Aaron already knew him, and he really could use the help, he'd let him in. Eric had entered holding a large box of food as well, that he said had been left at the door along with a note. After Eric left, Aaron had opened the box to reveal pre-portioned meals - all homemade, all different, all things he could throw in a microwave easily. The note was just signed with your name, telling him to call if he needed anything else.

He'd slept through most of the days, awakening only to let Eric in daily. He ate only because he had to in order to take his medications. Otherwise his mind was a haze of thoughts and worries - worrying about Jack and Haley, about Foyet being around the next corner, about the team managing without him, and somewhere at the farthest reaches of his mind your face danced around - worried and concerned for him, despite doing your very best to appear otherwise.

When your name flashed across his phone late at night, at first he felt the thrust of panic - that something had happened. And then there's your voice, calm and even, asking him how he's doing. No one else had called him. Dave and Prentiss had texted once or twice over the week, but with a case going on, everyone had been busy.

There's a brush of silence after he thanks you for the food and he can hear you take a breath and shift ever so much. He realizes that you're calling him while most likely lying in bed. It causes his heart to speed up and a tight coil to begin tightening in his stomach. It's utterly benign - he has no reason to feel that way, and yet, yet he does.

"How was the case?" he asks, desperate for someone to speak with, not wanting the phone call to end.

You're slightly surprised but you easily talk him through the details of the case, the profiling process and how the team had approached it. You find yourself babbling on for a while as he asks you questions about the evidence, how the local detectives had been, how the team was doing.

Aaron listens to you, taking it all in. You're good at this, providing all the details you know he'd want. You notice everything, all the little things. How the local detectives had responded to Morgan being in charge - how it had been easier for JJ to liaise with them more closely instead. How Reid was getting much more comfortable with having a weapon in the field. There's a soft, sleepy quality to you despite your obvious willingness to tell him everything. Your voice like a salve, doing more for him than any of the medications the doctors had prescribed.

He's not sure when or how, but the conversation has meandered from the case to something Prentiss had told you once, to a story he had of Dave and Gideon back when he first joined the team, and then to a professor of yours from college who had been particularly invested in the Bundy trials in a near obsessive manner. He finds himself laughing for the first time since that night at the bar with you.

When his eyes next catch the time, it is past 2AM. You'd been on the phone for the past three hours. Before this, the longest phone call he's ever had was fifteen minutes.

"It's late," he whispers, almost as though he doesn't want you hear him. "You should get some sleep."

You glance at your clock and find yourself shocked at how long the two of you had been on the phone together. Who knew Hotch was even capable. Though, you figure, you'd been doing the bulk of the talking, rambling on about something or the other. He must be utterly exhausted of listening to your voice.

"You should too," you murmur through a yawn, your eyes flickering under the weight of your lashes.

"Good night, Y/N." You can hear a smile in his voice and it's almost as though you can feel him - the way he feels when he hugs you, warm and strong, firm against you, surrounding you completely with his being.

"Night Hotch."

*------------*

Hotch had been back a couple of weeks and the team was adjusting. While Morgan was indeed the public face of the team, Hotch was very still involved and working far too much behind the scenes. You've kept an eye on him, looking for signs of him overexerting himself. He is, of course. He's burying himself in work, diving in head first because that's likely easier than focusing on everything else. So far, all you've done is give him looks that say Shouldn't you be going home? and Is this really what you want to spend a Wednesday at 9PM doing? He doesn't acknowledge them openly but you know that he knows that you see exactly what he's trying to do. He'll leave once he realizes that you're staying if he is.

You're not quite sure how to check on him during the weekends. Before, you used to have Jack as the reason why you saw him. Now, without Jack, you're not quite sure how to go about seeing Hotch and making sure he's alright, without it somehow being seen as overstepping. You nudge Rossi to go check on him one of the days and then another, you invited the entire team over for dinner so that you know he ate. You know he won't let you cook for him if he's no longer on bedrest, even though the way he holds his gun and the sharp inhale he takes anytime he has to put the Kevlar on is extremely telling.

JJ wants everyone in the conference room on the other side of the floor since your regular one is taken and she calls you to inform everyone of the change in venue for the scheduled meeting. You glance up from your desk after having told Derek and Emily of the location change, trusting them to tell Spencer when he returns. JJ isn't expecting everyone for another half hour, and Emily had caught Rossi as he was heading out to lunch, so he's also aware. Emily and Derek follow in his steps, asking if you're going to join them, but you wave them on ahead.

You take the steps up to Hotch's office swiftly, knocking and turning the knob in one motion, only to find him standing behind his desk, no jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned, a patch of red visible on his skin from one of the stab wounds inflicted by Foyet. He looks up at you and you can feel the surprise in his eyes. It was your fault, you should've waited. That was stupid. Your eyes can't seem to look away from the blood spotting the otherwise white wrappings that sit in a pile on the desk.

"I - I'm sorry," you stutter out, blinking and trying to make sense of the sight in front of you. You notice that his shirt was also equally marred, the blood having seeped through. You'd obviously interrupted him.

He draws a breath, and you can see him try to put on a mask of being unbothered by your sudden appearance. "Did you need something?"

'Um, JJ had to move the briefing to the other conference room," you inform him, still unable to look away. You're staring. You know are. It's dawning upon you how entirely you'd fucked up. Hotch was such a private person. He'd hate having someone see him in such a state of vulnerability.

He nods. "Thank you. Could you close the door, please?"

You don't move from your spot in the doorway.

"Y/N?"

You're not sure what exactly has overcome you, except this overwhelming need to take care of him. Especially now, right then when he's hurting. Bleeding quite literally. Hotch takes care of everyone. Every single one of you. But no one takes care of him. Not the way he needs to be cared for.

You cross the threshold, shutting and locking the door behind you. He seems entirely taken aback as you approach him silently. There's a voice in your head telling you that this, right here, this was the definition of overstepping. Yet, there is a more insistent compulsion residing within you, urging you forward until you've reached him. He looks at you, confusion in his features.

"Let me." You reach for the alcohol wipes on the table, meant to disinfect the affected region.

He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't move, making it difficult for you to actually reach him as he's standing flush to his desk. He only looks at you, brows scrunched together, the pronounced cleft of his lower lip set tightly.

"Let me." You repeat yourself, moving forward and forcing him to back up a little and make room for you. You deftly move to sit on his desk, facing him, and beckon him towards you without looking up. If you looked up, you might lose your nerve.

You part your legs and much to your surprise, he actually moves forward, coming to settle between them. You can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You're suddenly very aware of the friction between his dress pants and the material of your own fitted ones.

You take the alcohol wipe and tear open the packaging, unraveling the cloth before cautiously moving towards him and dabbing at the area that seemed to have opened up slightly. He releases a sharp hiss and suddenly, his hand is at your waist, gripping tightly. You pause, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut, lips pressed tightly together. After a second, he nods, indicating at you to continue. He doesn't make a sound again as you clean up the area, though he does tighten his grip ever so slightly a couple more times.

You look at the items on his desk and pick up the jar of salve that he must put on prior to the dressings. Carefully, you unscrew the lid, looking up at him with a question in your eyes. He nods again, barely looking at you.

You try to do it quickly. Fingers picking up some of the salve and gingerly spreading it over the region, brushing past raised skin, puckered up as it heals. Slowly. Not fast enough for him.

Aaron watches as your head is bent, teeth biting down on your lower lip in concentration as you gently span the entirely of his chest and stomach. Soft, dainty fingers quickly working so as to put him out of his misery faster.

Of all people, he didn't want you to see him this way. So vulnerable, so exposed, so scarred. You'd thrown him off balance when you hadn't quickly scampered away after you realized your error in barging in. Approached him with such purpose that he hadn't known how to turn you away.

You reach for the fresh roll of gauze next, swallowing as you look up at him once again. "This would be easier if you take the shirt off."

He shrugs it off at your words, placing it on the back of his chair. There's a fresh shirt on the seat of his chair. He'd been prepared, it would seem.

"This might put a dent in the line of women waiting to pounce." He indicates towards his chest, self deprecation dripping from his weak attempt at humor, in an effort to cut whatever imaginary tension he had made up in his head.

You look at his face, seeing the vulnerability and insecurity as plain as can be. He doesn't need to verbalize his thoughts in order for you to know exactly what he's thinking. What he's been thinking.

Who would want someone this grotesque?

Who would want a man as broken as this?

Who could possibly bear the sight of him - marred forever? His very flesh a perpetual reminder of the terror he wades through, the monsters he encounters, the horror that is his life.

"No."

Your answer is simple, straightforward. Yet nothing has ever confused him more as he watches you hold one end of the gauze to the front of his chest near the top of the scarring, and then bring the roll around his back, over it to hold it in place, your small hands ghosting over his skin with the utmost propriety, intent in making this as painless, as easy, as comfortable for him as possible.

"I'm not going to tell you some patronizing bullshit about scars being beautiful."

You control your breath in easy measured paces, forcing him to follow along. One breath in. Pause. Breath out. Repeat. You continue to wrap the dressing around his chest slowly, your eyes fixed on the task at hand to ensure that it was all straight and even, tight but not too tight.

"They do, however, speak to all that you've endured. All that you've conquered. Overcome. Anyone who loves you will see you just as you are. They would think you absolutely incredible. Regardless of anything. Because of it all."

Aaron focuses on your voice, soft and melodic and yet sure. So very sure. How could you possibly be so sure?

"Someone who loves you will see the scars," your fingers press ever so slightly against his chest, "and they will know. They will know all that you've undergone to become who are - how you survived despite the odds."

You take a sudden shuddered breath as you recall the sight of him unconscious in the hospital bed, being wheeled past you. You're quick to shake it away.

"They will be grateful. To have you, scars and all."

You finish, tucking in the end of the gauze firmly and ensuring it wouldn't come loose with just the slightest of motions.

You look up at him then, finally meeting his eyes properly. Beautiful, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold brought on by the late afternoon sunlight that was filtering through the windows.

Aaron can't help but look at you. He rarely gets to see you this up close. So very close. If he were to just bend down the smallest amount, there'd be no space at all. Your hair bundled back into a professional low bun, soft wisps framing your face. The cupid's bow lips - pouty, pink, perfect lips. The upturned nose and the slight babyface cheeks that accompanied it. He realizes his hand is still gripped onto your waist and he's reluctant to remove it. Not yet. In a bit. Not yet.

"Thank you." His eyes are closed as he says it so he misses it when you nod your acknowledgement.

You lean past him, one hand grabbing his forearm for balance while the other reaches for the shirt on the chair. You'd started the job. Might as well finish it. You unbutton the collar and he takes it from you, quickly slipping it on, and yet not moving away. His hand returns to your waist. Staying where you could easily reach up and start buttoning it for him. So you do.

Aaron knows you don't need a response to everything you'd said. He also is quite certain that you believe it. No matter the entirely shallow world you'd been a part of, he knows that you aren't like that. You might be a little vain - the nice clothes and makeup, the care you put into your own appearance. However, you're not vain like this.

Aaron breathes out a deep sigh that he'd been holding for some time as you dexterously work each button into its proper hole. He really could get used to this. To you.

"Why do you always sit on stuff?" His voice is soft and low, calmer.

You glance up, noting the slight humor dancing behind his eyes while he waits for your answer.

You can't help but smile, a breath of laughter escaping you just barely. "I suppose…because I'm short," you admit, shaking your head as you continue down the trail of buttons. "Makes it easier for me to be at eye level if I sit on higher surfaces."

He laughs. A near boisterous laugh. His chest rumbles underneath your hands, causing your fingers to tremble.

You can't help but laugh along with him, releasing a deep held breath as you do.

He would be alright. He would.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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kakakakashi · 5 years ago

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The magicians name was aaron crow btw. I looked him up and was like "I shouldn't be attracted to someone with an age gap that big" but here I am, also attracted to inoichi, cor from ffxv, and fanon bruce wayne... Don't get me wrong, I'm over 18, but my moral compass is like "bro that's like a 20-30 year age gap" so I just keep this on the dl

His cheekbones... are so much prettier than mine??? It’s not fair???

Meh. There’s nothing wrong with a harmless crush on someone in a different age range than you. I think we all have crushes on teachers, mentors, etc. There’s nothing wrong with a harmless little crush like that. I mean, I think all of my celebrity crushes are older than me. Does that mean I’d accept if one of the older ones actually asked me out? Hell no! There’s nothing wrong with a little crush, though. There’s no reason to feel ashamed for liking someone older than you.

Shame on them if they try to exploit you for that, tho, but I won’t go into that rn because my hand hurts.

#cherry chats with friends #Anonymous #cherry posts about ninja nerds

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aaronexplainsitall · 5 years ago

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Aaron, have you ever been to Peru? I’ve been looking into it as a possible place to visit on my gap year (either that or I am gonna join the navy for a year so extremes and spectrums and what not). If you have: would you recommend? If not: is there anywhere in particular you would recommend?

Hey pal, yes, I have. I really loved Peru, it’s a wonderful country. Obviously, one of the must-dos is Machu Picchu, but I’d recommend the Salkantay route over the Inca Trail (it’s quieter and prettier in my experience). I also loved Mancora, it’s a chilled beach town, a lovely place to spend a fair whack of time.

I would also recommend Ecuador, if you’re planning to go to that part of the world. I actually preferred Ecuador to Peru. I loved Banos, which has amazing watersports, Cotopaxi is awesome with it’s volcanic lake, I really enjoyed spending close to a month in Otavalo which is a smaller city than Quito (and they have a type of blackcurrant pie called Mora pie and I would WALK back to Ecuador for a slice of that).

South America is amazing, and if you’re going to fly that far, try and see as much of it as possible. Also, if you’re going to go for your Gap Year, I really would book a tour of some sort. Oyster have a really good reputation, as do G Adventures. I’ve used Intrepid and thought they were excellent but they don’t get quite as good reviews. GVI are great for more service based voluntourism stuff.

(Also, I know it’s not my place and you can totally tell me to fuck off, but please don’t join the Navy. Go see the world, don’t sell your soul to the armed forces.)

I hope that helps!

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gokinjeespot · 8 years ago

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off the rack #1161

Monday, May 1, 2017

It's a great week to be a geek. The TV adaptation of Neil Gaiman's "American Gods" starts airing now. Thursday, May 4th is Star Wars Day. The "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2" movie opens in theatres on Friday, May 5th. Saturday the 6th is FREE COMIC BOOK DAY. Sunday the 7th is another CAPITAL TRADE SHOW at the Jim Durrell Arena where Jee-Riz Comics & Appraisals will be hawking their wares. Fly your geek flags high.

Ben Reilly: The Scarlet Spider #1 - Peter David (writer) Mark Bagley (pencils) John Dell (inks) Jason Keith (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This follows the "Clone Conspiracy" debacle as Ben tries to start a new life in Sin City. If you like your Spider-Man a little bit unethical then this book is for you. Ben also talks to imaginary people which can make for some confusion but it's a quirk that sets him apart from the other Spider-Men. I don't know if I'll keep up with this mentally unstable version but I like his new costume a lot.

Batman & The Shadow #1 - Scott Snyder & Steve Orlando (writers) Riley Rossmo (art) Ivan Plascencia (colours) Clem Robins (letters). A murder in Gotham City sets Batman on the hunt for the killer with the victim's name giving us a clue to who that might be. Lamont Cranston's death leads Bruce to the Alps to visit an old teacher after some detective work talking to old associates of The Shadow. I liked how the similarities between the two dark crime fighters make this an interesting chess game between two masters of mainpulation. I wonder what the motive was if The Shadow did indeed kill his own descendant. Maybe the rest of this 6-issue mini will reveal the truth.

Big Moose #1 - This double sized one-shot features Archie Comic's iconic dumbbell jock Marmaduke AKA Moose Mason. I did not know that he had the same name as a comic strip great dane, and I don't mean Scooby Doo. The first story "Moose vs. the Vending Machine" by Sean Ryan (writer) Cory Smith (art) Matt Herms (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) is your typical dumb jock story that would fit right in an old Pep comic from the fifties. The second story "Have It All" by Ryan Cady (writer) Thomas Pitilli (art) Glenn Whitmore (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) shows a more intelligent Moose juggling all of his stressful high school responsibilities. I felt for the guy, especially his struggle with an English lit paper. It made me suspect that Moose might be dyslexic. The last story "The Big Difference" by Gorf (writer) Ryan Jampole (art) Kelly Fitzpatrick (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) has Moose making a new friend that's a little "after school special" but the kids will get the message. All in all a nice feature of a minor Archie character.

No World #1 - Scott Lobdell (writer) Jordan Gunderson (pencils) Mark Roslan & Charlie Mok (digital inks) JUANCHOo (colours) Zen (letters). I picked this off the rack to read because of the sexy hot cover by Jordan Gunderson & Peter Steigerwald. Plus, Scott Lobdell wrote some comic books that I used to like. This one did not impress me. The Aspen Comics imprint seems to cater to good girl art fans, of which I am one, but a comic needs more than just T&A to keep me reading. I wasn't given enough information about the two main good girls in this debut to care about them so I won't continue reading.

Wonder Woman #21 - Greg Rucka (writer) Liam Sharp (art) Laura Martin with Hi-Fi (colours). Part 4 of "The Truth" finds Veronica Cale getting ever closer to finding Themyscira and saving her daughter. I am looking forward to the conclusion of this story in Wonder Woman #23 to see what Ares' role is.

The Old Guard #3 - Greg Rucka (writer) Leandro Fernandez (art) Daniela Miwa (colours) Jodi Wynne (letters). Two of the five team members are in the clutches of the bad guys so it's three to the rescue. This issue is a great example of a good writer making you care about the characters. Part of it has the origin story of one of the mercenaries. Another part shows how much two of the members care about each other. There's plenty of action over many pages beautifully illustrated by Leandro but also lots of action we don't see that is clearly implied in just one panel. That's good comic books.

Deadpool vs. Punisher #2 - Fred Van Lente (writer) Pere Perez (art) Ruth Redmond (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). Round two has 'Pool and 'Pun in a shoot out with the Don of the Dead, a crazy Mexican bad guy as deranged as Deadpool. Round three next issue should be fun with a new bad guy who you'll recognise right away. I can't wait

Action Comics #978 - Dan Jurgens (writer) Carlo Barberi (pencils) Matt Santorelli (inks) Hi-Fi (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Part 2 of "The New World" continues the review of Superman's origin story including his romance with Lois Lane and the birth of their son Jonathan. The identity of the villain is also revealed. What he has planned for the Man of Steel isn't anything new but it never gets old.

Kill or be Killed #8 - Ed Brubaker (writer) Sean Phillips (art) Elizabeth Breitweiser (colours). Being spotted by the police while killing his last victim has complicated Dylan's life. It seems like every law enforcement officer is looking for him, which makes it even more difficult to find and kill someone else to keep the demon at bay. This could be the end of our killer vigilante.

The Mighty Thor #18 - Jason Aaron (writer) Russell Dauterman (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). In part 4 of "The Asgard/Shi'Ar War" the Shi'Ar gods Sharra and K'ythri act like a couple of spoiled brats and decide to unleash their ultimate weapon to destroy the universe. The opening pages have the good guys seeking help from one of my favourite mutants. Russell's art is crazy good and he's close to Geof Darrow in the details that he puts on a page. When the force unleashed can take out The Destroyer in the blink of an eye you know the good guys are in deep doo-doo.

Detective Comics #955 - James Tynion IV (writer) Marcio Takara (art) Marcelo Maiolo (colours) Sal Cipriano (letters). I was enjoying this issue right up until the very last page. It's one of those deus ex machina moments that I better get an explanation of or else "League of Shadows" will be the Detective Comics story that benches this book.

Josie & The Pussycats #6 - Cameron Deordio & Marguerite Bennett (writers) Audrey Mok (art) Kelly Fitzpatrick (colours) Jack Morelli (letters). I loved the Michael Allred cover. I really appreciate that all the ad pages were gathered at the back so that we get to read an uninterrupted story. This is one comic book that I read just for fun.

The Wild Storm #3 - Warren Ellis (writer) John Davis-Hunt (art) Steve Buccellato (colours) Simon Bowland (letters). If Aspen Comics had done as good a job as these people in redefining their cast of characters I would endorse their books. Here we have a fire fight that's even prettier than the one in The Old Guard #3 thanks to the work of John Davis-Hunt. New readers should not be afraid to pick this series up because it's got cool characters and Warren Ellis always entertains.

Elektra #3 - Matt Owens (writer) Juann Cabal (art) Antonio Fabela (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). It's all out action as Elektra battles through Murderworld. Just when you think she's won her freedom, Arcade springs another surprise. He never fights fair. I really like the covers by Elizabeth Torque and would love to see a comic book drawn by her.

Old Man Logan #22 - Jeff Lemire (writer) Eric Nguyen (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Looks like Jeff is showing us Logan's greatest hits as he winds down work on this title. Maybe it will make some fans buy a few trades.

Hulk #5 - Mariko Tamaki (writer) Nico Leon (art) Matt Milla & Andrew Crossley (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I read recently that fans won't buy a Hulk comic book unless it's Bruce Banner as the big green galoot. Those fans are narrow minded and don't deserve to be called comic book fans. This book is great and has made the Hulk interesting to me again. I don't care who the Hulk is or who Iron Man is as long as there's a good story and nice art for the book. It's been 5 issues of this title hitting the racks and we haven't really seen the Hulk once. It doesn't matter because this story about Jennifer coping with the recent changes in her life is a good one.

Infamous Iron Man #7 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Alex Maleev (art) Matt Hollingsworth (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). See, this is how you make a major change in an iconic character so that fans will want to read the book and not feel sick to their stomachs. I love this new version of Victor Von Doom. Brian has shown him evolving into the Infamous Iron Man instead of what happened with Captain America seemingly out of the blue saying "Hail Hydra". Here's another character that's been made interesting again and I will promote this title to anyone looking to read a good comic book.

Ms. Marvel #17 - G. Willow Wilson (writer) Takeshi Miyazawa (art) Ian Herring (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Okay, I don't get how Ms. Marvel and her friends defeated Doc.X but maybe it's because I'm an old luddite. I don't have a cell phone and barely know what apps are. I did appreciate the group hug that started this issue because I grew up in the sixties and that's what we wanted to do back then too.

Star Wars: Darth Maul #3 - Cullen Bunn (writer) Luke Ross (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This young disciple of the Sith is a lot less interesting than I first thought. He is merely motivated by his hatred of the Jedi and that's seems to be all that he's about. One dimensional characters aren't that interesting. It's the evil auctioneer that is making me stick to this story.

The Totally Awesome Hulk #18 - Greg Pak (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The evil aliens find out what happens when their food fights back. Amadeus showed a side of him that surprised me and made me like this Hulk even more.

Doctor Strange #19 - Jason Aaron (writer) Chris Bachalo (pencils) John Livesay, Victor Olazaba, Al Vey, Jaime Mendoza, Tim Townsend & Wayne Faucher (inks) Chris Bachalo (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Yay, Wong is saved from Misery but I might be miserable after the next issue because it will be Jason Aaron and Chris Bachalo's last.

Weapon X #2 - Greg Pak (writer) Greg Land (pencils) Jay Leisten (inks) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The bad guys are on the Warpath and the mutant super hero is outnumbered. Sabretooth and Old Man Logan are still free but it looks like that won't last. Once Greg adds in the Domino effect the gang will all be here. I like Greg Land's art a lot more with Jay's inks.

Invincible Iron Man #6 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Stefano Caselli (art) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). RiRi meets with Stark Industries, M.I.T. and last but not least The Champions. I'm most excited about her possibly joining the young super hero team. I wish Marvel would find a way to change the title to Ironheart. RiRi has been wearing the armour for a while now and calling this book Iron Man is just awkward.

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