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masterwords · 10 months

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can't cool down

Summary: Coda to 4x24 - Amplification - Hotch and Derek are a little turned on by all the adrenaline after basically saving the world, and then they go see Reid in the hospital and things get weird.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: lots of sex talk/innuendo (with no sex), hospitals/illness (reid/anthrax), food

Notes: Day Two of @criminalmindsweek using the prompt “This is not what it looks like.”. I also used a kiss prompt sent in as a request by @toli-a for an added bonus! 41 -…because the world is saved) Wrote this quick and dirty, probably had too much fun with it. It's bonkers. Totally wackadoodle. Borderline crack fic. Don't take any of it too seriously okay? <3

Read on AO3: can't cool down

The look Derek gave him on the platform is burned in his mind. It was shock, it was sultry, it was a mixture of things that Hotch didn’t need to see as they followed the General out of the train station. There was heat in his eyes, desire written all over his features. They both felt it. Hotch knew the fire in his own eyes was sending the same signals.

A moment that charged has a way of bringing about certain changes in their bodies, the pheromones, the animal instincts that remind Hotch why he tries to separate them in the field. He’s pretty good at keeping his hormones in check, keeping his mind on the job, not letting his dick do any of the thinking but when they’re facing down a man with a bag full of a biological nightmare and he’s right there beside Derek and all he can smell is Derek it’s just really fucking hard to focus. He’s highly skilled, highly trained and he’s battling his own body for control of his impulses like a thirteen year old.

He was thinking about the anthrax, and he was really focused on it, but the moment it was secure and they turned to head up the stairs and out of the station it all vanished. Pfff! Into thin air. And now he’s only thinking about one thing. He wants Derek to fuck him until he forgets his own name. He shimmies his hips a little to adjust himself and takes a deep, shaky breath. Going up the stairs helps. The adrenaline pushes through him, he reaches for the railing and launches himself up one step after another, daring to take two at a time every few moments just to get to the SUV faster.

Derek is right on his heels. “Hotch! Slow down!”

No can do, he thinks. If he slows down it’s all over. The SUV is in sight, just down the road. He managed to park it at the end, away from people, but now it seems so far away. He lowers his head and ducks through the crowd of people gathered, wondering what was going on, why the military and SWAT were swarming the station. Derek turns to the side, tries to make himself smaller to get through the crowd in Hotch’s wake, suddenly acutely aware of why Hotch is moving so quickly.

An almost evil smile appears as he walks and he slows down. He’s going to make Hotch wait. He’s spent years training his body to wait for pleasure, to stretch it out. Never knowing where or when the next person will appear. He knows Hotch has never had to wait, he’s never wondered when he would get his next fix. He’d been with Haley since high school and everything was routine. Things are different now. After the divorce he found himself almost desperate, and the first time he and Derek hooked up he was so touch-starved, so eager that he lost it before they even started. He’s getting better now. They don’t have sex during cases, they’ve both drawn a hard line there. It’s easier to stay sharp if they don’t and that’s always been fine, it isn’t an issue...except cases like this. The ones where it seems like the whole world is on the line and wouldn’t it be damn good just to go at it one more time before everything burns? The cases that come with an almost superhero-like charge. The moment it’s over and that rush is making you vibrate out of your skin, that fevered anguish at not just being able to do what you want right away because you just saved everyone and there are expectations but the person making you lose your mind is right beside you and if you could just...well...Hotch is a man who has built his entire existence on the lie that he can have complete control and right now he’s learning that it’s all been a lie because he has so little control it’s laughable.

And the worst part is that Derek thinks it’s fun. It’s exciting. The only thing that keeps Hotch hanging on is that moment when they do finally get to the point where Hotch’s tie is in Derek’s teeth and they’re almost ripping their way through layers of clothing because they’re so desperate. Derek moaning that his t-shirt is expensive, don’t rip it, and Hotch muttering about Derek getting slobber on his Gucci. That’s always worth the wait.

But they don’t have time for any of that right now and they both know it. Hotch’s tie will remain in place for the time being and neither of them will be happy about it. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat and waits for Derek to get in, to put on his seat belt, to be ready to go. He turns on the air conditioner full blast and aims the fans directly at his pink fevered skin, willing the rush to dissipate even a little. He hasn’t been this out of control in so long...it feels like being a hormonal teenager again. It’s that bad. His skin feels tight and hot, he’s practically rabid. The engine purrs and vibrates the metal frame beneath them, it doesn’t help in the least. If not for the air conditioner, he would turn the engine off just so it would stop teasing him.

“We did it,” he says quietly, willing his mind to focus itself where it belongs: on the case. The anthrax. The innocent people around them that came closer to death than they could ever imagine. Derek hums in response, his voice resonating like the purr of a big cat.

“You think we wouldn’t?”

“I had some reservations about the General’s willingness to play along…”

The world looks brighter, the smells and sounds more intense. Hotch thinks he might be getting ready to pass out, the shift is that dramatic. There are bright flashes, bursts of red and blue and green across the field of his vision. A fireworks display in midday. But then Derek grabs Hotch’s tie and pulls him close, over the mound of the center console and kisses him heavy and bruising on the mouth. Hotch makes a strangled sound, hands flying up, cupping the sides of Derek’s head, holding him in place. In case he thought he was just going to offer one kiss and leave, Hotch is too desperate for that.

“Dude like that’s no match for us,” Derek breathes into the kiss, into Hotch’s lungs. His hand is wrapped in Hotch’s tie, pinning him in place. “We saved the world today like big damn heroes.”

“A train station full of people,” Hotch corrects with a small smile, his hands sliding down to Derek’s shoulders.

“Might as well have been the world. To those people it was.”

“True.”

There are no more words. Hotch doesn’t want to talk, and even if he did it’s clear that Derek has other plans for their mouths. The windows are fogging up but the air conditioner feels good on fevered skin and the little sounds of pleasure Derek is making only drive him even more insane. He wants to throw the car in drive and find a little motel, rent by the hour. He’d pay any amount of money for a bed and a door that locks. He’s having an awfully hard time thinking about anything else.

But there isn’t anyone around where the SUV is parked for the time being, so they stay put. The engine idles and the fan blows cool air and they kiss. It’s about as much as either of them is capable of. Hotch isn’t sure he could drive right now, his mind is so far gone, his body in total control and wanting only one thing. So they let it play out like teenagers at the make out spot, until their phones are buzzing and they have to drop reluctantly back into reality. To the fact that they’re still technically working. Hotch glances around to find them still alone, the world having returned to some semblance of normal during their small absence.

“Strauss wants me back at Quantico,” Hotch rasps, his throat parched, lips dry. Derek is already reaching into his pocket for chapstick, slicking his own lips with the cherry balm. He offers the little tube to Hotch, but Hotch takes it directly from Derek’s lips with another kiss instead. “I’ll drop you off at the hospital. Sounds like Reid should be awake soon. The drugs worked.”

Derek shakes his head. “Come with me. I’m sure he’d like to see you too. Strauss can wait.”

Hotch has his doubts. He always does. Can’t imagine why the team would want him hanging around when they’re not working, Derek being the obvious and only real exception. Even Dave chooses other members of the team over him when he’s looking for someone to hang out with. And the thing is, that’s fine. It doesn’t bother him. Hotch has friends outside of the team, he’s got his family, he has plenty. But Derek isn’t content with that. The team are well aware that they’ve been seeing each other for a long time now, it isn’t news to anyone. It wasn’t news after the case in New York, when Derek’s jealousy and Hotch’s feelings clashed so mightily that the world shook beneath their feet.

Hotch hates hospitals, though. He’s spent too much time in them. For other people, for himself. The smells are overwhelming and turn his stomach. He’s still coursing with adrenaline when they pull up and park in the garage, Derek refusing once again to let him go off on his own no matter how hard he tries. He’s always pulling him closer, not letting him pull away.

The room is quiet. Reid is sleeping peacefully and he looks almost like himself again. The sheen of sweat is gone and his color has returned. They’re both relieved in a way that takes over their entire bodies. Hotch is no longer feral, he’s in total control of his faculties and for that he’s grateful. He clasps his hands behind his back and wanders around the room, pacing, still too full of adrenaline to sit down but his mind is working a mile a minute. He’s got reports to fill out, meetings with Strauss and her bosses, he’s going to be working well into the night on this one. His mind wanders to food when a cart wheels by with something that smells like tomato soup rattling around on top. He needs to eat, it’s been hours and that cipro he took is burning in his stomach. Food will help. Maybe he’ll take Derek to lunch...or dinner...it occurs to him that he doesn’t even know what time it is. He hasn’t bothered to look at a clock this entire time.

“Jell-O,” Derek says, pointing at Reid’s untouched tray of food. There are little saltine packets, a cup of jell-O and an ice water that’s half-melted. “I love jell-o.” Derek reaches for it, snatching it off of the tray quickly along with the plastic spoon that sits beside it.

“That belongs to Reid,” Hotch warns with a smirk as Derek peels back the foil lid.

“He doesn’t like jell-o, pretty sure he told me that once…”

“I don’t think that’s true. He only eats sugar.”

Derek inhales the artificial fruit scent with a smile. It’s been years since he’s had a jell-o. “No, I’m pretty sure he said he hates jell-o.” He takes a bite, slides the jello off of the plastic spoon and almost melts into the flavor. It’s sweet and tart, wiggles on his tongue before melting and tastes like childhood. Summer vacation, running through the streets, being bribed by the bodega owners to be good kids. It was an easy trade, don’t make trouble and you get a jell-o. Only it was never name brand, it was always some off-brand thing with the word “gel” in the title somewhere, and Derek always reached for grape.

He offers a spoonful to Hotch who shakes his head at first, on principal only because it belongs to Reid...but soon Derek is grinning and making airplane noises until Hotch opens up his mouth and takes a bite. Jack loves jell-o, and it’s a special treat he keeps in the apartment for the nights Jack comes to stay with him. Those nights are rare, special occasions filled with movies and junk food and other things his mother probably wouldn’t approve of. It feels good going in though, he hadn’t realized how lightheaded and dizzy he was feeling until that sugar hit his system. He takes another bite willingly and smiles into a jell-o flavored kiss. He almost forgets where they are.

“What’re you doing?” comes a hoarse voice, words strung together with very little enunciation. It’s muffled and soft, confused. They both stop mid-bite, Hotch with the spoon still in his mouth, Derek grinning like a mad man.

“It isn’t what it looks like,” Derek says automatically while Hotch pushes the spoon out of his mouth and tries to straighten himself up. Look dignified. This is a nightmare.

“Mmm,” Reid hums a little, propping himself up on his elbows to get a good look around the room. His eyes flicker over equipment and furniture, take in the sunlight streaming through the window and the two men involved in something that looks dangerously like fully clothed foreplay. He can’t think of a worse thing to wake up to. “Looks like you’re feeding Hotch jell-o…”

“Yeah, okay, maybe it is what it looks like…”

“Is that my jell-o?”

Derek, a deer caught in headlights, shrugs. He tries not to look too guilty. “I thought you hated the stuff.”

“That’s salad, Morgan. I hate salad. I love jell-o.” Reid’s voice is gaining strength as he speaks, the raspy phlegm sound dissipating as his frustration with the two men in the room with him grows. The heart monitor spikes for a moment before he settles himself.

“Oh. My bad. Well this one is spicy, anyway.”

“Spicy jell-o?”

“Yeah. Spicy jell-o, ya jerk. You wouldn’t like it.” Hotch has to stop himself from laughing by covering his mouth and turning away. He’s certain he should have gone back to meet with Strauss, now. This is just too much for him. Derek spends too much time with Jack, that’s his favorite trick. Jack will stay the night with them and catch one of them sneaking a piece of chocolate or a little bit of ice cream and the response is always that it’s spicy. He wouldn’t like it. Jack pulled the same trick just that morning with his cereal. “Iz spicy, you wouldn’t like it daddy,” he’d said when Hotch said his cereal looked good. Derek hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, he thought he was going to break a rib. Watching Derek with Reid, he can’t help but see the way his default mode right now is dad mode and it’s so sweet he can hardly stand it.

“I’ll go ask the nurses to bring another jell-o,” Hotch says quietly, composing himself. He needs to make a phone call, he needs to gather himself, he needs to get out of this room. “What flavor do you like?”

“Just not the spicy kind,” Reid replies with a smirk in his most sarcastic voice as Derek sinks into the visitor’s chair. “So, any jell-o. Any jell-o is fine, Hotch. Thank you.” He’s glaring at Derek now while he finishes the little cup of jell-o, content not to have to fight for it. And even though the cup is too big, he pops it into his mouth and runs his tongue around the entire circumference like it was a jell-o shot, wishing it were in fact. Then he pops it out into his hand and tosses it into the trash can from across the room.

“SWISH! I’ll take another, too baby. Green please. This one was too spicy.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hotchgan #criminal minds #hotch x morgan #a little bit of sick reid #fanfiction #criminal minds week 2023

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

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I'll Always Look After You

Emily has the flu and Aaron looks after her.

-x-

A little thing for @sneetchestoo and anyone else who is currently unwell. I hope this helps even just a tiny little bit <3

Also, this was meant to be a Christmas fic, but it kind of just ended up just being set at Christmas? So it's like the Die Hard of the Hotchniss universe haha

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of sickness etc but nothing explicit, a tiny bit of angst in the middle. Because it's me.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“I think I’m dying.”

Aaron has to suppress his smile before he looks over at his wife, the sight of her bundled up on the couch, wrapped up in blankets with a trash can full of disposed tissues next to her enough to make him reconsider going anywhere.

“You aren’t dying sweetheart,” he says, zipping up his winter coat before he walks over and sits next to her, “You just have the flu.”

She leans into him, her head against his shoulder as she sniffs against her blocked nose, “You wouldn’t be saying just if you’d been the one to catch it.”

“There’s still time,” he replies, turning his head to kiss her forehead and wincing at the temperature of her skin, “We really can rearrange if you want, I know how much you wanted to go with the boys.”

She shakes her head fiercely, grimacing at the sensation, how it made her head pound even more.

“No, it’s ok,” she rasps out, “We’ve been promising them for weeks, and we’ve already had to rearrange twice.”

“Mason will miss you, it’s the first year he’ll probably understand what's going on,” he says, pulling back to look at her, to see if the thought of it upset her but she simply smiles at him.

“He always misses me, Aaron,” she replies, thinking of their four-year-old son, “You’ve said yourself - he’d crawl back up inside of me if he could.”

It was why she’d been the one to come down with the flu out of the two of them. Jack came home with it first having caught it at school, and quickly passed it on to his little brother. Both boys were all about Emily when they were sick, seeking out the love and affection she always gave them so freely, pressed up against her as they slept off their fevers. It had been over a week since Jack had first come home sick, and now both boys were better and back to sleeping in their own beds Emily had caught it herself. Something that was inevitable, but still frustrating to her nonetheless.

She’d never been good at being sick, always insisting she was fine even when it was clear she wasn’t. It extended through to wanting to be alone, feeling coddled if someone even offered to get meds for her so she didn’t have to, but that had never been the case with Aaron. She always wanted him near and found herself enjoying being looked after as long as he was the one doing it.

“I feel bad leaving you sweetheart,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this sick.”

She smiles at him, “You’re going to the Christmas Markets with a four-year-old and a 12-year-old, honey. You’ll be lucky if you keep them interested enough to be gone for a couple of hours. My plan is to take my next round of meds and sleep.”

His hand shifts to her forehead, the back of his hand against her skin, and he frowns, “You do feel warm again.”

“That's because-” her sarcastic response is cut off by her aching cough, her ribs and chest aching with it after over a day of her flu being at its worst. Aaron soothes her, his hand running circles on her back until the coughing fit fades. He passes her the glass of water that she’d been keeping close to hand and she takes a sip before putting it down, “Fucking hell,” she grumbles, her voice somehow more raw than it had been before, “Next time they’re sick, you can be the one to snuggle with them.”

He smiles at her and leans in to kiss her flushed cheek, “Sure Em, like you don’t love every second of being the one they want.”

She playfully narrows her eyes at him, but any response is stopped by the sound of Mason and Jack running into the room, already in their coats and snow boots.

“Ready Dad?” Jack asks, smiling over at them both, and Aaron nods, turning to his wife to give her another kiss on her cheek before he stands up.

“Ready buddy.”

“We’ll get you a gift, Emily to make you feel better,” Jack says with enthusiasm as if the cure to her ailment would be for sale on one of the stalls at the market.

“Thanks, Jack,” she replies, wiping her nose as she looks over at him, “That’s very sweet.”

Mason frowns, looking more adorable than ever in his many layers, tilting his head as he looks over at his mother on the couch.

“Momma not coming?” He asks, and Aaron smiles at his youngest, scooping him up into his arms.

“No, Mase, Momma is sick, remember? So she has to stay here.” He says, walking over to her and leaning down, “Now, give Mommy a kiss, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

Mason wraps his arms around Emily’s neck and she kisses his cheek and forehead, and not for the first time Aaron thinks this is the kind of story he will be able to tell the boy when he’s a teenager and no longer thinks his parents are cool.

“Love you Momma.”

“Love you too, sweet boy,” she says, smiling at her son as Aaron stands up straight before she turns her attention to her husband, “Make sure you get plenty of photos of them in front of the big tree, ok?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, leaning down briefly to kiss the top of her head, “Remember to take your meds, you’re due them in about 30 minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, a small smile on her face as he rolls his eyes at her.

“Right, come on boys,” Aaron says, deciding to carry Mason out, and having his eldest walk ahead of him to the front door, “Let's give Mom some peace.”

She listens to them chatting among themselves until the door closes, the house falling into silence she would have once found comforting.

___

Aaron wakes up suddenly, a kick to the shin pulling him out of his slumber. For a moment he’s disorientated, but then he hears Emily mutter something under her breath next to him and everything snaps into place. He sits up and turns on the lamp on his nightstand.

It wasn’t unusual for one of them to wake up the other in the throes of a nightmare, which is what he thinks is happening at first. It sadly wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, to see her tangled up in the sheets, her face twisted in fear as her memories mixed with her subconscious.

She found herself on the floor of that warehouse in Boston just as often as he found himself in the house he had once shared with Haley, the many who had killed her just out of reach.

He reaches out for her, his hand almost at her shoulder, when she shifts away, muttering under her breath again, and she frowns.

“Em, sweetheart,” he starts, but she shakes her head fiercely, twisting further into the sheets, trapping her legs even further, “It’s just me.”

“Ian. No,” she breathes out, two words he can pick up from the almost constant stream of murmurings coming from her. It’s then that he realises her eyes are open, shifting wilding around their bedroom as if she was looking for an escape.

She wasn’t having a nightmare, she was awake.

He’s able to get his hand to her forehead, his chest aching when she tries to twist away from him, and he winces at the temperature of her skin. Her fever had clearly spiked again in the night, and he would put money on it being a little too high, and it had led to this. A delirium she wouldn’t break free from until he got her body temperature down to something a little closer to normal.

Aaron pulls the sheet over her, freeing her legs, and he has to catch one of her feet to stop himself from getting kicked.

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for her face and holding her head in place, making their eyes meet, “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

She swallows thickly, something that burns against her throat, “Aaron?”

He smiles, relief making some of the tension in his chest loosen, “Yes, baby. It’s me, I’m here.”

Familiar fear seizes her, something she can’t shake off, “Ian?”

“You won sweetheart, he’s dead remember,” Aaron says, pressing his forehead into hers, her skin burning him, “We’re here, in our home. The boys are asleep in their rooms”

She whimpers, a sound he hates, something he’d never heard from her before, and he knows he has to do something. He knows she wouldn’t thank him for taking her to the hospital, something he knew wasn’t justified quite yet, but he needed to help her. He gathers her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, her body shaking despite how warm she was, and he stands.

It hurts his back, something he knows he’ll likely feel for a few days, but it’s the last thing on his mind as he carries her towards the ensuite, using his elbow to force the light on. He apologises when she winces against the light flooding the room, his lips against her forehead. He walks into their shower and turns on the water, waiting until it was lukewarm before he steps under the stream. He slides down the wall, making sure he keeps hold of her, and she tucks her forehead against his neck, protecting her face from the steady stream of water.

“Aaron.”

“I’m here,” he says softly, his hand rubbing circles up and down her back, “I’m here.”

He sits there with her until her temperature goes down, holding her close until she falls back to sleep.

___

Emily wakes up slowly. The first thing she notices is the pounding in her head from the last few days is slightly better, the first sign that she was starting to get over the flu that had seemingly invaded their home.

She groans as she sits up, Aaron's arm falling from her waist to her lap as she does so. Her smile slips slightly as she takes in the sight of the pyjama shirt he’s wearing, and the colour of the sheets across them - both of them different to when she’d fallen asleep the night before. She looks down at her shirt and gets even more confused when she sees that’s changed too.

“What?”

“Your fever spiked in the night,” Aaron says, his voice making her jump because she was sure he was still asleep, “I had to get you in the shower to bring it down,” he adds as he sits up with her, “I had to change both of us and the sheets.”

“I…don’t remember that,” she says, wracking her brain to try and find a memory of it, but the last thing she remembers is the boys excitedly giving her a decoration for the tree that they bought at the markets before they all headed to bed.

“You were pretty out of it,” he replies, tugging her to lean against him, pleased that her skin felt somewhere close to normal for the first time in a few days, “I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Even in her exhausted state, Emily doesn’t miss how he holds her a little tighter than usual, something desperate in his embrace. She shifts so she can look up at him. His jaw is clenched, as if he’s worried about something, about her, and she reaches up to cup his face, forcing him to look at her.

“What happened?” She asks softly, and he sighs, closing his eyes as he turns his head to kiss her palm.

“Em-”

“Please tell me,” she says, cutting over what she knows will be an attempt to tell her he’s fine, “I’d rather know.”

He stares at her for a moment before nodding. Honesty had always been a cornerstone of their relationship. They didn’t keep things from each other.

“You were delirious,” he says, clearing his throat, swallowing down the lump that had formed there, “You thought you were in Boston.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, doesn’t have to explain any further, and she sighs sadly. She leans forward, her forehead against his shoulder as she holds his arm to her chest.

“I’m sorry, honey. That can’t have been easy,” she says, imaigning how she would have felt if it was the other way around, deeply aware she wouldn’t have been able to carry him to the shower, or help him like he had helped her.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, “Nothing at all. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

“You always help,” she says, and he immediately puts his hand on her forehead and she bats him away, “What are you doing?”

“Checking you’re not feverish again, you’re usually not this corny.”

She scoffs, a curse word on the tip of her tongue when their door flies open, Mason across the room and on the bed in seconds.

“Morning Momma,” he says, crawling across to settle in her lap, his dark wide eyes looking up at her, “You better?”

“I am feeling a bit better, sweet boy, thank you,” she replies, holding him close.

“What, am I invisible?” Aaron asks jokingly, tickling at his son’s ribs. Mason laughs, curling further into Emily’s embrace.

“Hi Daddy.”

Aaron smiles at his wife and son, matching grins on their faces that make his stomach flip and he shakes his head.

“Is your brother awake?” He asks, ruffling Mason’s already messy hair, and the toddler shakes his head.

“Jack still asleep.”

Aaron rolls his eyes at his eldest son, the teenage years that he’d dreaded for some time now just around the corner.

“Why don’t I go organise breakfast and you two stay here?” He offers, and they both nod enthusiastically. He leans in and kisses Emily quickly, “I’ll bring up some meds for you too.”

“Thanks, honey,” she replies, smiling at him as he leaves before she shifts her attention back to her little boy. She goes to speak but she coughs, her chest aching with it, and when she recovers she’s met with her son’s concerned face. His brows knitting together in a way that makes him look so much like Aaron it makes her smile, “You ok, Mase?”

“Momma still sick?” He asks, and she nods gently.

“Still a little bit, baby, but I’m better than yesterday.” She watches as his frown briefly deepens before he shifts, kneeling in her lap so they are face to face before he kisses her forehead in the same way she did for him when he was sick. She feels like her heart could burst, the love she felt for him somehow constantly increasing, something she wouldn’t have thought was possible the first time she saw him, tiny and crying as he was placed on her chest.

“Better?” He pulls back, his fingers tangled a little tight in her hair, and she reaches to untangle them,

“Much better, thank you.” Emily smiles an nods at him.He beams at her and she lays down, tugging him with her so he’s laying against her chest. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.” He replies, snuggling further into her.

Emily smiles as she hears Aaron moving about in the kitchen, and the first signs of life from Jack’s room, the sound of their house slowly waking up surrounding her as she drifts back to sleep.

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @sneetchestoo, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x prentiss #emily prentiss whump #sick fic #shout out to lina #because the title is a line from her favourite song

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boredelle · 11 months

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LET ME LICK YOU UP AND DOWN 'TIL YOU SAY STOP

LET ME PLAY WITH YOUR BODY, BABY MAKE YOU REAL HOT

LET ME DO ALL THE THINGS YOU WANT ME TO DO

‘CAUSE TONIGHT, BABY I WANNA GET FREAKY WITH YOU

#aaron hotchner #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #personal #freak me #whatever #i'm going to be sick #i need this man

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clockwards · 1 year

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obsessed with hotch reid father son partners in work duoism. stern serious faced and tired twitchy fingered. boxing a person in on either side, ample space but just enough to put pressure on them. giving an order and giving information. simple sentences and rambling explanations. i will never tire of this dynamic

#dad hotch is most attractive hotch #very important to me that he is their father but also sick of their shit #as he should be #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cm

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greg-montgomery · 2 years

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not to be a ***** but if anyone has any recs where y/n has a threesome with hotch and penelope let me know it’s for educational purposes

#🤲🏻 are there any i wonder #i’ll take garcia x reader recs too if there aren’t any with both of them 🤲🏻#sick of real people i need a fictional character to **** ** 😞#or two in this case #penelope garcia x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch 🪐#nsfw.

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lukreziaaa · 2 years

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“This is Special Agent Gideon, Special Agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes,

Special Agent Reid-” “Doctor Reid.” “Doctor Reid, our expert on, we’ll, everything. And after two years busting my butt in this office,

I hope you remember me.”

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androidfate · 6 months

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Cannot…for the life of me…figure out why Reid wouldn’t be cleared to travel over a month after being shot once in the leg. Hotch was used as a human pincushion around the same time and he’s running around confronting delusional murderers and letting them kill people but god forbid Reid go to another city to sit on his ass, no no, he has to stay at HQ and sit on his ass. For reasons.

#the reasons are that hotch’s injuries are made up plot injuries and reid’s injury is an IRL injury the actor sustained #and the writers are sick of writing around it but it’s still a pretty glaring inconsistency #at least make something up #the jet isn’t handicap accessible and they’re worried reid will fall down the stairs #there that’s golden…silver…bronze-ish #criminal minds

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riversworld96 · 1 year

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ao3 was down so i had to read fanfic on here, 7/10 tbh probably won’t do again until either ao3 is down again or until ao3 runs out of the niche genre of fanfic im looking for

#ao3 stuff #blorbo #blorbo from my shows #guess how many spencer reid male reader sick fics there are #not enough that’s how many #like 3 of them were hotch too #another one wasn’t even a male reader and i didn’t realize until i hit the untagged pregnancy #i’m miserable #fanfic

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dungeons-are-too-cold · 2 years

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I just want to say a big fuck you to the criminal minds writers for the Foyet arc, you were some real bastards with that one

#the foyet arc literally made me feel fucking sick #criminal minds #criminal minds watch through #rewatching it rn and I'm just like #y'all really made people think hotch was dead? after the fucking brutal experience that was to hell and back?#fuck you #what the fuck #still fucking shaking about this one and its my second watch through lmao #aaron hotchner #george foyet

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ssahotchnerr · 2 months

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👉🏼👈🏼 is it ok to request a fic where jack starts trying to take care of the reader the way he sees his dad does? like maybe hotch is away from a case and reader gets sick or sad or idk, so jack takes it upon himself to be there for reader? like maybe he even starts referring reader with the same pet name hotch calls her? tysm!

like dad does

aw 🥹 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of sickness, fluff <3

you awoke with a gentle start; a trail of cold water trickling down the side of your face, pooling vaguely in your ear.

likewise, a more concrete sensation was set on your forehead - a cold compress. most likely a washcloth, and one that hadn't been wrung out too much at that.

but it was relieving, a delightful contrast from your burning forehead.

"oops," a small mumble came directly from your left ear, as well as a soft exhale of a breath. "sorry."

"jack?" you muttered, rather drowsily. you forced your eyes open, finding jack's sweet, concerned face beside you. "what're you doing?"

"i'm taking care of you." he explained softly, his tone so nonchalant as if it were the most obvious and simplest thing in the world. he reached forward, adjusting the top of the blanket that was draped overtop you. "like dad does. he put the washcloth on you yesterday, you 'member?"

he was right; you were on day two, maybe three? of a nasty bout of the flu. quite honestly you didn't know what day it was, they all blurred together, and your scattered sleep schedule didn't help. you offered him a nod.

"thank you." you gave him a small, closed mouth smile. if it weren't for the germs, you'd reach out to touch his cheek. you sat up a bit from your position in bed, your voice hoarse. "where is your dad?"

"a meeting."

your eyebrows furrowed, the facial movement burning your sinuses. "he's home?"

jack nodded, "he's in his office, but he said it might take a long time. so that's why i'm helping you feel better."

his face brightened a bit, as if a realization struck him. he reached into his pant's pocket, retrieving a few cough drops he had shoved in there, dropping them onto your blanket covered chest.

"i'm sorry i can't make you soup." jack apologized, solemnly as his shoulders dropped. "but i'm not allowed to use the stove."

your face softened, the weak smile resurfacing. "that's okay bud, don't worry. you can help dad make some later when he's done, how 'bout that?"

he nodded enthusiastically, before hoisting himself onto your bed.

"hey no no no, i wouldn't," you protested gently, your heart also melting at his action. "i don't want you getting my germs."

"if i get sick i get sick." that's the same thing aaron had said, multiple times, when he insisted on getting into bed with you earlier. jack scooted somewhat close, staying mainly on his father's side of the bed.

"and if i get sick, i don't need to go to school."

you laughed softly, but finding yourself too weak to argue, you did the only thing you could - go right back to sleep.

it was restless; you were in and out of slumber, and could roughly process jack getting up here and there - solely due to the distant sensation of the washcloth leaving and returning to your forehead, dampened once more.

and once aaron's meeting had ceased, he went in to check on you, and was pleasantly surprised, and touched, to see jack accompanying you.

you were out, with jack diligently watching over, while also keeping himself busy - his sketchbook and colored pencils were scattered amongst the bed.

"how's it going?" aaron asked him from the doorway, the door producing a sharp creak as he pushed it forward a tad.

"good. i brought cough drops, the washcloth, and made sure she got lots of rest. just like you did." jack continued to draw as he spoke, before his head shot right up. "can we make soup?"

"sure buddy," aaron nodded, a tinge of pride pulling at his heart. he tilted his head towards the hallway, and jack immediately scrambled off the bed. "c'mon."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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luveline · 16 days

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I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor.

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch.

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now.

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere.

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.”

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless.

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it.

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory.

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.”

“Did you want the straw?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?”

“Yeah.”

You can’t be blamed for short answers.

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways.

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods.

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead.

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed.

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says.

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask.

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.”

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him.

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly.

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes.

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t.

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours.

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand.

“Please don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically.

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now.

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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rynbutt · 18 days

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safe. | spencer reid.

You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.

my masterlist!

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3

now playing... Fare Well by Hozier

This was really starting to piss you off.

You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.

Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.

Because you swore this baby had it out for you.

You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore.

You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.

“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.

“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”

“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.

Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly.

Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.

“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.

“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.

“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”

Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”

“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”

“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.

“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were.

“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.

“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.

“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.

“...How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.

“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.

You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”

“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom.

You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.

You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.

“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.

“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile.

“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”

“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”

“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand.

You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour.

Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.

“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.

The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.

“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos.

“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”

“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.

“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.

Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”

“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.

“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied.

“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around.

You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team.

“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”

“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh.

“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone.

“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat.

Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”

Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”

Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.

You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.

“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.

“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.

“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”

“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”

“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth.

“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”

“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.

“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”

“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”

You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”

“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again.

“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”

“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”

“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.

You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”

Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”

You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.

The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house.

You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.

You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–

“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.

“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”

You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”

“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.

Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”

Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”

“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.

“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”

“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”

“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.

You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”

He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”

“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.

“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.

“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.

“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.

“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard.

“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”

“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.

“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”

“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”

“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.

“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”

“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”

Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”

“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house.

Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”

“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car.

Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child.

You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this.

“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”

You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”

“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.

“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that.

Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.

“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.

“Yes?”

“Is your son Peter here?”

“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.

“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.

It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.

You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers.

“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.

“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.

“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.

“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him.

“It was an accident,” you replied softly.

“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.

“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”

“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”

David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”

“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.

“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.

“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.

“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator.

“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”

“We’re going to get an ambulance–”

“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”

Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.

Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.

Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.

“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”

“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.

“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.

“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression.

Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.

Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”

Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.”

Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.

Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.

A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.

“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway.

You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”

Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”

“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”

“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.

Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.

“I’m sorry–”

“You don’t need to–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile.

“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.

“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”

Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.

You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.

“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.

“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.

“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.

“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.

He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”

“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”

a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!

2K notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 27 days

Note

could you write fem!BAU!reader x spencer, where reader finds out she’s pregnant while they’re on a case, like maybe she takes a test when she’s at the hotel and spencer hasn’t come back yet

(lack of) convenience | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader category: fluff content warnings: pregnancy, nausea, vomiting, spencer reid is unfortunately perfect. vertigo. fun pregnancy symptoms. word count: 2.04k a/n: and so, the spencer reid dilf agenda continues. this is my legacy.

It came over you just after Spencer and Rossi had left to investigate a lead. This case was going nowhere fast, and the morale in the FBI field office clearly displayed it. “Are you alright?” JJ asked from right next to you, blonde hair curtaining around her face.

You nodded tightly, enough to show the newly minted profiler that you were, in fact, not alright. Nonetheless, you were motivated to push through. People were being murdered, you could brave a little vertigo to bring their killer to justice, right?

“Hey, you look a little pale,” Emily said, walking into the conference room with Hotch trailing close behind her. “Are you feeling okay?”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you huffed at both of your coworkers. “I’m fine,” you insisted while your head was spinning. You lowered yourself down into an office chair, hoping that being sedentary would prevent your dinner from coming up.

Emily looked over at Hotch before saying, “Maybe you should head back to the hotel, it’s been a long day for all of us.”

Furrowing your brow, you frowned at your colleague. “I’ll make it through, we have work to do,” you insisted, flipping open a file as your stomach churned.

“You’re no help to anyone if you’re sick,” Hotch told you authoritatively, and you knew from his tone that he was going to send you back to the hotel. “Get some rest, we’ll start taking breaks in shifts,” he instructed, turning back to the evidence board.

It didn’t feel like shifts, especially considering you were the only one being cast off. You mumbled an acknowledgment while you stuffed your things in your bag. JJ offered to drive you, so the two of you exited the field office.

The two of you spent most of the ride in silence, just the fuzz of the SUV’s radio as background noise while you tried not to hurl in the government vehicle.

Once you were in the hotel parking lot, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get your bearings before heading inside. “You know, I used to get sick in the evening when I was pregnant with Henry,” she said offhandedly.

It felt like a pointed comment, even if she didn’t mean it like that. You started fishing in your pocket for your room card, “But I’m not pregnant.”

“Are things good with you and Spencer?” She asked, looking for details on your relationship like an older sister. JJ killed the engine before turning to face you.

Sighing, you looked at her, “Things are great with Spencer.” You wanted to scold her for prying, but you knew it was an occupational hazard. It had been seven months, and all you had been telling anyone was “great” or “nice.”

The both of you knew that the more details you gave them, the more they’d want to pry. Penelope especially. “You know he wants kids, right?” She pushed.

You frowned at her, “Jennifer.” She put her hands up in surrender as you hauled yourself out of the SUV, “I just want to go to sleep, I feel awful.” That much was true, as you stood up outside the car, your stomach started to roil again.

“I’ll check in on you later,” she said, recognizing that she had begun to pry. “Let me know if you need anything,” she urged you, the mom in her coming into play.

Nodding, you shut the door before poking your head in the open window, “Thanks, JJ.” You said, turning around and walking to your hotel room.

Luckily, the team was already checked in, so you didn’t need to waste time trying to explain the whole ‘I’m an FBI agent’ thing to the front desk. Once you got into your room, you immediately dropped to your knees in front of the toilet, eyes burning as you upchucked into the toilet.

While you were digging through your go-bag for your toothbrush, you found yourself thinking about what JJ had said to you in the car. You couldn’t be pregnant. Well, you supposed you very well could be pregnant.

Sighing, you returned to the bathroom and started brushing your teeth, having needed to take the toothpaste out of Spencer’s bag. You made a mental note to buy more for your bag – you had been using his for the last four cases.

You silently cursed JJ for planting the thought of a baby in your head as you stared out the hotel window to a convenience store on the corner. At the very least, you could get some saltines and a Gatorade. At the very most, you could get a test.

Begrudgingly, you changed into more comfortable clothes and walked across the street to the convenience store. Grabbing a sleeve of crackers and a drink before stopping in the family planning section.

Why were there so many options?

Not wanting to draw any attention to yourself, you grabbed a digital test off of the shelf and tossed it into your basket. Your shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors as you elected to use the self-checkout, not needing to provide anyone with a front seat to your misery.

Other than the nausea, your trip back to the hotel was uneventful, and thankfully it didn’t look like anyone else on the team had made the trip to your lodging.

After you took the test, you set a timer on your phone, tossing it onto the bed before you sat on the edge of the mattress, sitting on your freshly washed hands. The timer scared you when it went off, not expecting the two minutes to go by so quickly before you returned to the bathroom.

Flipping the test over, the wind was knocked out of you as you read the results.

Yes +

You didn’t know how long you had stared at the test, but the sound of the lock on your door engaging pulled you out of your stupor. Thankfully, you had done the latch on the door, so you had a few extra minutes to toss the test in your go-bag before you went up to the door and let Spencer in.

“Hey, love,” he greeted you, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling?” He asked caringly, someone must’ve told him you weren’t well. You hoped that was all they had told him.

Humming, you leaned into his touch for a moment before he herded you to the bed. “A bit better, but not much,” you were slightly less nauseous now, possibly because there was nothing left in your stomach. There was a dull ache in your chest though, likely a result of the information you were now aware of.

He hooked a finger under your chin and studied your features for a moment, “Were you crying?” He whispered with concern-filled eyes.

You shook your head, “I threw up.” You informed him, the lack of oxygen had caused your eyes to water – similar to a yawn. Meanwhile, your head was spinning as the words balanced precariously on your tongue, I’m pregnant.

Spencer pouted sympathetically, smoothing your hair away from your face before he felt your forehead, checking for a fever. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announced softly, “do you need anything?”

Pathetically, you gestured over to your Gatorade and saltines, silently letting him know that you were all good for the night. It was only about eight in the evening, but you were exhausted. Letting your head flop onto the pillows, you sighed before shutting your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer spoke up in an unfamiliar tone. “What is this?”

Crinkling your nose in frustration, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking over at Spencer as he held up your test. Your positive pregnancy test. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t mine?” Clearly, in your panic to hide the test, you had tossed the blue stick in Spencer’s bag. Your subconscious must’ve recalled that you had gotten the toothpaste out of that bag, so you thought it was yours.

Any confusion fell from his face, and in that instant, he knew exactly what was going on. “You’re pregnant?”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, you couldn’t tell how he was feeling. “I-“ you swallowed thickly, the roiling in your stomach picking back up again. “Yes,” you answered in a small voice.

“When were you going to tell me?” He asked, there was no accusation in his voice, just pure curiosity and wonder. When you stayed silent, his eyes narrowed, “You were going to tell me, weren’t you?” He said, his volume raising from a whisper to a normal speaking level.

Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you protectively crossed your arms in front of your stomach. “Oh my god, yes, I was going to tell you,” you clarified quickly. He didn’t seriously think you were going to hide this from him, did he?

He shook his head in confusion, “Then why hide it, angel?”

Shrugging, you thumbed the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, “I wanted time to think about it.” The admission hung in the thick tension of the hotel room.

“Okay,” he said slowly, walking over and sitting across from you on the mattress. It was clear to you that he was dealing with this situation delicately. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you about this, but I excel in thinking,” he told you.

His implications were clear to you, he wanted you to talk it out with him. “I want kids, you know I want kids. I know you want kids,” you blurted. It was something you had talked about early on in your relationship. Spencer had been very upfront with you about wanting children, he told you he needed to be with someone who also wanted that.

Spencer tilted his head to the side, “but?” He said gently, taking both of your hands in his, holding on to you.

“It’s too soon,” you whispered, feeling vulnerable on the bed with him.

He smiled at you softly, “Have I ever told you about the first time I knew that I was in love with you?”

The question left you understandably confused, “What?” You breathed, silently pleading for clarification.

Spencer nodded, “We were on a case in North Dakota, and there was this little girl who had just lost both of her parents.” The case did sound familiar, the more brutal ones involving children tended to stick with you. “We were waiting for a social worker to come stay with her, but they were stuck in a snowbank across town. Instead of working on the case, you sat down with her and taught her how to play cat’s cradle.” His voice was soft, almost placating you.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until tears fell onto your intertwined hands, “Spence, that was years ago.”

“Two years, nine months, and thirteen days ago. I fell in love with you while watching you put a smile on her face despite the fact that it was the worst day of her life,” he said, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “I fell in love with your ability to make people feel good when the world is against them,” he murmured.

Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at him through bleary eyes, “What if we can’t protect them?”

Gathering you in his arms, Spencer let you tuck your face in the crook of his neck, “I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N. We can leave, I could be a professor and you could be a stay-at-home mom. If you want, I could stay with the BAU and you could stay home, or you can stay with the team, and I’ll stay home. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

Silently, you absorbed his words as you caught your breath, “I’m scared” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, “that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.” He tightened his arms around you and rocked back and forth.

Allowing yourself to lean into him, you breathed him in, “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He dropped a soft kiss on the crown of your head, “You’re already such a good mom.”

1K notes · View notes

kisses4reid · 15 days

Text

red tissues | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you get nose bleeds regularly, the alarming increase in their appearances gets aaron’s attention, especially when you wake up one day to blood covering your entire face for aaron to see.

genre - hotch x fem!reader, fluff

warnings - lots of mentions of blood, nose bleeds, mentions of being over worked, sickness

a/n - i’m going to open a permanent taglist for anyone who wants to be tagged in every criminal minds fanfiction i write, so either comment on this or make a request that you’re interested! ❤️

The office was buzzing with the sound of typing and chatting, pens being passed and chairs being adjusted. The night was surely coming, sun setting against the window panes to cast shadows onto piles of files. Your desk was dark and your pile was unfortunately much taller than everyone else’s. Funny how shooting a criminal earns punishment through 10 more files to fill out.

But right now, all you cared about was filling your Snoopy mug with something. The coffee machine was broken by a certain muscly man, so some tea bags delivered that day were your only solace. Chamomile. Sounded tranquil enough.

As you waited for your beverage to brew, you glanced back to your desk and then to your teammates. You should’ve taken Spencer and Emily’s offers to take some files off you, but being a perfectionist and selfless, you kindly declined. Shoulder’s slumping, you pulled the mug close to your nose and took a long smell, closing your eyes in relief.

Suddenly, right before you could take the much needed first sip, a pang hit your head and your eyes and eyebrows ached, causing you to clench them. When you opened your eyes, the light brownish-yellow of the tea was mixing with red.

Blood. Shit.

You swiftly turn to grab some tissues as your boss, Aaron Hotchner, was grabbing his plain mug from the top shelf, you hadn’t even noticed him in your panic. He followed you with his eyes as he grabbed a green tea packet. The tissues held against your nose were turning red and soggy. And before he could ask what had happened, you had abandoned your mug and vanished from the room, heading for the bathrooms.

Aaron furrowed his eyebrows and noticed the discolouration in your mug, before grabbing it and washing it out for you.

A few days later, Morgan and Reid were sat in front of you, JJ leaning on your seat’s armrest as Aaron conversed with a lawyer over the phone. Prentiss covered the basic details of the case but all you could focus on was the slight pang in your heart when you heard Aaron chuckle at whoever was talking with him. Though your eyes didn’t leave the case files, your ears were suddenly attached to your boss’ voice.

Which was much closer, after he sat down next to you.

You felt stupid, being happier now that his attention wasn’t on some other woman, even though his attention still wasn’t on you. He sighed as he sat, a whiff of his strong cologne circling the group as they updated him on other details they had caught. You mentally scolded yourself for acting like a 14 year old girl crushing on her teacher, but alas, you would continue.

“We noticed all of the victims went to private religious schools, most of them went to church as well. Y/n pointed out how in all of their photos, they were dressed in a conservative way - which is a contrast when we look at their ages.” Spencer started before Rossi added,

“They’re all teenagers, nearly turning 20. They all had boyfriends, and we found that one of them was already engaged.”

You listened carefully, looking at the faces of the victims that were spread on the table, “As well as the common religious commitments, they all had one other thing in common.” You squinted your eyes with a short breath, feeling a headache approaching before you pointed something out that nobody else had noticed, “Same initials, all of them.”

Hotch nodded, “Amy Sanders, Alice Soo, Adriana Santiago and Alexa Smith. Nice work, Y/n.”

But before you could reject the complement and internally squeal, a throb attacked your head, and your eyes scrunched to create wrinkles you would try to massage away that night, before you threw your hand under your chin to swiftly catch a drop of blood. It was like a 6th sense these days.

“Excuse me.” You croak, leaving the back of the plane with Prentiss close behind you. You bent your head back before the raven haired woman’s hand pushed it forward. “Don’t do that, the blood might go down your throat.”

You followed her instructions and raised any eyebrow, pinching the bridge of your nose. “My niece used to have a lot of nose bleeds whenever she had a cold.” She promptly explained as she bent to pull out tissues from the white bathroom cabinets.

Around 5 minutes later, you and Prentiss returned to your respective seats, no one but you noticing a strong stare following you. “Are you okay, L/n?” Spencer asks, squinting in curiosity. “Yeah, sorry, sensitive nose, that’s all,” you lied.

These weren’t the first times you’ve had nose bleeds at work or around the team. There was one on your third day of work, the second time you went to a bar with Garcia, and one time on the plane around 4 months ago. You had been lucky that all your other nosebleeds happened either on the way to work or in the comfort of your own apartment. These days, when each case was followed by a heavier one, and each road trip was followed by a 10 hour flight, you were starting to get exhausted. You’re body has decided nose bleeds was the indication for you to take a fucking break.

The next week, you had almost forgotten about your unfortunate trait until a certain tall man called you into his office. “I need those finger print files done by tonight, is that alright?” He asked, smooth voice cutting through your fatigue, leaning on the front of his desk only a metre away from you.

You glanced at him up and down. He was clad in a smoke grey suit, perfectly fitted to his muscles and wide shoulders, tie loose enough to show the amount of work he had been through that morning. He smelt amazing, like wood and petichor, like metal and… “Yeah of course, sorry. I put the victims confirmed profiles on Spencer’s desk to check over before I could finalise the um…” Shit. Why did this have to happen right now?

But before you could even excuse yourself or hold a hand to your nose, a soft hand was cupped under your chin, careful not to touch you but close enough to catch droplets. Heat was radiating from the near contact, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the eye contact you were putting yourself through, or the blood that was currently pooling down your chin and into his palm. Aaron had appeared so swiftly, you wondered how he knew. “We should really get you checked out.” He said, recalling back to your third day on the job.

“You can check- You’re right I should get… your hand is getting blood on it.” He broke your eye contact and glanced down at his palm, before taking a breath and nodding. “Right, let’s get you cleaned up.”

His other, clean, hand is hovering over your lower back, and everyone’s eyes are hovering over the two of you, following you into the closest bathroom available. You can feel your cheeks heat up. As you pass the kitchenette, he picks up the box of tissues and you try to grab some from his hand, but instead of allowing you, he takes your wrists and holds one to your nose himself. His grip is soft, but restricting, warm. And you can’t help but look at him as he searches for an empty bathroom.

In the bathroom, he guides you to lean over the sink, washing his hands in a sink beside yours while watching you carefully. You look at him through the mirror, and you’re so distracted you almost don’t hear him tell you, “Lean forward more, don’t pinch your nose too hard.”

You comply and he crosses his arms and leans adjacent to you. “Do you know what’s causing all these nose bleeds?”

You thought back to shorter than 5 minutes ago and bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. “Um, I think it was your cologne.” You glance over to him finding he was already looking into your eyes. You were embarrassed, he was your boss and you were basically insulting him. “You smell great, don’t get me wrong. My nose and I obviously have different… opinions.”

Aaron nods with a small smirk, compelling you to look away before you say anything more.

Thankfully, saving you from any more embarrassment, your nose stopped painting the porcelain sink reddish-orange. “Thank you for helping me, Hotch.”

Aaron returned to his computer and opened a tab, searching ‘Common causes for frequent nose bleeds’, and, ‘Ways to avoid nose bleeds’.

And the next morning, Aaron walked into the office to get his coffee (the machine had been promptly fixed after your nose bleed situation) before Morgan spoke up, “New cologne, Hotch?”

Hotch nodded, and turned back to his coffee, pocketing some chamomile satchels to dispose of later. The comment reassured Aaron.

He wanted to be someone you could be around without risking anymore red tissues.

Aaron placed himself next to you on the plane, the team had gone over the case six times already, and the plane flight was long. It’s always been long. You opened your mouth to greet him before he cut you off, “We can provide a doctor for you, if these nose bleeds keep happening.”

You blink in surprise, “I’m sorry they’re inconvenient but there’s not much I can do about it.” You bit the inside of your lip, unaware that your bleeds had caused anything negative other than a decrease in tissue supplies and unwanted attention (not including Aaron’s).

“I’m not saying it’s an inconvenience to me,” he shakes his head, “They’re an inconvenience to you. I’m worried it’s because you’re overworked.”

Oh.

You cleared your throat and avoided eye contact.

He continues, “You get to work the earliest, stay the latest, you’re always the one travelling the furthest when we have to split up.”

A smirk appears on your face as you finally look back up at the stoic man, “Sounds like someone I know.”

“I make time, Y/n.”

You wrung your hands in your lap and sighed, “I’ve had this problem since I was a kid, Hotch. My longest record between nose bleeds was three months, that's only because I finally found some medication.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “They had terrible side effects, it wasn’t worth saving some tissues. I can deal, is what I’m saying.”

He nods and looks away in thought, that's when you allow yourself to look over his chest and arms, his posture and his… smell?

“You smell different.” “I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron Hotchner since what he said on that plane a little over five days ago. He changed his cologne, he offered to find a doctor, he listened to your reasoning. You thought he was being friendly. You wanted him to be a little bit more than that.

The plush seats and convenient seating arrangement that put you next to Aaron didn’t offer any comfort against the dry and hot weather of Nevada. If a place was your enemy, this was it. You had already concealed a small bleed in the drive over, Spencer not giving you a second look when you pretended to sneeze into a tissue. With the increased frequency, she didn’t want any useless worry. You weren’t going to take a break, so you needed to hide any signs of exhaustion as best you could. Even when the sheriff opened every window in the temporary office, JJ continued waving herself with a file, Morgan had already chugged three plastic bottles of water. Even Hotch only had a dark blue dress shirt on and damn did he look hotter than the sun.

But even with your best techniques and play-pretends (never looking down for too long, staying hydrated, avoiding the hotter places in the precinct), an unfortunate pang hit the front of your head and travelled to your nose. Your eyes shuddered, and you started to look for a tissue, before one appeared at the bottom of your chin before blood even trickled down your top lip.

It was Aaron holding it there, eyes on the case.

You looked at him in surprise and awe, before you took the tissue off him and excused yourself, getting a worried look from the old sheriff.

The tall man had learnt when you were about to get a nosebleed, a sudden stop in motion, scrunched eyebrows and eyes, stopped breathing. And as you left his line of vision, he tried not to worry about the amount of blood you would lose in this weather, and it motivated to close this case even more.

Everyone around the table glanced at Hotch and then at each other, putting on blank faces when Hotch looked up.

It wasn’t much better in the hotel rooms you had been given. They had aircon, and free water, but small windows, and broken fridges.

It was a relief to be able to sit on something that wasn’t covered in someone else’s sweat, even if it would be covered soon by your own. You had the coldest shower you think you’ve ever had, put on a larger t-shirt and a small pair of basketball shorts to fight against the heat during the night.

It came a surprise to you when you were blood free the entire afternoon and you counted it as good luck for the flight home, forgetting to place tissues or water on your bedside table. After denying an invitation to poker, you threw yourself onto the bed with crisp white sheets and soft pillow cases, in the direct shot of the air conditioning and only window in the room, and passed out.

There was a frantic knocking on your door, or maybe a pounding in your head. You couldn’t tell, and when you tried to investigate, you felt like your eyelids were sewn shut.

You were able to peak them open and lift yourself weakly, when suddenly a figure appeared in front of you with long blonde hair and soft hands on your shoulders.

“JJ?” Your lips felt tight.

“Jeez, Y/n. How long have you been sick?” Her voice was muffled, but as your vision became clearer so did your hearing. Hotch stopped in your open doorway, already dressed and bags dropped in the hallway, before walking in.

For a second you were going to try and stand to clean your room, realising how late it was. But as soon as you tried to stand, everything went hazy, and you could taste metal on your tongue.

“Y/n, we need to get you cleaned up.” JJ said sweetly, as if you were a child. She took your heavy arms and pulled them to the bathroom, light making your headache into a migraine.

You lifted a hand to the bone between your eyebrows, and when you took it off, it had dried blood on it. As JJ grabbed your body towel from last night and wet a corner of it, you stole a sight of your face. Your mouth and nose was covered in dry blood, some of it had travelled to your left cheek, and between your eyebrows. There was fresher blood on your chin and some even on your next.

You had a delirious thought that you had been stabbed, or you had stabbed someone, but when you looked out into the bedroom and saw Aaron taking the pillow case off of the pillow you were using, you wondered if you caused it to go from white to red overnight.

“What happened?” JJ asked, carefully placing her fingertips on the bottom of your jaw while her other hand dabbed softly at your face. You couldn’t answer, even though you had a fairly good guess. Aaron appeared in the mirror to hand JJ some pain killers, for you.

Swallowing was painful, but as your blonde friend wiped off the last bit of blood from your top lip, you looked worse than your throat felt.

“I’m sorry JJ, I could’ve cleaned myself up.”

“Don’t apologise Y/n. You worried me. You weren’t responding to your texts, not even Hotch’s,” she put the towel down and looked into your eyes with a motherly concern. “I think you need to listen to Hotch when he offers you a doctor again.”

And you nod, because she was right.

JJ left the room with a hug, leaving you with a very cross Aaron Hotchner.

“I’m-“

“You could’ve choked, or suffocated, or passed out- Actually I think you did.” He motioned towards your alarm clock that had been running since 5 a.m. “Y/n…” He looked confused, worried, sad? Your eyes hadn’t 100% cleared yet, a headache slowly throbbing, knees still slightly buckling. You wanted to lay down and be thrown into an ice bath.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” You croaked out.

“You’ve got one window open, cold and dry aircon on, and no water bottle on your bedside table. You should’ve asked to sleep in the same room as someone, in the same room as me.”

You looked down to your feet, only noticing now that Aaron had packed all of your things for you.

“I thought you had been…” He raked a hand through his hair and paced before placing his hands on your upper arms, “I’m going to get you to a doctor, and you can’t say no. That’s an order.”

His grip tighten only slightly, before he turned around and left with your luggage, heart beating fast in his chest.

You were back home, thank god. The air was cooler and clearer, and you didn’t feel like you needed to moisturise every two minutes. You stretched your arms above your head, squishing your eyes closed for some relief to the sting from the computer screen. Your chest expanded deeply, and your nose finally cleared.

And when you opened your eyes, you glanced over to your boss’ office windows to see if he was still working. But he was already out of his door, looking at you.

Butterflies played tag with each other in your stomach, a blush crossing your face and you both shot your gazes away.

His shoes were nearly silent against the floor, but when you quickly stood to pack your shoulder bag and take the sweater off the back of your chair, Aaron was there to greet you when you turned around.

“Let me walk you out?” He asked, as if the last words he said to you weren’t full of unprofessional emotions.

You were silent for at least 3 seconds, Aaron getting worried for a second before you stumbled over your words, “Y-Yes plea- Yeah. Sure.”

He smiled, a genuine smile.

Side by side, his briefcase touching your shoulder bag, you made your way towards the elevator. Aaron fiddled with his fingers and felt unfamiliarly nervous, heart thumping a little harder than when he walked out of his office.

“Thank you for everything. Caring, catching my blood. I would ask how you knew, but you are a profiler after all.” You smile softly, and he nods. “I’m glad you noticed.” He presses on the car park level in the elevator, hands coming to discreetly fidget once again.

And you can’t take the silence, “You still smell good.”

“You always do.” Aaron looks as surprised that he said that as you do, looking away quickly before looking up and sighing, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any plans?”

“I have a movie I want to watch, maybe a recipe I wanna try,” you reply oblivious, shuddering at the sudden change of temperature when you both exit the elevator. Suddenly a thicker layer of fabric was draped over your shoulders, one that smelt like new cologne. You blushed, looking up at him.

The cold breeze was pushing his hair out of place slightly, making his nose a little redder, his eyes clearer. He looked like the word handsome humanised.

“I think that you should watch that movie and try that recipe at… my place.”

You widened your eyes chasing any regret or embarrassment in his eyes, but all you got was nervousness, something you had rarely seen in him before.

He is so handsome, I can’t believe this is happening, I have to tell Garcia- Can I tell Garcia? He’s my boss after all- I mean this doesn’t mean it had to be a date or anything-

Some blood dripped onto the jacket draped over his shoulders.

“You could’ve just said no.” He joked as you pinched your nose, smiling against the small headache. It must’ve been the last bit of blood from that morning. “No, I wanna go, I do- Just, could you get a tissue from my glovebox? I don’t want to get anymore blood on your coat.” You reply, nasally and carefully.

“We’re definitely getting you to a doctor.”

“Sounds like a fun first date.”

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