volusperr

[volusperr]

distract me?

|| mick rory x reader | cw: suggested smut, drinking alcohol, unhealthy coping mechanisms, reader is called "Softie", light cursing ||

You're not doing well. Of course you aren't. Everything is fucked up (like usual) and no one knows what to do. So here you are in the kitchen, staring at the beer Gideon fabricated for you.

You reach out and grab the already open bottle with a determined grip, bringing it up to your lips. Then, you pause. Your hand shakes. Your breathing hitches. Your chest starts to ache in that all too familiar way.

"Dammit," you mutter before slamming the beer down onto the table. "Gideon? Can you-"

A gruff voice interrupts you. "What're you doing with a beer, Softie?"

You sigh and look over your shoulder to see Mick Rory, your teammate and not-really-but-kind-of friend.

"Hey Mick," you reply dismissively. "I'm not going to drink it. Knock yourself out," you say as you gesture with your hand.

"Great," he grunts. You hear his heavy footsteps as they get closer and watch as he swipes the beer and chugs it in under 5 seconds. He finishes and lets out an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

"Glad to be of assistance..."

"Still didn't answer my question," he says, ignoring your sarcastic comment. "What's a softie like you doing with a hard beer?"

"Surely you of all people would know why someone would want to drink."

"I know why I drink. You don't drink. Ever."

"Well I didn't drink now either so what does it matter?"

He grunts again. "Guess it doesn't." Mick looks at you one last time, then puts the empty bottle down and walks off, leaving you alone in the room.

~

You wish you could say you don't know why you're here. If anyone asked, you'd probably say something about accidentally walking to the wrong room. But that isn't the truth. You're here, in front of this specific room, for a very specific reason.

Hesitantly, you raise your hand and knock on the doors. After a few seconds, you hear that familiar grunt and the doors open.

"What?" he asks gruffly.

"I... don't know..." you admit.

Mick looks over his reading glasses at you and notices how messy you look. Your eyes are red, watery and puffy and your face is slightly damp.

"You look like hell."

Despite yourself, you chuckle and nod. "Yeah

.. I know."

"You wanna come in our somethin'?"

"... please?"

Another grunt. Then, he steps aside and let's you in. He checks the hallway, making sure no one has witnessed his act of kindness, then closes the doors and turns to you.

"Alright Softie. What's wrong with you?" he asks, pretending to be annoyed while putting his glasses and typewriter away.

"I need a distraction. I feel... so overwhelmed and stressed and I just... I wish I could be like you. Drink, not care, do whatever... but I'm... I'm too soft and I'm sick of it."

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you. The frustration and anger you're feeling towards yourself is palpable. It's a familiar feeling for Mick. Maybe that's why he ends up blurting this mext statement out.

"I'll distract you then."

Your head snaps up. "What?"

"What?" he replies, looking away with a shrug of faux-indifference. "You can't handle a drink Softie. You don't have many choices."

"Are you suggesting that I sleep with you?" you ask, stunned and just a bit flustered.

He shrugs. He. Shrugs. As if he didn't just suggest you have sex with him instead of drinking. As if the two are comparable. As if you two have done this a hundred times.

"Isn't that why you're here?"

You're pulled out of your daze and look up at him. "What?"

"You came to my room and said you needed a distraction. What else did you mean?"

You're stunned. Yes, that thought may have crossed your mind. Mick was infuriating and your complete opposite, but he isn't the type to shy away from an opportunity like this.

"You think I'm some pig that'll sleep with whoever shows interest?" he continues, his jaw clenched. Before you can answer, he crashes his lips into yours. You gasp into it and wrap your arms around him, arching your entire body so it melts into his. He tastes like sweets and beer. They shouldn't go together and yet... something about it is just so *him* that you can't help but enjoy it.

"Mick~" you gasp out when he pulls back just enough to bite your lip.

"You taste sweet," he mutters. "I want more..."

You're ready for his kiss this time, so you're able to meet him half way when he crashes into you, consuming you.

That's how it feels the entire night. He overwhelms your senses, distracting you just like you asked. But it isn't mindless. You take it---him---all in. You memorize the rough skin of his burned flesh, the non-verbal language he speaks, the way the two of you fill in any space the other leaves open.

When it's all over, he reminds you to clean up and then pulls you closer after you're both done.

"Feelin' better?" he asks as softly as he can muster.

You look up from your resting place on his chest. "Yeah... better."

[volusperr]

comfort in the quiet of the night

|| SFW Aaron Hotchner x Reader | mentions of mental health, self loathing, and emotional child abuse | usual criminal minds violence. case involves children but there is no assault | suggested smut at the end | some language ||

This case was brutal in a way that not many cases were. Of course, any file that mentions children is going to be nauseating, but that wasn't the problem this time around. The case wasn't pretty, but thankfully there seemed to be nothing sexual. As low as a bar that is, it was all you could hope for in this line of work.

Instead, this case involved what seemed to be an unsub needing to show his physical superiority over the other boys in this small town. These young, barely teenage boys were beaten to death. It was horrible but, you knew just how much worse it could get. Or at least, you thought you did.

The team and you couldn't figure out that last missing piece to finally crack the case before another victim was found. You offered to bring the parents into the morgue, standing with them as they had to identify their son's beaten body. The mother was distraught but, she held back. Her body trembled with barely supressed despair. Her baby boy was gone and you wanted to console her. As you opened your mouth to speak, the father's deep, angry voice cut through the silence of the room.

"Pathetic," he spat. You watched as he turned and left the room, forcing his wife to bear the burden of confirming the victim's identity alone.

Throughout the rest of the day, and even as you went with the team to arrest the unsub, you couldn't get that word out of your mind. 'Pathetic.' It repeated over and over until the father's voice morphed into your own.

'No,' you thought. 'Not now.'

Being amongst profilers, it should have come as no surprise that everyone almost immediately clocked your distant, quiet behavior. There was something wrong but, they had other things to worry about. Even then, no one on this team was particularly good at opening up about their mental health, much less you.

It did, however, surprise you to find your boss standing outside your hotel room with a concerned, soft expression on his face.

"May I come in?" Aaron asked in that deep, slightly gravelly tone that he always uses when he's concerned about his team. It's a grounding tone that demands attention, but only so you don't spiral any further. 'Must be magic,' you thought while stepping aside to let him in.

"Is something wrong sir?" you asked. You never loved the nickname Hotch, so early on you decided "sir" was a good enough substitute.

"I could be asking you the same thing," he replied calmly, emphasizing your last name while he speaks. He stood in the middle of your hotel room, tie and suit jacket gone but still in the rest of his work clothes. There was a little less tightness in his shoulders, like knowing that no more kids that remind him of Jack will be harmed has lifted a weight off his shoulders. Still, he stood like a man who is already considering the next Herculean task he must complete.

"I'm fi-" You stopped yourself with a sigh. Why lie? He's already here. "It's just something a parent said earlier today. I'll get over it soon. I apologize if it affected my performan-"

He interrupted you with a stern tone, using your first name.

"This isn't me coming to you as your boss," he explained. "This... this is me, Aaron... your friend."

You blinked in surprise. You had assumed after some time working together that he would consider you two friends but, it was never something you thought you'd actually hear. You thought it would forever be implied in his sweet gestures and occasional check ins.

"He called his son pathetic," you blurted out. You weren't sure why but, it just escaped your lips before you could think about it.

"Sorry?"

"The victim's father- Sammy's father. When he saw his son's body. All he said was 'Pathetic' and then walked away."

Now it was Aaron's turn to be stunned.

"What... what kind of man-" He was interrupted by the gritting of his own jaw. Of course he would be horrified and offended. He had to imagine Jack was one of these kids throughout the case, haunted by the cruelest images his mind could conjure, and this man has the audacity to say... that? He walked over to your bed and sat down. "That's..."

You walked over and joined him, sitting right next to him. "Yeah."

"But... there's something more?"

'Damn profilers,' you thought. He noticed you respond with a small huff.

"Talk to me," he prompted, his voice unbearably tender. When you turned your head to look at him, you were met with a striking sight. His usually harsh, statue-like features were just barely softened, like a blurring brush was taken just to the edges of his features. He kept a professional distance and he made sure that you felt comfortable enough to not explain but, none of that seemed to matter. At least, not when you had to look into his intense, dark eyes filled with concern and empathy and somehow respond.

"It just... that... that word. It brings up... feelings? I don't- I have a poor relationship with that word. I guess. It's stupid sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. Um... may i...?" his hand hovered over your knee as he awaited your reponse. You consented with a silent nod, allowing his hand to come down and rest on your knee. You looked down and watched as his thumb gently rubbed up and down in a soothing motion.

"It's not stupid. Words have... power- meaning... whatever you want to call it. And, even if it didn't mean something specifically, how could you not be deeply affected witnessing that after a case- a career of cases like this one?"

"... Do you have a word?" you asked quietly, still watching his thumb. "Something that... hurts more than any other?"

"Yes."

His answer was immediate and he didn't seem to regret it. "Selfish. I can't... Haley called me that right before she divorced me and... I hate that she was right."

You opened your mouth to disagree, to reassure, but you know that would do nothing. Instead, you placed your hand over his---the one that was still on your knee---and gently squeezed.

"Pathetic is uh... what I..." you swallowed nervously. "I've struggled with self-loathing since... well middle school I guess. Trauma, mental illness, blah blah blah... But nothing ever felt... 'bad' enough. And yet? I was destroyed. I felt pathetic. I made sure to remind myself of that."

You continued quietly, "Hearing that father say that to his dead son... I couldn't help but imagine his son's soul- mind- whatever you want to call it- his *son* there. What if he heard? What if that was the last thing Sammy heard his father say to him? He's just a child. Barely 14. Dead. And... And even that isn't enough? He's still pathetic in his father's eyes. Just like... I'm still pathetic in my own."

The silence is thick, suffocating, and for a moment you think that you'll be kicked out of the FBI the moment you step foot back in Quantico for obviously low psychological fortitude or something. Then, Aaron sighed the sigh of a man who completely understands. You looked up at him and saw that his truth mirrors your own.

'How often does he think that he's being too selfish? Does he berate himself every time he leaves Jack with Jessica? Every time he takes the rare second for himself? If he indulges even once, will he have the same repulsed and disappointed reaction you experience whenever you feel weak?'

His eyes met yours and in a strange moment of understanding, you both laughed. It wasn't a full laugh. It was more of a chuckle, a huff of laughter finally breaking the tense silence.

"Maybe there's something to what you're saying but... that dude was just being a hypermasculine, abusive piece of shit," Aaron commented with the slightest upturn of his lips.

You laughed a little more. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty silly to compare myself to that dickwad."

And at that, Aaron snorted. A genuine, small snort escaped that man's insanely kissable lips and you felt all of your professionally compartmentalized attraction for him flood your system. He's... "adorable," you whispered accidentally.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you with that same small smirk on his lips. Your cheeks warmed from embarrassment as you realized that you said that content out loud.

"Well, you- uh... you snorted. It's cute." You hoped that being honest would make up for your lack of flirting abilities.

"You think so? I'm not usually described as cute, you know..." he replied, easing your worries. "I think we both are a bit fucked when it comes to our sense of self but... if you think I'm cute and I think you're beautiful... maybe we should just listen to each other instead of ourselves," he suggested, half joking and half serious.

"I... I think I'd like to see myself through your eyes, sir."

"Aaron..." he pleaded.

"Aaron," you corrected yourself.

You both found comfort that night. In each other's arms, against each other's lips, it was like your minds couldn't hurt either of you anymore. You lost yourselves in each other, the pleasure you could give and receive, and suddenly you didn't feel pathetic, nor did he feel selfish. You both just felt content in your own bodies, your own minds. Now that you had found it, neither of you were willing to give it up so easily.