Hello and welcome! My name is Bella, I am 33, I write Criminal Minds fanfiction for Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid and David Rossi. Please feel free to send story suggestions or prompt ideas or just say Hi! Here is a little masterlist of my current stories.
Aaron Hotchner
I don't dance Summary: Aaron had a bad day. Twirling you around the kitchen makes him feel better.
I won't let go Summary: You wake up thinking everything is perfect. In reality you've been stabbed.
Unsub Kisses Summary: Aaron has to go undercover and makes out with the unsub. You get jealous.
You are the only thing I need. Like coffee in the morning Summary: Aaron asks you out…in front of everyone.
Why Wait? Summary: Vegas hotels have wedding chapels in the lobby. Aaron makes a decision.
Love you out loud Summary: Hotch cuddles. What could be better?
Shut up and dance with me! Summary: When you are asked to attend the annual FBI Gala you dress up. Hotch can't help himself.
Hostage Kisses Summary: He didn't mean to kiss you....No that's a lie. He totally did.
Sandwich Hearts Summary: You make Aaron's lunch and he gets lightly teased for it.
Lipstick smeared accidents Summary: When Aaron is checking over an injury on you he just can't help himself.
Keep on dreaming Summary: You fall asleep smushed between Aaron and David.
I’m dirty but you play clean 18+. Summary: Handcuffs. Hotchner. Lack of clothing.
I will not give you up this time Summary: Facebook memories are bringing you down. Aaron decides to do something about it.
They tell me your blue sky’s faded to gray Summary: You can't sleep. Aaron helps.
Asleep on the jet Summary: You fall asleep on Aaron’s shoulder on the jet.
Do I deserve this hurting? Summary: Your depression is plaguing you. Aaron helps comfort you.
Spencer Reid
Marry me today and everyday Summary: Spencer has never been more nervous for anything in his life.
Heat Stroke Summary: You are self-conscious about the scars on your arms so you wear long sleeves. And wind up getting heat stroke. Spencer takes care of you.
We've all got bruises Summary: You mess up on a case and take it out on yourself. Spencer finds out and confronts you about it.
Sleep Issues Summary: Spencer can't sleep. You help just by being there.
There's no turning back now Summary: First kisses can be a scary thing.
Why? That's what I keep asking Summary: You don't fit in with anyone anymore. You can't keep faking it. You're so sorry.
Tonight will be the night I will fall for you Summary: Spencer suspects your boyfriend is beating you. When you show up on his doorstep, beaten, he vows to protect you.
They say we're crazy, I say well maybe that's true. Summary: Spencer is having a bad mental health day. You try to help him
I’ll wear out the words I love you Summary: Spencer finally asks the question that’s been on his mind for months…just not when and where you’d expect
So I’ll leave you gagged and bound Summary: You have been dating Aaron Hotchner for a few months and when he introduces you to the team Spencer Reid can't help but fall in love. The problem is Spencer's mental health is declining and fast. When he gets fired and realizes he has nothing to lose...he takes you. Will Aaron find you in time?
A subtle interest Summary: Emily drags Spencer to see her ballerina friend perform. Spencer falls fast.
Sometimes even to live is an act of courage Summary: Spencer is not doing well. This is not a happy story. Trigger warnings apply.
David Rossi
You belong to me I believe Summary: An unsub gets a little too flirty with you. David steps in.
Date Night 18+ Summary: Bella is new to the FBI and literally runs into David Rossi who she happens to have a massive crush on. He takes her out to dinner and they wind up on his couch.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Summary: Spencer Reid is starting to crack under the pressure of his work. Constantly stuck in fight or flight headed straight for burnout. A chance encounter at a coffee shop leads him to a messy artist who slows him down. Shows him it’s okay to sip your coffee and watch the pigeons. He has to decide if he wants to let the color into his grey world.
Warnings: Awkward fluff. Little angst. Overuse of pigeon facts.
W/C: 5.8k
Author Notes: hi! I have a few blurbs of them going on more dates written for this. All the way up to an engagement! Let me know if I should keep going or hold it here. Thanks!
Spencer hated to admit it but he was getting buried under his workload lately and he was headed straight for burnout.
One morning when he was getting his coffee his hands were trembling from lack of sleep so bad that the liquid sloshed over the side of his cup and spilled onto his hand.
“Dammit.” He instantly stepped away from the coffee cup. Letting out a heavy sigh as he checked his watch. He was going to be late if he didn’t hurry up. “Can I help?” A voice came from next to him. He turned to see you standing there, hair pulled into a messy bun, your clothes had faint marks of charcoal smeared in a couple places. A smudge on your inner right wrist.
“With what?” He asked, losing his bearings for a second. “Your hand.” You said pointing to the growing red spot. “Oh it’s fine, coffee really only burns the skin severely at temperatures above 130 degrees. I doubt this is that hot, just some minor discomfort I mean it could be at least a small burn…” He paused when he realized he was rambling. “Sorry. I uh I have to go. Thanks for the offer though.” And with that he turned and left in a bit of a rush.
The door closed behind him with a soft jingle of the bell, but you didn’t move right away. You just watched the spot where he’d disappeared, brows furrowed and lips pursed like you were debating something within yourself.
Spencer didn’t stop moving until he was a block away, halfway to his car, heart still racing. Not from the burn, but from the way you’d looked at him. Like you saw through him. He rubbed his palm against his coat as if trying to erase the sting, both physical and something else he couldn’t name.
The next morning, he skipped the coffee shop.
And the one after that.
By the third day, he gave in. Habit, routine—whatever it was—pulled him back in. The coffee shop was warm, familiar, too woven into his daily rhythm to avoid forever.
He kept his eyes low as he approached the counter, slightly embarrassed by his abrupt exit days prior. But as he stepped up to order, there you were again except this time behind the counter. Your hair was still a mess, colored strands falling out of the bun like wild threads. The smudge was gone from your wrist, but a new one bloomed faintly on your collarbone, likely graphite or charcoal.
“You didn’t come in for two days,” you said simply, not accusing, not curious just… noting it. Spencer blinked. “I…uh. Got caught up.” You nodded like you understood more than he’d said. “Let me see your hand.” He instinctively started to protest, but you just held out yours, palm open, waiting.
After a pause, he offered his. It felt oddly intimate. Your fingers were stained but soft, and your touch was light, gentle in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Doesn’t look too bad,” you murmured. “But maybe take it as a sign to slow down. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I haven’t,” he admitted before he could stop himself. Then a flicker of vulnerability flashed across his face. “Sorry, I don’t usually…talk to strangers like this.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” you said, handing his hand back with a faint smile. “I’m not a stranger now.” You gave him your name, that smile growing just a little. Even though it felt foreign on your cheeks. “Spencer,” he said automatically. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”
You smiled at the “doctor,” but didn’t tease. “Well, Dr. Reid. Maybe today you don’t burn yourself. And maybe tomorrow, you try sleeping.” He huffed a quiet laugh, surprising himself. As you turned to make his order, he didn’t rush off this time. He just stood there, watching the smudges on your skin and thinking maybe he could make time for coffee again tomorrow.
When he did come in the following day for his coffee he was a little disappointed to find you not standing behind the counter. But when he turned towards the area with the couches he noticed you focused on a sketch in your lap. As the pencil glided across the paper, your legs folded underneath you, he felt a smile cross his lips but quickly replaced it. He approached the couch hesitantly.
“Do you actually work here?” He asked inquisitively. You grinned and shook your head. “I help when they need it. But no. I don’t actually work here.”
Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, standing just beside the couch like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding. “Right,” he nodded slowly, eyes flicking from your face to the sketchpad in your lap. “So… you just camp out in coffee shops drawing strangers and diagnosing burnout?”
You smirked, not looking up from your sketch. “Only the really twitchy ones who talk about skin damage thresholds while spilling coffee on themselves.” A quiet huff of a laugh escaped him despite himself. “That tracks.” You glanced up at him now, tilting your head, pencil paused. “You look slightly less like you’re about to collapse today. Slightly.”
“That’s because I went to sleep before midnight for the first time in… too long.” You nodded with an approving hum. “And the hand?” He held it up, palm-out like he was presenting evidence. “Healed. Mostly.”
“Good,” you said softly, and for a moment the sarcasm in your tone faded, replaced by something gentler. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and finally set the pencil down, the edge of the sketchpad tipping just enough for Spencer to catch a glimpse of the page. His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned in. “Is that…?”
“Yup.” You didn’t even let him finish. “It’s you.” The drawing was unmistakable…him, hunched forward at the coffee counter, head down, one hand stretched out like he was mid-reach. Even in the loose, expressive lines, the tension in his body was painfully accurate.
Spencer blinked. “You drew that from memory?”
“I have a good one,” you said lightly, mimicking the understatement he so often gave when referencing his own intellect. Then you looked at him, really looked. “You’re interesting, Spencer. Most people are just… going through the motions. But you’re like a violin string wound too tight. One more wrong turn and you’ll snap.”
He stared at you for a moment, unsure what to say to that. No one ever said things like that to him. Not people who barely knew him. Not people who saw him. After a pause, he asked, “Do you always talk like that?” You shrugged, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Only to the ones who stop running long enough to listen.”
He sat down in the chair across from you without thinking, coffee still untouched in his hand. And for once, he didn’t feel the ticking of the clock or the pressure of the next crisis. Just the sound of pencil on paper, and you…half-wild, quietly bold, and utterly unapologetic, drawing the world like it was something worth noticing.
Spencer watched you and tried his hardest not to profile you. Just to observe like a normal human. So he observed. The way your fingers twitched slightly sometimes along with a small twitch in your right leg. Slight scarring along your collar bone that he noticed as your wide neck shirt slipped off one shoulder. He quickly pulled his eyes away as they started to travel lower.
He found himself feeling…comfortable sitting in the careful hum of the coffee shop with you. But then his phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket. Checking his watch he cursed quietly. “I am so late for work I’m sorry I have to go.” You didn’t flinch at his sudden shift in energy, just watched him with a curious kind of softness as he stood, fumbling with his phone and trying to gather himself.
“You apologize a lot,” you said lightly, brushing a wisp of hair from your face. He paused, blinking at you, caught off-guard. “I…I do?” You nodded once, still seated comfortably, sketchpad now resting against your thigh. “Like you’re afraid taking up space is some kind of crime.” Spencer opened his mouth to reply but didn’t know what to say. No one had ever put it quite like that. He gave a breath of a smile, almost sheepish. “That… might be accurate.”
You tilted your head, studying him again. “Well, try not to apologize for leaving. You’ve got stuff to do. But…” You pulled a small charcoal-smudged scrap of paper from the edge of your sketchpad, scribbled something down, and handed it to him.
Spencer looked down. A phone number, messy handwriting. And beneath it, just two words:
Slow down.
He held it a moment longer than he should have. Something about it felt heavier than paper. Like an invitation. Like a lifeline. He looked back up at you, surprised by the sudden flutter in his chest. “Thank you.” You gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Go save the world, Doctor Reid.” And with that, he turned and left, your voice lingering somewhere between his ears and his ribs, like a song he didn’t want to forget.
When he arrived at the BAU he couldn’t help the fact his cheeks were a bit red when he stepped off the elevator re-reading the scrap of paper in his hand like it held the secrets to the universe.
“You’re late.” Aaron said, looking at him with his stoic stare but slightly worried. “Is everything okay?” He asked. Last time he had been late to work repeatedly and was acting off was when he was hiding his dilaudid use.
“Oh uhm yeah I just. Got stuck at the coffee shop.” Spencer said with a smile that seemed out of place on the doctor's face.
Spencer got busy again.
He was nervous sitting on the jet before it took off, his finger hovered over the send button on his cell phone. A text created.
‘Hi this is Doctor Spencer Reid from the coffee shop.’ Was that too formal? He didn’t know what to say. A sigh and he hit send. What was the worst that could happen?
The moment he hit send, Spencer felt that familiar, fluttering rush of panic like he’d just jumped off something high and wasn’t sure if there was a net below.
He stared at the screen for a second, half-expecting it to burst into flames in his hand. Then he forced himself to set the phone down and refocus. They had a case. People’s lives were at stake. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about charcoal smudges and sharp-eyed girls who saw too much.
And yet… his thoughts kept drifting.
By the time they landed, his phone still hadn’t buzzed. He told himself it was fine. Maybe you were busy. Maybe you regretted giving it to him in the first place.
Or maybe I’m just overthinking again, he thought.
Still, when the team finally got to the hotel that night, Spencer found himself checking his phone before he even unlocked the door. Nothing. He let out a quiet sigh and tossed the phone onto the bed, running a hand through his hair.
But then—
Buzz.
He spun back toward the bed so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
One message.
“Hi, Doctor Spencer Reid from the coffee shop. I was wondering if you’d ever text. Thought maybe you were allergic to casual communication.”
He stared at the message, a stunned laugh escaping his lips. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, fingers flying over the screen.
“It’s possible. I also might be allergic to not overthinking literally everything.”
The typing dots appeared almost instantly.
“Good. I’m allergic to boring people.”
And just like that, a smile broke across his face, unfiltered, genuine, rare. He leaned back against the pillows, something in his chest loosening just a little. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad risk after all.
Spencer wasn’t proud of it, how his phone had become a lifeline in the middle of a nightmare.
The case was awful. They always were, but this one was a particular kind of cruel: children, families, a pattern rooted in trauma so thick it clung to everything like smoke. The air in the conference room felt heavy. The team was quiet, tired, all their edges dulled by the weight of it.
Except Spencer. He kept checking his phone. He told himself it was for updates from Garcia. For case data. For relevant leads. But he knew better. It was you.
Your messages were small moments of color bleeding through the grayscale world he was in. The way you joked, the odd but charming sketches you’d text him. One of a pigeon wearing a lab coat, another of a crooked coffee cup with wild flowers growing out of it. Your words didn’t demand anything from him. They weren’t loaded with fear or expectation. They just… were.
“How’s the violin string today?” You’d asked one night, and he nearly laughed out loud in the hotel hallway.
But even as you brought lightness, a conflict started churning inside him. You didn’t know what he did. Not really. You knew he worked “long hours” and that it involved “a lot of travel and stress.” But he hadn’t given you the truth, not the full weight of it.
He told himself it was because he wanted to protect you. That he wanted to protect himself. That if you knew… you’d see the same look in his eyes he saw in mirrors during cases like this. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want you to see him like that yet.
But the cracks were starting to show. Morgan caught him zoning out during the briefing, twice. Emily gave him a side glance when he didn’t notice the unsub’s timeline didn’t match the victimology. And Hotch? Hotch said nothing. But his silence was the loudest.
Later, back at the local precinct, Spencer leaned against the wall in the hallway, phone in hand. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should be pouring over files, cross-referencing data. Instead, he was staring at the last message you had sent:
“You ever feel like you’re running on borrowed time? Like the days are made of glass and someone’s breathing too hard near the edges?”
He read it three times before typing.
“Yes. All the time.”
He didn’t send it. He deleted it, shoved his phone deep into his pocket, and walked back into the conference room. He’d made a promise to himself to keep the lines clean. But you were already bleeding into places you shouldn’t.
And Spencer wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop you.
Back in the conference room, the air was saturated with tension. A new victim had just been found. Another child. The kind of detail that used to make Spencer feel physically ill. Lately, though, it just made him… tired.
He blinked hard, forcing himself to refocus on the board. Timelines. Geography. Psychological patterns. He could do this in his sleep, and maybe that was the problem, he was doing everything in a haze now. Half in the room, half with you.
That little slip of paper was still tucked into his wallet like a secret. The idea of you sitting in that coffee shop, sketching something that made you smile, felt impossibly far away from the blood on the concrete and the tear-stained interviews he’d just sat through.
But your words were still echoing inside him: the days are made of glass…
“Reid?” Emily’s voice cut in, sharp and low. He looked up. The team was staring. His hands had been still too long, eyes glazed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just…fatigued.” Hotch gave him a look that meant later, but nodded for him to continue. So Spencer pushed through. Made it through the rest of the day. Made it through the arrest. The tears of the parents. The end that never felt like an ending.
When they finally boarded the jet that night, he sat by the window. The stars outside blurred like streaks of cold light. It was quiet. Everyone was half-asleep, emotionally wrung out. He pulled out his phone. Opened a new message.
“It’s been a long day. Longer than most. Thank you for texting me. I don’t know if you realize it, but it helps.”
He stared at the blinking cursor. His thumb hovered, then added:
“You help.”
And he sent it.
For a few moments, nothing came.
Then:
“I don’t know what kind of storm you’re in, Spencer, but I’m not afraid of rain. You can talk to me. Even if it’s messy.”
His eyes closed slowly, your words washing over him like warmth against the cold landscape of his job. And for the first time in what felt like months, he let his body relax into the seat. Not completely. Not safe. But a little less alone.
Aaron waited until everyone had cleared out of the jet.
It was nearly 3 AM by the time they landed, the kind of quiet that only settles over exhausted people who’ve seen too much. Spencer was slowly gathering his things, mind clearly elsewhere. He didn’t notice Aaron watching him until he looked up and found his boss standing near the door, arms folded.
Spencer froze, bag half-zipped. “Is something wrong?”
Aaron didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched Spencer’s face. Red-rimmed eyes, shoulders tight, the tired tension of someone stretched thin. “You’ve been distracted,” Aaron said evenly. “Zoning out. Missing details. That’s not like you.”
“You’re not,” Aaron replied, calm but firm. “And I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.” Spencer shoved his tablet into his bag a little harder than necessary. “I’m not using again, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I never said you were,” Aaron said, watching him carefully. “But you thought it.” Spencer’s voice cracked, edged with something unspoken…hurt, maybe. Frustration. “You saw me checking my phone and got worried. I get it. History repeats, right?” Aaron was quiet for a moment. Then, with a gentler tone, “I thought maybe you were overwhelmed. You’ve had more on your plate than usual.”
Spencer exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… I’m trying to let myself have something good. Something outside of this place. Someone. And I don’t want to have to explain it or justify it like it’s a weakness.”
There was a long silence.
Aaron stepped closer, his voice quieter now. “No one’s saying it’s a weakness. God knows you deserve something good, Spencer. But you don’t get to push people away when they notice you’re struggling. You’ve been off. And if this… person is distracting you so much that it’s affecting your judgment, you need to figure that out.”
Spencer looked like he wanted to argue, but the fight softened out of him. “She doesn’t even know what I do. I didn’t want to mix it. I didn’t want her to look at me like everyone else eventually does…like I’m broken, or dangerous, or…” His voice caught.
Aaron studied him for a long moment. “Then you need to decide what you want from her. Because if she’s important to you, she deserves to know the truth. And if she’s not… then you need to stop pretending she’s a lifeline.”
Spencer flinched at that. It hit too close. Aaron reached for his go-bag, shouldering it. “We’re all trying to find pieces of light wherever we can, Spencer. Just make sure you’re not using it to avoid the dark.” He turned to walk away, then paused. “For what it’s worth,” he said without looking back, “I hope it’s real.” And then he was gone, leaving Spencer alone on the jet, the hum of silence settling in like a familiar weight.
The phone in his pocket buzzed.
“I don’t know what you’re doing right now. But I hope you’re okay. I sketched a fox drinking coffee for you. He’s wearing glasses. Obviously.”
Spencer stared at the screen for a long time, then sat down, letting himself smile…just a little.
Maybe it was real.
And maybe, just maybe, he needed to stop hiding.
A few days later you sat at the window in the coffee shop. It had become your window and your couch. You didn’t look away from the window. The pigeons fluttered and bobbed along the sidewalk, pecking at invisible crumbs, occasionally startling at a passerby. Your pencil tapped in rhythm with your humming, something soft and vaguely familiar, maybe a lullaby, or maybe just something you made up.
Spencer sat with his legs crossed in the armchair, one arm draped across the armrest, the other wrapped loosely around a lukewarm coffee cup. He hadn’t slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes sunken in that particular way they got when his mind had been running all night.
“There are over 350 breeds of domestic pigeon,” he offered quietly, his voice softer than usual, stretched thin around the edges. “They’re actually incredibly intelligent. Can recognize themselves in mirrors. Have excellent memories. And, uh, they were used during World War I and II as messengers, carrying vital information across enemy lines. Some even received medals…”
His voice trailed off, not because he ran out of facts, Spencer never ran out of facts, but because you had turned to look at him now, your head tilted gently to the side. “You okay, bird boy?” You asked, voice just as soft, but without the teasing you usually laced into your words. He hesitated. Swallowed. “I didn’t sleep.”
“I guessed.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking.” Your pencil stilled. “About what?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked down to the cup in his hands, thumb tracing the edge of the lid. Finally, he said, “I don’t usually tell people what I do. Not really. I give them a version of it…something that makes sense in small talk. Easier that way. Safer.” You leaned back slightly, arms folded across your sketchbook. You didn’t push, just waited.
Spencer took a slow breath. “I work for the FBI. I’m part of a behavioral analysis unit. We build profiles to find people, usually the kind who’ve… done terrible things. Serial offenders. Killers. The worst kind of people.”
Your expression didn’t change.
Spencer continued. “It’s hard. Sometimes I think I can handle it, and other times… I don’t know. It feels like I’m absorbing it all. Like it sticks to me. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. Or to see all the broken things I carry around and decide I’m not… worth knowing.”
There was a long silence. Spencer stared down into his coffee like it might offer absolution. But your voice came softly, steady.
“Okay,” you said. His head snapped up. “Okay?” he echoed.
You nodded once. “Okay.”
“You’re not… shocked? Worried?”
“I mean, the pigeon facts were a dead giveaway you were a weirdo,” you said, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “The FBI part? That’s just… more complicated layers. You’re still you.” He blinked, the weight behind his eyes threatening to break loose.
You reached forward and lightly nudged his foot with yours under the table. “Spencer, I don’t care what you do for work. I care how you look at the world. I care that you listen when I talk. That you ramble about birds and still somehow listen better than anyone I know. That you looked me in the eyes and didn’t flinch at the mess I carry around.”
He swallowed hard.
“I’m not scared of the dark,” you added, voice low now. “Not yours, not mine. So stop trying to shield me from it like it’s something I haven’t already danced through.” Spencer didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight. You picked your pencil back up and began sketching again, eyes returning to the pigeons outside.
“Also,” you added casually, “I’ve decided the next sketch is you in a trench coat chasing a pigeon that stole government secrets. You’ll be holding a coffee and yelling something about federal jurisdiction.”
Spencer laughed, and this time, it was real. The tension bled from his body little by little as he leaned back into the chair, letting the moment hold him. He was still tired. Still scarred. But maybe he wasn’t hiding anymore. Not from you.
It had become ritual, sacred in its simplicity.
The soft chime of the coffee shop door. The earthy scent of roasted beans and old books. You, always on the couch or tucked into a corner booth, sketchbook in your lap and hair never quite the same twice. Spencer came almost every day now, sometimes with case files in his satchel, sometimes just with tired eyes and a need for something quiet.
Sometimes you guys talked for hours. Other times you didn’t say much at all, just shared the same space, drinking in the calm like it was something vital. It scared him how much he looked forward to it. It scared him more how much it hurt when he had to leave for work, even more for long cases.
He hadn’t said anything about how he felt. Not directly. Not really. But it lived in the small things: the way he always brought you a second muffin without asking, the way your sketches had started to include a gangly man with wild curls and a distinct coffee addiction. The way your knees would sometimes bump under the table and neither of you moved away.
But today was different.
Spencer stood just inside the doorway, fingers curled into the strap of his messenger bag. You hadn’t noticed him yet… you were hunched over a page, tongue peeking out slightly between your lips as you tried to focus. You were wearing that oversized flannel shirt again, sleeves rolled up, charcoal smudged on your cheekbone like war paint.
He took a breath. Then he walked over.
You glanced up when he approached, eyes lighting up the way they always did when you saw him. “Hey, Bird Boy.”
“Hi,” he said, voice catching a little. “Uh. Hi.” You blinked. “Are you okay? You look like you just got off a roller coaster and realized you left your wallet in the seat.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just, um—thinking.” An eyebrow arched, amused. “Dangerous.” He laughed, nervous. Fidgeted with the strap. Then blurted out, “Wouldyouliketogooutwithme?”
You paused, both eyebrows arched now. “What?”
Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “Would you like to go out?” You blinked once. “Go out?”
“On a date,” he clarified, voice just above a whisper. “With me. Like, a real one. Somewhere that isn’t here. Or the sidewalk outside of here.” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then your mouth curled into a slow, warm smile. You leaned forward, arms resting over your faithful sketchbook. “Well,” you said, pretending to ponder. “Do I get to pick the restaurant?”
“Yes,” he said immediately.
“And will there be at least one awkward silence?”
“Guaranteed.”
“And if I get nervous, will you give me some weird pigeon trivia to distract me?”
He smiled, a little more himself now. “Did you know pigeons can detect cancer cells with about 85% accuracy?” Your laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. You reached out and placed a hand over his, steady and sure.
“Then yes,” you said softly. “I’d love to go out with you, Doctor Spencer Reid.”
He felt something loosen in his chest…something that had been locked away for a long time. “Okay,” he said, almost breathless. “Okay,” you echoed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. And as you went back to your sketch, and he sat down beside you, closer this time, Spencer realized something that maybe life didn’t always need to be compartmentalized.Maybe, just maybe, some good things were worth letting in.
That Friday Spencer stood outside a quiet little restaurant with its brick walls, ivy curling up the side, soft golden lights strung across the awning. It was cozy, intimate, tucked just far enough off the main street that it felt like a secret. He’d chosen it because it wasn’t overwhelming. Because it reminded him of you in a way…kind of quiet but full of character.
He checked his watch nervously again, even though he knew he was early.
And then the taxi pulled up.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe jeans. A band tee. Boots and a flannel tied around your waist. Something you. But when you stepped out of the cab, time seemed to stutter.
The black dress fluttered slightly around your knees with the breeze, simple but elegant in a way that punched all the air from his lungs. The halter tie left your shoulders bare, a curve of collarbone visible in the amber streetlight. Your skin looked soft in a way that had nothing to do with appearance, just something vulnerable and real.
The boots still grounded you. Not heels, you would never. But those slightly scuffed black boots said don’t forget who I am, even as the rest of you shimmered in a way he’d never seen.
Your hair, usually an unruly wildfire, had been tamed into a messy but intentional updo, the kind that said you’d tried, really tried. A few strands framed your face, curled just so. And for once, there were no charcoal smudges on your wrists or your cheek. Nothing to hide behind.
Spencer didn’t realize he was staring until you stopped in front of him, a nervous smile playing at your red lips. “Well?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Too much?” He opened his mouth and absolutely nothing came out. His brain refused to process language. Words were foreign.
You tilted your head, teasing. “You forget how to speak, Doctor Reid?” He swallowed, hard. “You’re…” He paused, cleared his throat, started again, softer. “You’re stunning.”
The smile that shifted from nervous to something softer on your face was something that Spencer wished he could have taken a picture of to keep forever. It was real. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” You said taking in his appearance.
Spencer glanced down at himself. Button-up shirt, dark slacks, jacket slightly too big on his frame, curls as tamed as they ever got. He shrugged, smiling crookedly. “I tried.” You stepped in a little closer, tugged gently at a stray thread on his sleeve. “So did I.” The moment held between the two of you.
Then Spencer, awkward, brave, offered you his arm. “Shall we?” he asked. You looped your hand through his elbow, your fingers light against his jacket. “Lead the way, Professor Pigeon.” He laughed, heart fluttering like the very birds you always teased him about.
And as the two of you stepped inside the small restaurant, the door closing behind you, he realized something simple and terrifying and beautiful. He hadn’t just survived all the darkness. He had made it far enough to feel the light again.
The hostess greeted you with a polite smile, leading the two of you through the restaurant to a small table by the window. The lighting was soft, golden, and your eyes, usually half-hidden behind wind-tangled curls, caught the glow and turned warm amber.
Spencer pulled your chair out for you before awkwardly sliding into his own across the table. You watched him with a half-grin that said you’re adorable, and you have no idea how much. His fingers fidgeted briefly with the edge of the cloth napkin before he folded his hands in his lap and looked up at you.
“So,” you said, resting your chin in your hand, “what exactly does a date with Doctor Spencer Reid look like?” He blinked. “Um. Mostly me overthinking everything and wondering if I should have brought flowers. Or if I’m talking too much. Or if the restaurant I picked is too casual. Or if you’re…”
You reached out and placed your hand gently over his. “It’s perfect.” He blinked again, quiet for a second. “Okay.”
The waiter arrived with menus, and after some brief back-and-forth about entrees (you teased him when he ordered his pasta in exact, clinical terms), you guys settled in. Conversation flowed easier than he thought it would.
He told you about a case from years ago…one that had a bittersweet ending but wasn’t graphic, wasn’t too heavy. You listened, eyes fixed on him, only interrupting once to ask, “Does it ever stop feeling like it’s too much?”
“No,” he answered honestly, “but some days… it feels worth it.”
You nodded and, in turn, told him about an art class you once took in a tiny attic studio where the instructor played old jazz records and made everyone paint with brushes taped to the ends of yardsticks. “It was ridiculous,” you said, laughing, “but I made the best painting I’ve ever done. Complete chaos. Beautiful chaos.”
“Like you,” Spencer said without thinking. You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Excuse me?”
“I mean…uh…not that you’re chaotic in a bad way. Just, you know. Beautiful. And… unpredictable. And real.”
You stared at him a moment, then said softly, “I’ll take it.”
By the time dessert arrived, something chocolate that was split even though Spencer insisted he wasn’t really a dessert person, you had both stopped pretending to keep any emotional distance.
You leaned forward, spoon between your fingers. “So, tell me the truth,” you said. “Was this your first real date in a while?” Spencer hesitated. “…Years.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You didn’t make a joke. Didn’t press further. You just nodded, finishing the last bite of dessert and setting the spoon down.
When you guys stepped outside, the night air was cool. Spencer shrugged off his jacket without thinking and draped it around your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmured, tugging it closer. “You really are a good guy, huh?”
“I try to be.”
You looked up at him then, your face half-lit by the streetlamp. Your voice was steady. “You are, Spencer.” He smiled, slow and quiet. “Would it be inappropriate to kiss you?” You grinned wide. “Only if you don’t.”
So he leaned in, tentative but sure, and when your lips met his, it wasn’t fireworks or sparks…it was something gentler. Something that felt like being seen. Like a door slowly unlocking.
When you pulled apart, you kept your hand resting lightly on his chest. “So,” you whispered, “next time you bring up pigeon trivia, you realize you’ve officially lost the right to pretend it’s not flirting.” Spencer laughed, breathless. “Deal.”
And as he watched you walk back toward the waiting cab, his jacket still draped over your shoulders, he realized with aching clarity that he didn’t just want this once.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader
warnings: none it’s just a short fluff piece
word count: 423
The team is crowded into a booth and a couple scattered chairs at a low-lit bar near Quantico. After a particularly rough case, everyone’s a little looser than usual—glasses half-full, jackets slung over chairs, laughter coming easier than it has in days.
Aaron is seated beside you, his hand casually resting along the back of your chair, pinky brushing your shoulder every so often trying not to play with a stray curl. He’s not really talking—just watching you, quiet and steady like always, but there’s a small, soft smile he can’t seem to shake.
Rossi is talking about everyone going on vacation while Spencer is trying to inform the table about the dangers of seagull feces and coconut deaths.
Emily lifts her beer, grinning across the table. “Alright, I’m calling it now: I bet Hotch has a tan line in the shape of a holster. Like perfectly aligned. I know it.”
The group bursts into laughter. Morgan points his bottle at her, nodding. “Honestly, that checks out.”
You don’t even hesitate. You smirk and say, far too easily, “No he doesn’t.”
And just like that, silence.
You can feel Aaron tense beside you, his fingers gripping the back of your chair now.
JJ blinks. “Wait—”
Spencer furrows his brows. “How… do you know that?”
Morgan straightens, leaning in with that teasing glint in his eye. “Hold on. Hold on. Did you just out yourself, sweetheart?”
Emily’s eyes go wide, and then she laughs, full and loud. “You’ve seen Hotch shirtless?”
Aaron clears his throat, but you’re already biting your lip, fighting off a smug smile. “I mean… it’s not exactly a mystery anymore.”
Rossi’s got the most satisfied smirk on his face. “I knew it. I knew something was going on with you two.”
Aaron finally speaks, voice low but not denying a thing. “You’re all insufferable.”
Morgan claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. That’s basically a confession.”
And for once, Aaron doesn’t bother to hide it—his hand finally sliding down to rest lightly on your waist, thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt. The team erupts again—cheers, teasing, questions flying.
You lean into him slightly, whispering just for him, “They were going to find out eventually.”
He glances at you, eyes warm despite the chaos. “You’re not wrong.”
You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek not caring that it left a red lip print behind. “Aaron Hotchner blushes?” Emily asked incredulously. Aaron leveled her with a look but couldn’t hide the pink in his cheeks.
Spencer Reid X Fem!Reader
Not really NSFW but it does have triggering themes.
Warnings: Abuse(not by spencer),protective spencer, bruises, threatening to kill.
Summary: Spencer is early and overhears your boyfriend and you in the kitchen. Hearing you in distress snaps something in him. He can't have that. Not for you.
Word count: 789
Author's Note: Okay so I stopped where I did because it sounded like a good place to stop. Should I continue it further and into NSFW territory?
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose as the elevator numbers dinged, the entire unit crawling slowly towards his floor. He was exhausted. He used to be able to live off of coffee and two hours of sleep but since getting out of prison and everything that had happened he just didn’t feel like he had anything to stay up for anymore. He didn’t really feel like there was anyone left worth trying to push forward for. Well there was one person but…
The elevator finally dinged, and he stepped off looking at the empty bullpen. He didn’t mind being early. Especially because it looked like it was going to start raining, he loved the rain. Slightly hushed voices did pique his interest; they were coming from the direction of the staff kitchen which was just a small ways down the hallway. As he trained his hearing on it, he realized he recognized your voice. It was low and sounded kind of scared. There was a male voice accompanying it and Spencer felt something shoot through him. He quietly made his way to the wall outside of the kitchen.
“Let go. You are hurting me.” You whimpered softly and it took all of Spencer’s self-control not to walk in. His fingers even twitched towards his gun for a second. “I expect you not to speak to him again. Understand?” The male voice commanded and there was silence, but Spencer assumed you nodded. A hiss of pain. “Use your words.” The man’s voice was low. Threatening. “Okay. Alright. Please let go.” You begged. Spencer couldn’t take it and stepped into the room. The second the man’s eyes met Spence’s he quickly let go of your wrists. The two men stared each other down for a solid minute before your boyfriend turned around and walked out.
It didn’t take a profiler to see you were holding back tears. Spencer wanted to wrap you in a hug and protect you from the evils of the world, but he knew he couldn’t. “Are you okay?” He asked and you nodded quickly. “Yeah, just my eyeliner is burning my eyes this morning. Did you see the rain? I think it’s beautiful.” You said turning to the window with a smile as you did so you pulled the sleeves of your sweater down over your wrists as far as they would go. Spencer was about to say something when Aaron stepped into the kitchen with his brows furrowed. “Conference room in 10.” He said before stepping out and both you and Spencer kind of gave each other small smiles and sighs as you walked out.
As Aaron and David both spoke about the case Spencer kept glancing at you. You seemed nervous but you were still being attentive. As you wrote on the pad of paper in front of you, the sleeve of your sweater started to tug up and Spencer could see the finger shaped bruises that mottled the skin under the fabric, and he felt something in his chest tighten. Something started to burn within him. When the group broke and everyone filed back out to their desks Spencer made sure to wait till everyone was busy getting set up. Your desk was near his, so he pulled up his rollie chair next to your desk, arms on his knees. You tried to ignore him but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your cheeks. “Yes, Spence what can I do for you?” You asked, the feeling of the first little bit of light in your heart for the day. There were feelings about Spencer you were still trying to dissect. You felt like you didn’t deserve him. You were tainted, unlovable. Or at least that was what you were told.
You couldn’t help the visible flinch when Spencer carefully grabbed your hands and pulled them onto your lap. He placed them palm up and very carefully pulled the sleeves up showing the different levels of bruising that started to climb up your skin. He was so gentle. “I want you to promise me something. If he ever touches you again tell me.” Spencer’s voice was soft and warm. You wanted to bottle him up and keep him forever. “Why?” You whispered quietly. The rest of the team didn’t seem to notice your convo and you really wanted to keep it that way. Spencer was quiet for a second. Leaned down to kiss the underside of each wrist before looking up at you, curls untamed, puppy dog eyes holding a darkness in them you didn’t know existed within Spencer. “Because I’ll kill him.” He said before placing the sleeves of your sweater back down to your palms and turning back to his desk.
Aaron Hotchner x Fem! BAU Reader
Warnings: Cursing, Heavy sexual tension, bearded Hotch
Summary: Aaron is running you through a training exercise and you fail in so many ways.
Word count: 606
NSFWish Content. Minors DNI.
Aaron’s breath was hot on the back of your neck, his stubble from his beard brushing against the top of your head. His chest was pressed firmly to your back, strong arms wrapped around your chest holding you close. “This is really fucking uncomfortable.” You mumbled as you tried to shift. The closet you were both standing in didn’t have much wiggle room. “Quiet.” He whispered as he tried to listen to the voices that were coming from down the hall. “This is stupid I mean why are we even doing this?” You couldn’t shut up. “I said quiet.” His voice was a low rumble, you swore you could feel it deep in his chest and you couldn’t help but press back into him a little as your mouth went dry. His breath hitched. That you could hear. This training scenario sucked. He wanted to pair you with him so he could get more hands-on experience since you were still fairly new. You weren’t expecting it to be this hands on. Stuffed in a closet with your boss trying to hide from the fake unsubs. You were pretty sure it was Derek and Emily.
You managed silence for about 2 more minutes before huffing out a sigh. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” You asked playfully as you felt his firearm nudge against your hip. “What? You…of course it’s my gun.” He mumbled as you shifted a little causing your hips to drag against him this time. You heard the hitch in his throat as he sucked in a breath. How far did you want to go? You swallowed the lump in your throat as you felt his hands flatten out over your stomach. It was almost like he was holding you close now instead of holding you in place to stop you from moving. You shifted your hips again just to test the waters. His breath was hot on your ear as he growled. “You don’t wanna play that game.” And that sentence was enough to make your pupils blown and your throat feel a little tight.
“What if I do?” You asked, trying to retaliate. His grip around you tightened and you felt his gun press further into your hip. You were about to say something when the door to the closet was thrown open and you winced yelping as you got hit in the chest with a yellow paintball. Aaron fired hitting Emily in the chest with a blue one. “Fuck.” You stepped out of the closet and looked down at your vest. “This is why you pay attention. Because that is a kill shot.” Aaron said pointing to the yellow spot on your chest. You glared at him. Emily walked out cursing about training exercises and you pouted shoving your firearm into the holster on your side. You were hot and sweaty and now you were grumpy.
You stepped forward but you were pulled back against a sturdy chest, arms around your waist, as Aaron growled in your ear. “That wasn’t my gun.” He spoke quietly, dangerously, into your ear. His lips brushed against the pulse point on your neck and you were just about putty in his hands. He pressed himself against you again and you could feel what he was talking about. Before you could react or turn around he was walking away talking on his radio. “Not fair.” You said with a slight whimper. You lost that training exercise in more ways than one. “Fuck.” You said again as you rubbed the sore spot on your chest. Paint balling always hurt but you weren't sure it was responsible for the feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Warnings: Cursing, Fluff, alludes to previous abuse but it is not mentioned. No use of Y/N.
Summary: When you break a cup your brain instantly shifts to panic mode as the memories of a previous relationship threaten to take hold. But don't worry. Aaron eases you out of it.
Word count: 1217. (whoops)
You were exhausted to the point where you weren’t even sure how you were keeping your eyes open at the minute. The last case was a mess, you and Aaron had just got back to your apartment to try to relax and spend a little time together. You made a small huff of disappointment as you looked at the few dishes that were sitting in the sink as you walked into the kitchen to get both of you something to drink. “Aaron, we are using paper plates and plastic cups from now on.” You called out and heard a soft chuckle from the living room where Aaron was sprawled out on the couch. Reaching up into the cabinet above the sink you pulled out one cup and set it down, while pulling out the second cup it slipped right through your fingers and shattered on the counter and floor.
Everything around you came to a halt. Sound was fuzzy, vision blurry, heart thudding in your chest. This wasn’t good. “Fuck.” The word rolled off your tongue as you bent down to quickly pick up the pieces. Aaron was calling your name from the entryway. You couldn’t hear him. Old echoes of a past relationship were taking over. Yelling and eventually hitting. When you felt someone gently grab your wrist you panicked at first, trying to yank it out of their grasp. A gentle hand rubbed circles around a pressure point on your arm. You blinked back tears as your vision cleared and it was like someone turned the sound back on.
Aaron was repeating your name calmly looking down at you. He had gently taken your wrist again and this time you let him. Looking down you finally realized there was a large gash in your hand, a piece of glass sticking out of it as blood trickled down onto the white tile floor. “Oh shit. Aaron I am so sorry. I didn’t…it just slipped out of my fingers. I’ll clean it up. Please…Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” You went to tug your wrist out of his grasp again not caring about the injury. “Stop.” He said clearly, voice a little commanding but it made you stop. “It’s okay. It can wait. Let me see your hand please.” You relinquished control of that arm and let him pull your hand closer to himself. “First step is to take care of this.” He gave you a calm soft smile. A small yelp slipped out of your mouth as he picked you up and set you on the counter. “Stay here. Do not move please. Okay?” He asked and you nodded.
He stepped away for a few minutes and returned holding a small medical kit you kept in your bathroom. You were clumsy, it was well known. There were small medic kits stashed all over the BAU since you joined. Aaron frowned as he looked at you sitting on the counter, shaking with tears on your cheeks. You weren’t paying attention and when he stepped closer and set the kit down on the counter you flinched and Aaron frowned further, brows furrowed. “Hey. I’m right here.” He said gently reaching out to tip your chin up to look at him, but he paused. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” He asked, waiting for confirmation which came in the form of a small nod. He tilted your chin up to look at him and leaned in to kiss your lips gently. “Please don’t be mad.” You practically begged. “Sweetie, I am not mad. It was an accident. Accidents happen. Just try to breathe and I will get you fixed up. Okay?” Another small nod followed by a sniffle.
You watched carefully trying not to move or flinch or even breathe too hard as he removed the piece of glass from your hand. He looked at it closely and took some antiseptic from the kit. “This is going to sting.” He warned before cleaning the cut. When you flinched at the pain he quickly brought your hand up and blew on it gently to try to ease the sting. He put a large band-aid over the cut and then grabbed some gauze and wrapped it around your hand and wrist to hold the band-aid firmly in place. Once it was done Aaron placed a kiss to the clean and covered area and gave you a soft smile. “See not too bad.” He said and you shrugged your shoulders.
He could feel you shutting down and hated it. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on inside your head. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could probably piece things together. You went to slide off the counter and keep cleaning when he stopped you. “I want you to go into the living room and find something for us to watch on TV okay? I think your pink blanket is out there…why don’t you crawl under it and I will join you in a minute. Okay?” You knew it wasn’t really a question but more of a soft command. You wanted to argue. You were going to argue. But when you looked at Aarons face you knew there was no good in arguing at the moment. “Okay.” Your voice was quiet, shaky. You looked at the glass on the floor and carefully stepped around it, glad you were wearing your slippers.
When Aaron finished cleaning up he walked back into the living room hoping to find you curled up on the couch under your blanket. Instead you were sitting in the armchair next to the couch, knees pulled to your chest as you picked at the bandage on your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was calm, calmer than you deserved. “Not really.” Your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s fine. Why don’t you come join me on the couch? We can watch crime scene kitchen.” He suggested and smiled a bit as he watched the corner of your mouth tick up into a smile. “I promise not to point out all the clues that the bakers miss or judge them harshly when they make the wrong thing.” He said with a grin as he sat down. You couldn’t help it. You slid onto the couch, your head going into his lap as you pulled your knees back to your chest. He reached behind the couch and grabbed the pink blanket, slinging it over you.
His hand rubbed gentle circles on your back. “I’m sorry.” You said softly with a sigh. “You did nothing that you have to apologize for, okay? It was an accident. Your reaction to it was…” He paused and bit his lip. He was slipping into profiler mode. “I will never hurt you. Okay?” His tone was serious, but he was soft. You turned your head to look at him with a small smile and he leaned down to kiss your lips gently. “Now pay attention I think they are going to make lady fingers.” He said smoothing his hand through your hair. You felt your smile grow as you looked at him and you couldn’t help the playful eye roll as you turned to watch the TV. This was as close to perfect as you needed it to be.
Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.
Summary: Aaron has a tough time clearing his head from the horrors he sees at work. Watching you dance around the kitchen in one of his college shirts seems to help.
Word count: 370
Author note: So sorry it has taken me so long to post something. I feel bad it's so short. Please feel free to send any Criminal Minds requests my way!
Aaron let out a heavy sigh as he dropped his head to the steering wheel. His mind was full of morbid photos and case files that were stacking up on his desk. He was trying to clear his head and decompress before he walked into the house. He liked to try to leave all the trauma he had to deal with at the office but sometimes it was hard. He took a deep breath, loosened his tie, and stepped out of the car.
The minute he unlocked the door and stepped inside he set his bag down and couldn’t help but smile when he heard the music coming from the kitchen. He quietly stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall as he watched you dance around the kitchen. His mind cleared and his smile grew when he noticed you were wearing one of his old college shirts and a pair of shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Your hair was in a messy bun, and he just thought you were the most beautiful girl he honestly had ever seen.
You were dancing to the music and didn’t even notice Aaron standing there till you turned and jumped a foot in the air when you saw him. “Holy fuck you are too quiet!” You said with a grin as you practically tackled him to the ground with a hug. You could always tell how hard his day had been by how hard he would hug you back and tonight he was almost breaking your ribs. “I love you. So, fucking much.” He refused to let you go as he walked the two of you to the couch. When he sat, he pulled you into his lap and started to kiss every available inch of skin he could find.
You tilted your head to the side to give him better access. Aaron barely pulled away from you, just enough to slip out of his suit coat. “Babe dinner is going to burn.” You said breathlessly between kisses. “So, we’ll order out.” He said as he started to tug the shirt off your body. “I love you too.” You whispered in his ear as you started to unbutton his shirt.
Summary: Aaron has a little liquid courage and breaks the rules.
Word count: 598
Prompt: "I think you're bluffing." "Am I?"
This is for the CM Office Party Challange for @imagining-in-the-margins
Things have not been going well for me lately and I know it's been quite a while since I have posted something. I hope you all enjoy this and have happy holidays.
A loud laugh slipped past your painted blood red lips as you looked around the table and down at the shot glass in your hand. The whole team was present and the more time you spent together the more you felt like you belonged on the team. You had just had your year review and you passed with flying colors thankfully. “Alright. Everyone ready?” Derek asked as everyone at the table nodded. There was laughter and giggles as the shot was tossed back. You were starting to feel your head get a little fuzzy and decided maybe it was time to take a little break. “I’ll be right back. Gonna get some fresh air.”
You stood up and smoothed down your tight gold dress that left little to the imagination and hoped to God that you didn’t trip while wearing heels. You hated wearing them but none of your tactical boots went with the dress unfortunately. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding when you made it to the outside patio area of the ballroom where the FBI Christmas party was being held. There were less people outside because it was extremely cold and you felt a chill start to run up your spine because you didn’t bring a jacket. The cold air was kind of a relief though. It helped clear your head from the multiple shots you had just taken.
You jumped when you felt a hand on your lower back and turned around so fast you lost your footing. Two large hands wrapped around your waist to keep you upright and you looked up to see Aaron standing there holding you up. Your mouth suddenly went dry and you were pretty confident your heart skipped a beat. “You good?” He questioned as you stood up straight and nodded. There was a moment of silence where you both stared into each other’s eyes, you were still in his arms as he reached a hand up and lightly brushed a curl out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. His hand cupped your cheek and you leaned into the touch. His thumb brushed along your cheek bone and you felt like your legs were going to give out.
“I’m not quite sure when I am going to have the confidence to do this again. And it’s highly inappropriate. But sometimes you find someone worth breaking the rules for.” He was starting to ramble, and you felt your cheeks start to heat up and turn red. “I have very…strong feelings for you.” As the words left his mouth you were sure your heart stopped beating. His fingertips traced from your cheek and down the side of your neck. They lightly traced down your arm till he was able to intertwine your fingers with his. “I think you’re bluffing.” You managed to whisper out as you blinked away tears. He smiled and leaned down to capture your lips with his in a passionate kiss. When he pulled away, he grinned. “Am I?” he questioned, and you wrapped your arms tightly around him in a hug. When his arms wrapped around you it felt like all your broken pieces were starting to fit back together. “So should I assume you reciprocate those feelings?” He held you tight and you nodded. “More than you could ever know.” He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.
Emily turned to Derek with a grin. “You owe me 20 bucks!” She said as the rest of the team watched Aaron lean down to kiss you again.
Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of November AND December, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including an Office Party (any celebration/party attended/hosted by the BAU counts) using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!
Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading!
(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)
🎊 Prompts 🎊
It’s a BAU kid’s birthday!
The BAU throws a ridiculously large/lavish bridal/baby shower.
It’s rare that the BAU gets to celebrate the return of an old team member.
The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B.
After sharing sad prom stories (or lack thereof), Penelope throws a BAU prom.
It’s characters first Missed Holiday Meal (MHM). It’s also the first time a holiday meal actually felt like home.
The team discusses holiday traditions. Characters decide to try a few out.
The FBI is throwing a family picnic. The playful competitions get a little… heated.
It’s the anniversary of the BAU. The team throws a party to celebrate the greats.
Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party… with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)
The BAU has been dealing with a lot of stress. Penelope plans a day at a pottery shop so everyone can make something. It causes even more stress.
The team pairs up to play the newlywed game. Someone starts to notice that, despite not being partners, A knows the answers to every question about B…
Rossi is finally (actually) retiring. The party brings together friends that haven’t seen each other in years.
An anniversary/award brings back old team members. There used to be a time when they couldn’t fathom a week away from one another, but they haven’t spoken in years.
More Prompts Below + Create your own! 🎉
Each team member has to find an obscure holiday to celebrate (pi day, random acts of kindness day, unicorn day, etc.). Character goes above and beyond.
Character has very surprising responses to Never Have I Ever. They have even more shocking admissions.
There is nothing that a bonfire can't fix.
Characters are stuck at a party, but they can't stop thinking about each other (based on "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier).
Characters always find each other. Even at a masquerade, when their faces are almost entirely covered.
A party is the perfect place to see a new side to your coworker.
🎄 Holiday Specific Prompts 🦃
Halloween prompts / Winter Holiday prompts
It’s time for Penelope’s Halloween Party! Someone comes in an… unexpected costume.
The single members of the team decide to host a lonely hearts club dinner on Valentine’s Day. Two people leave together.
Characters end up beneath very suspiciously placed mistletoe at the holiday party.
Character accidentally started an ugly Christmas sweater tradition which somehow turned into a contest.
After an awful case, the team comes back on Christmas Eve to find that Penelope has gathered their loved ones and quickly decorated the BAU as a surprise.
Character only wanted to reveal that they are someone's Secret Santa at the BAU Christmas Party but they end up confessing a lot more than that.
🎂 Dialogue Prompts 🍰
"... Surprise?"
"What are adults supposed to do at a kid's birthday party. Does anyone actually know?"
"Whatever you do, be sure to avoid the food. I don't know who made it, but it's awful." "Oh, it uh... it was me."
"If you help me win, I'll owe you one great big giant favor."
"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."
"I think you're bluffing." "Am I?"
"You are the last person I expected to have attended clown school. I figured your clownish nature was inherent in who you are."
"So, if you had to guess, who do you think is going to drunkenly confess their love for someone else at this party?"
"The year is over. Did you accomplish everything you hoped for?"
"I fucking hate balloons."
"What's the point of a fridge on the jet if not for a celebratory drink?"
"If we're stuck here all night, we might as well have fun."
"I love you. I do. But you are a terrible Santa."
"Next time, I'm in charge of the karaoke mic."
🎈Rules 🎁
The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.
Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.
The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.
Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.
Have fun!
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David Rossi x Fem! Reader
Warnings: Mentions being insecure about weight.
Summary: You are feeling very insecure about meeting David's coworkers. He promises you are the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.
This was requested by @skievers I am so sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy it. If not just let me know and I will try to rewrite it!
Word count: 484
“You okay kitten?” A voice called out from the hallway. You looked up as David walked into the bedroom to find you standing in front of the full-length mirror in nothing but your bra and underwear. Your dress was spread out on the loveseat in the corner of the room. You were frowning and the closer that David got he could tell that you had been crying a little bit. “What’s wrong?” he asked, taking your hand lightly in his he brought it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. Your other hand drifted gently across your stomach, and you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t think I should go to the thing with you tonight.” You muttered as you kept your vision on the ground not wanting to look at your reflection in the mirror.
A confused David tilted his head to the side. “Why don’t you want to come?” He questioned and you shrugged your shoulders. “I’ve seen the girls you work with David. They are gorgeous and skinny and smart. I’m a chubby artist. I haven’t accomplished anything in my life. I don’t even know why you like me most of the time. I mean look at me.” You had tears on your cheeks and David frowned. “I am looking at you darling. I am always looking at you.” He kissed your hand again and then started kissing his way up your arm and to your neck where he managed to make you giggle a little because it tickled. He pulled away and held both of your hands in his.
He carefully walked you backwards till you had no option but to fall on your back on the bed. He slid up between your legs and started kissing every freckle, scar, and stretch mark. “You don’t need to look like those girls. I think you are the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen in my life. And as far as accomplishments go you create beautiful art. Not to mention the fact you are the bright light that my dark world needs.” He kissed your stomach one more time before sitting up and pulling you into a sitting position. “Will you please come with me tonight?” He asked and you thought about it for a second but nodded. You changed into the dress you had picked out for the night and stood in front of the mirror again. David came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You look perfect. And you better believe when we get back here tonight, I am going to show you just how perfect I think your body is.” He kissed your neck again and you smiled the first real smile you have had in a few days. “Thank you.” You turned around and kissed him before making your way to the event.
Summary: Aaron had a rough day but twirling you around the kitchen always makes it better.
word count: 379
Aaron sighed heavily and closed the case file he was reading. Usually that wasn’t the worst part of the day but this one came with pictures of tortured victims and they were not happy pictures. He slid the folder over to the stack of pending cases and rubbed his eyes trying to get his tension headache to dissipate. “Working late?” He looked up to see Emily standing in his doorway. He nodded and tapped the pile of cases. “Got some really nasty ones.” Images of people being tortured flooded his brain. “Go home Hotch. This will all still be here in the morning.” Emily stated as Aaron rubbed a hand across his tired face. He glanced at his watch and nodded. It was late. He said his goodnights and made his way back to his house.
Once home he sat in the driveway for a couple minutes trying to clear his brain. He tried to leave work at work but he just couldn’t shake the images. Finally he unlocked the front door and set his bag on the little corner table. He could hear music coming from the kitchen. He slipped his suit coat off and loosened his tie. The sight in the kitchen made his heart melt. You were cooking dinner wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of short shorts. He was quiet. He liked watching you dance around the kitchen. “Aaron!” You called out once you noticed he was there. Suddenly his arms were full with you hugging him tight. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head then held you tight and attacked your neck with kisses causing you to giggle.
“Dance with me.” You demanded and pulled away causing Aaron to raise an eyebrow. “I don’t dance.” He watched as a huge pout crossed your features. He sighed dramatically. “I can’t say no to you when you look like that.” He grabbed your hips and held you right against his body as he started to dance. He twirled you around the kitchen making you giggle and then dipped you low as the song ended.”Okay we can stop.” You said pulling away. He caught your arm and pulled you right against his body again with a grin. “Who said I was done?”
