Was Supposed To Start Working On My Lab Report But Then Zoology Brain Wouldn't Shut Up About Corals And

BAU Moments That Make Me Overly Emotional (2/?)

1x01 || Extreme Aggressor

never wanted to suck dick so bad in my life

by @StarkLike34

K NSFW HC but before they get together, Hotch totally gets himself off to thoughts of Reid on the regular and then immediately feels horribly guilty about it, because he probably feels it’s disrespectful. Not that it stops him, of course. And then when they’re working together he tries TOO hard to remain professional in Reid’s presence but he ain’t fooling anyone about his feelings for the genius, except maybe Reid.

I feel like Hotch could give a Catholic a run for their money with his giant guilt-complex, just saying.

Hnnnn GOD I am probably too exhausted/buzzed to be doing this but I can’t stop thinking about it so HERE WE GO:

NSFW

Under the cut cause it’s about to get X-rated in here

You are 100% right about his guilt-complex, because he is an adult and the Unit Chief and he has responsibilities and dozens of people to look after and monitor and a whole ass department to run (not to mention he’s got a son, and an ex-wife, possibly going through the divorce at this point or we’re after that (but not to Foyet yet) and he’s just got so much on his plate all the damn time) -- and he should not, CAN NOT, be getting lost in thoughts about the youngest member of his team. 

But he does, on the regular, and he can’t seem to stop. 

Even if it started out a little lighter, like a crush (and dear God he hasn’t had a crush since grad school what is wrong with him) where he can’t stop staring at Reid and always pairs them up for canvasing and questioning and on cases. So often, so much, that it’s really only a matter of time before those constant, all-consuming thoughts bleed into when Reid isn’t even there. When no one is there. The only person left that could judge him being himself --

But sometimes, what plays out behind his eyes is so good, he doesn’t even care.

Lying in bed, sitting in his chair in his home office, in the shower where the deluge of too warm water always drudges up vivid, elaborate thoughts before he can tamper them back down. Memories of the day that don’t have anything to do with what happened or any events taking place -- his head is instead filled with the smallest details. Pieces of Spencer that get placed together bit by bit to remind Hotch why exactly he’s been staring so hard lately.

Because Reid is...  unbelievably gorgeous and Hotch just can’t bring himself to look away.

The way his profile is exquisite to watch, while he works or while he’s reading, deep in thought and lips moving as he reads even faster than his eyes can register. The sharpening lines of his jaw, the careful curve of his nose and roundness to his lips. How he licks his lips in that gesture that’s just the slightest slip of a pink, soft tongue that is far too spell-binding and shouldn’t be leaving Hotch in a daze but it does. How his mouth goes a reddish pink with the cold and stands out stark against his face, like those lips have been over-worked somehow--

Hotch will usually shake his head roughly at this point, to rid himself of that train of thought. But all it does is derail him into a different tangent.

Like his hands, he is obsessed with Reid’s hands and how they move when he talks. How lightly his fingers turn pages at rapid-speeds as he works and reads, how he can nimbly do things like make coins disappear or twirl a pencil through the long digits -- how they cradle a coffee cup in the mornings, when it’s far too early for Hotch to be thinking about how long and dexterous those fingers are and what it would feel like to one day have them slip beneath the waistband of his pants and take hold of him fully. 

It’s around this time that he would give up and take matters into his own hand, quite literally, and allow himself to let that residual guilt about authority and the bureau’s hierarchy (or the age difference, God) just fall away and he let’s himself think of Reid. Of Spencer, who has told him a few times he doesn’t mind Hotch calling him that -- not everyone, but with Hotch it’s okay. A small smile there when he says it. Hotch could lose himself in that smile, in the slight curves and angles of his body, of the lines of his neck and the mess of curls he can never tame and those overly expressive eyes that always watch him back so earnestly and --

And he’ll let his head tip back, or forward (depending where he is, in the shower he can’t do anything but brace himself against the wall in case his knees give out) and think of those eyes and that mouth and his hands and how if given the chance Hotch could absolutely wreck him and never stop. He’ll stroke himself slow and languid at first, and imagine it’s Spencer’s hand and not his own, that studious gaze on him and him alone and he’ll feel picked apart and dissected in the best possible fucking way, like his hand around Hotch’s cock is a learning experience, an experiment that needs to be conducted over and over again until he finds the just right way to make the older man’s spine melt and his toes curl.

And fuck Hotch would let him. He’d show him everything he could, everything he knows and everything he only knows in theory. The things they could discover together...

He’ll imagine every scenario, every position, ever sound that would escape that mouth, and the filthy things they could share through mere touch, until he’s fucking his own fist as it all builds higher and higher, and before he even knows it he’s coming so hard it’s a wonder he actually managed that all on his own. Alone. Spencer isn’t actually there --

And then the guilt would crash down around him violently, and Hotch wouldn’t be able to look Reid in the eye for days. To the point the younger man probably thinks Hotch is mad at him. Talk about heart-breaking. Reid looking so down-trodden and trying to make it up to him when all Hotch is trying to do is put SPACE between them so he can stop thinking about Reid constantly. Eventually relenting and telling Reid ‘no, I’m not mad at you, I promise’ just to see him smile again.

Until once day, not too long after all of that, the sun will catch Reid’s profile just right, stopping Hotch in his tracks, and he’ll stare too long and it’ll start all over again...

𓂃𓈒 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ

preacher's sons!artrick who have known each other since they were kids, attending the same sunday school, sharing pews every weekend, running around at the potlucks after service

preacher's sons!artrick who were raised together but who couldn't be more different today

preacher's sons!art who is a true believer, pure and innocent and good, who wants to follow in his father's footsteps and inspire a community in His name

preacher's son!patrick who rebels against the stifling expectations of his parents and the church, who smokes and drinks and is an unabashed flirt (a little bit of a slut)

preacher's son!art who proudly wears the gold cross around his neck and the purity ring on his finger and has bible passages memorized for any situation

preacher's son!patrick who wears his gold cross more out of habit or fashion than anything, plus he likes the way it dangles in the face of whoever he's fucking

preacher's son!art whose father asked him to help patrick, to bring him home to the light, and who's determined to make sure he'll be Saved

preacher's son!patrick who is just as determined to corrupt angelic little artie, who coaxes him into trying his first cigarette and whose touches get less and less innocent so quickly

preacher's son!art who's so confused about how to feel about patrick, someone who he was boys with but who has strayed so far from the flock, he prays every night for guidance until it just turns into his thoughts wandering to patrick's hair and eyes and the feeling of his skin...

preacher's son!patrick who is still dragged into that front pew every sunday, but it's much more entertaining now that he can sit a little extra uncomfortably close to art and run his hand up his leg so slow it could be played off it weren't for art's bright red face

preacher's son!art who still insists he only likes girls, but the one time he stopped by patrick's house and he heard him fucking some girl he didn't know through the door, the only thing he could focus on were the grunts and groans of effort he recognized in patrick's timbre

preacher's son!patrick who pins art down to the mattress when they're supposed to be studying bible verses to pry that ring off his finger just to see the way he reacts, flushed and trying so hard to be angry, demanding he give it back but patrick just argues that he should be better at protecting something so sacred as his purity

preacher's son!art who begs patrick to come see him speak at the youth service only for him to sit right in the front row in jeans and a mostly unbuttoned polo with the gold cross and shit eating smirk glinting back at him and making him all flustered in front of the congregation (he doesn't ask again but patrick still comes every time he speaks, the one time he doesn't have to be dragged into a pew nowadays)

Hotchreid fic chap 9

drink up (you're wasted on me)

Chapter 9/11

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

Rating: Mature

Summary:

He has a few missed calls from Dave last night after he left the bar. There’s a voicemail he won’t listen to. He has one text message waiting for him, sent sometime after he’d gotten home the night before.

D.R 11:54pm: You can't seriously think you’re getting away without a follow up. What the hell was that?

He puts his phone face down on the nightstand.

Yes he can.

Read the full chapter (and accompanying oneshot!!) here

A Feast for Crows — Brienne VIII // Beauty and the Beast — Angela Barrett // A Storm of Swords — Sansa I

I'll pay for your therapy✌

Reid + Hotch

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?” “Yes.”