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cecedownbad · 8 months

Text

Warmth

Summary: A mystery man stumbled on to you, his gestures alone changing the dim scenery into a bright fantasy. [Spencer Ried x GN! Reader] CM meet cute (or not) Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins

Prompt: Characters both duck for cover under the same tiny storefront when it starts pouring.

Warnings: No Y/N, fluff, I actually do not know how many research papers this man has read but I guessed. This is just so fluffy it had me smiling as I wrote it, I got a little carried away though, not proof read but I will do that later.

Word Count: 2.2k

Enjoy

The dim sky, like that of a faulty light bulb in a room that held photographs, locked away with a key lost to time. All that was bright now despondent to many, the sudden crystal like shine of streets drove away the few that knew staying any longer would cause a soaking mess and a cold to care for after.

Did that ever stop you from pacing by the side walk? With shoes scraping the fallen fire like leaves, a sign of a need for comfort and warmth. The ground wafting off a smell that should be telling enough for you to take cover but time was never one to wait.

Scraps of paper, terribly crumpled simply from agitation, held up to the very corners of your hands held largely a final draft of an assignment, meant to land on the Dean's desk this morning. This was the reason for due ignorance of the foretold scene yet to pass. Be it the wailing hums of the wind, or the dreary clouds, heavy with their low rumbles, much less a warning, more so a threat to parade a flood down the barren streets.

Then one fell.

Then another.

Every touch to the skin made you shiver, every drop ran down the outline of your face, tracing a path of yet another endless stream of worries. Shifting over, your hands shoved the sheets into the backpack you wore, a bag that now held evidence of lost sleep.

Squinted eyes now looking for cover, a refuge before the entirety of the flood gates open. Then, your eyes landed over a small, plainly described, old candy store. It had just the worn down, crooked, awning meant to cover you for the remainder of the downpour.

The store had worn down colours painted over the sides of the entrance, now locked with a chain rusted, abandoned to the elements. Though it did have an air of remembrance, a sudden haunt of the past had crossed you. It no longer had a sweet fragrance of chocolate, the twists of gummies or the sour rock candies. You'd stepped closer to the door, eyeing the cash register that must have seen better days, shelfs and boxes now empty, dust settling to fill in the air. It was displeasing to see the forgotten but whatever comes next should clear in a new sight to witness.

All that nostalgia popped, to the sound of sudden splashing, much like feet scurrying, heavy with each sound. Your head on a pivot, caught sight of the source, a person, one who looked like they too needed shelter from the rain. It was the direction said person had walked in that caused your initial frown, they wanted to take cover right where you stood. Of course, the tiny awning was perfect for a company of two, but it was you that preferred the solitude. By then, they made it, right infront of the store, one foot away from the much needed protection, but with a wobble, their lanky but lean feet, was on its way to meet the drenched street.

Quick as you were, you'd long discarded the frown, now your arms outstretched to catch the stranger, once latched on you pulled them towards you.

A sudden flash of hazel met you, you found the mystery man of the cause of your frown. Honeyed on the insides of the pupil, much like sun rays on a summer's day but rather dark, like that of a cool sunset. In that, he'd now looked at you with widened eyes, a tell enough for you to steady the stranger, parting your arms from his side.

"Thank you." He let out, clearing out the scene from seconds ago. Just like his eyes, his voice, was like a drizzle of honey over buttered toast. Soft, yet so endearingly warm. "Don't mention it." You consented.

Words no longer exchange between the two of you but your brain could not replace the Hazel eyes of the man stood next to you with a new memory. So, you glanced at him, observing, denoting, deducing his nature. His hands rubbed together, wiping it against the grey sweater, discarding the touch you'd shared in the time you grabbed him. That was when you reached in your pocket, grabbing a hold of a bottle of sanitizer and in an attempt to offer good will, you displayed the object to the man. He looked at your hand, then back at you, rather shaped brows now knitted at your gesture.

"You can use this, if you want to, you know, clean your hands." Hands still outstretched, a slight tremble befell them. "Thank you...again. You know, sanitizers usually contain 60-70% of alcohol, which is very high as compared to alchohic beverages. Since they are easily portable, fast and effective, it's often used when there isn't a handwashing station available but studies show that washing your hands with soap and water is still more effective than using an alcohol based sanitizer."

"...uhuh."

"Sorry..." The man hung his head low, a guilt riddled face bent over, possibly from rambling in what many made him believe were uneeded facts. "Oh, don't be sorry, I just had to take a moment to process that, you're right, I myself prefer using plain old soap and water after a long day." You squeezed the bottle over his hands, gazing as his finger rubbed in the solution.

You then watched as delight slightly brightened his face, his long hair now pushed back. A few disobeying strands fall on to the sides of his face. His hair reflected a burnt wood colour, paired with the colour of his clothes, he gave off a cool undertone but you couldn't help but feel the comfort of a blanket from his eyes alone.

"Were you going somewhere?" the question slipped out of you, a means to solidify a connection to the pretty stranger that slipped into your arms, but the question landed as odd as you met eyes with him. "It's totally okay if you don't want to answer that, I just, um, yeah." Your feet now relentlessly tapped on the ground, each sound echoing scores of annoyance. The cold touch of the wind hadn't helped much, hands now strongly gripped onto the straps of your bag, "I was actually on my way to work...What about you? I can tell that you are a student solely based on your attire, you must have something important to submit if you were willing to walk out here despite the signs of rainfall." He deducted, eyes peering at you. They were clear and sure of their focus, almost causing you to wander through all the reaches of the honeyed rays.

"You have excellent observational skills, I have an assignment draft to submit for approval, the Dean had said and I quote, 'If I don't see the papers on my desk at precisely 9:15 in the morning, none of you will be rewarded credits or be given a chance to redeem scores lost.' So, well you can imagine." You explained, he smiled at your impression of the aforementioned Dean. Another denotation had been made, the colour of his lips, a soft pink hue, the sharp but perfect lines that formed around them. In that short observation, your mind had run miles imagining a scene where you were the only cause for his otherworldly smiles.

"Would you mind if I take a look?"

"What?"

"At your draft? I may be able to spot mistakes, I can offer suggestions, I have read a lot research papers, 6,846 to be exact, so this might be more efficient than having to wait for your dean to look over them." As he offered, your mind took a leap at the sheer amount of material he had gone through, "You read 6,846 research papers? How did you keep count? How do you read that much anyway?" Disbelief laced your voice, the man it was directed to, however, was used to the lack of trust his words produce. "I have an eidetic memory, simply meaning I can remember something that I read or heard for good and I can read 20,000 words per minute." His mouth formed a flat line as his lips were pulled in.

"So, you are what society calls a 'genius', to think I'd meet one in the flesh." A grin spread across your face, "Okay, let me guess, you have a high IQ too? Say over 180?"

"You are a really good guesser. Yes, my IQ is over 180, it's 187." The both of you smiled at one another at this exchange. The worry within you washed away, much like the rain before you that seemed to clear away the history of the many that walked the pavements. "But before I hand over a very important assignment, could I get your name, sir genius?"

He lightly laughed at your intentions but responded no later, "Spencer Reid." You engraved his name to all crevices of your mind, manually sorting through today and labeling each new memory made under a new category. With formalities out of the way, you handed over the sheets of paper, having remarked that you have written worse so this should be okay to the eyes of a person you just met.

Less than two minutes later, just when you got lost to the drops of water breaking every reflection it made. Spencer declared that he'd read the draft, "There are 5 grammatical errors, 17 sentences with unnecessary words. If you take a look at this passage, you can add a line that compares the topic given to the opposite end of the spectrum it represents." As his fingers grazed the words present on the paper, his voice lowered in volume. An effect of this leading you to lean over to him, convinced all movements made for just the reason to hear him clearly.

All the bells rang through your ears, realisation now screaming through you. When the last word had been uttered, a sudden loss had built up inside you, the pleasant dips of his voice had struck a need for more. You could listen to him speak for time unnumbered, if the world let you.

"Thank you, for helping me and for making standing in the rain less tedious." You graciously smiled at him. His eyes turned up, letting you witness that beautiful smile once again, a graceful 'you're welcome' that require no words. This time you will remember to keep your imagination from expanding on futures one would have no have no sure way of proving.

"There is actually a way to get less wet in the rain, it's been scientifically proven." Spencer stated, "There is?"

How quickly seconds became hours in the two words that left your mouth. Your eyes watched as Spencer's hand grabbed on to yours, his smile now turning to excitement of that of a teenage boy. Each action was slow to your sight but before all else, you were running with a man you just met under the rain. And his response to your question?

"Run!"

The cool but harsh force of the downpour fell to the once dry face of yours. Unlike the traces they carved before, they painted your face with a new shine.

Could that ever stop you?

He led you on and with a white flag raised, you let him. Wherever he may take you, let him, that was your conclusion.

Cold and dreary as the scene may reveal, all you saw was the bright rays exuding from your mystery man. You had his name, you engraved it, no requirement for force needed to remember his name, but Spencer will be your mystery man. A touch of curiosity to learn from him and about him only added to the remark.

Before you knew it, you'd been brought in to another store, though this was alive in all its glory. Nothing worn down enough to make any assumption of abandonment, no remnants of a past forgotten, but the present that shone a colour you began to love, hazel. The smell no longer lost to time, burnt and welcoming, ground coffee beans, fresh and ready to be served. A café.

"It's been proven the faster you run in the rain, the drier you’ll be, regardless of the additional raindrops you run into." Spencer breathed out, your head snapped at him, looking away from the new scene you ran into. A few seconds, that's all it took, a hearty laugh left you at the revelation.

"A-are you okay?" He asked, mostly out of concern for the sudden change in behaviour you displayed. "I- Yes, I'm fine, geez, phew!" You sighed, catching your breath, "You are one hell of a genius, Spencer."

"Uh, thank you?"

After clearing your throat, you walked further in the café, finding just the right spot to dry off. You gestured for Spencer to come over, he followed, taking extra breaths as he dragged his feet to the empty chair.

Unbothered by the looks you both received, you sat, heaving out a heavy breath. Your eyes meeting hazel, only this time surprise didn't engulf them, they looked, no, they gazed at you with endearment. With each passing second, you couldn't rid yourself of the imprint he left in your hand. The warmth that laced over it, all the while shielding you from the icy brush of the rain.

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kryptonitejelly · 2 years

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For the blurbs maybe? I have always imagined the reader sort of ‘mocking’ Hotch when he’s sporting the Hotchner™️ frown (like she pouts her lip and furrows her brows just like him) and he hates to admit that he finds it funny, well I can imagine the reader doing the same for their baby girl when she’s also frowny and she looks just like Hotch doing it, it’s truly trademark of the Hotchners and the reader is always SO delighted by it

A/N: plsplspls this is such a cute idea

Requests for blurbs currently open here.

The first time you had caught sight of the famed Hotchner™️ frown you had heard so much about was when you had still been seeing each other. It was on a Tuesday morning where you had swung by his office on the way into work to drop off a file he had left at your apartment the night before. It had caught you by surprise, because around you, he was nothing but soft features, gentle lines, and the ghost of a smile always lurking on his features. There had been no reason, at that point in time, for you to glimpse the Hotchner™️ frown yet.

You had stood in the doorway of his office, a brow quirked, arms across your chest as you watched the man who was engrossed in his paperwork frown almost angrily at the open documents.

“What is that?” You had chimed out after a few seconds of observing his brows knit together, features hard, lips pulled into a tight line. All of which vanished the moment he looked up and caught sight of you.

“What?” He had asked, truly clueless as he stood to receive you.

“This.” You pulled your brows together, arranging your features in to a mirror image of what you had seen earlier, before gesturing at your face.

“No idea what you are talking about.” He huffed, as he came to a stand in front of you, tugging the file gently out of your hands. He knew of course, of the permanent frown that was etched into his face at work, not something that he had ever wanted you to see, but something he knew he could not avoid, given that he just knew you were his for the long run.

You maintained the frown on your face, adding a small scowl that almost resembles a pout of your lips for effect and he sighs in an exaggerated manner while tugging you a step towards him so that you both are shielded by the small panel of wall between the door and windows of his office. He hates to admit it, and won’t let himself admit it, but it is funny.

“Sweetheart.” He warned as he smooths a thumb across your cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as if to attempt to wipe the frown of your face, because as amused as he was, a frown is not what should be gracing your features.

Years later, the mimicry had become something of habit whenever you caught sight of the Hotchner™️ frown, which usually happened when you caught him at work, when he was completing working at home or fretting over a case, or the time when he and Jack had set out to build an unnecessarily complicated lego death star (in that case you had noticed two Hotchners, with their signature Hotchner™️ frowns huddled over the lego pieces, something which you had photographic evidence of). You had always made it a point to mimic his expression when he caught you staring at his knitted brows, because it amused you, and for some reason, it always made the Hotchner™️ frown slide right off his face.

“No baby, no syrup yet.” You lunge out at the last minute to push the little dish of syrup meant for Jack out of your baby girl’s reach. You still had her on a baby friendly diet of naturally occurring sugars and weren’t ready for her to begin exploring the wider palette the world had to offer just yet.

She wails in response and you bend to pick her up in your arms, bouncing her lightly on your hip as you coo at her.

“One day baby, but not yet.”

Her little hands push against your chest and you see it, clear as day, her little features etched into a Hotchner™️ frown. It causes your mouth to drop, and a giggle to rise from your throat as you scramble to grab your phone from the kitchen counter. You snap a photo of her, much to her displeasure and confusion, which only deepens the frown on her features. It makes you laugh as you tickle her belly, half wanting to chase away her sulk, and half wanting to keep the little frown on her features.

“What are my girls doing.” His voice breaks through the little huffs, which are slowly turning into giggles, that are coming from your baby girl as she squirms in your arms.

“She has the Hotchner frown.” You exclaim excitedly, turning yourself and your squirming daughter, who promptly opens up her arms to her father, her face splitting into the biggest grin, to face Aaron.

“No she doesn’t.” He retorts, as he opens his arm to her.

You chuckle fondly as she presses her head against his shoulder, happy gurgles falling from her lips as she nestles herself into her father’s embrace.

“She does.” You swipe the screen of your phone to show him the photo. He raises a brow at it, and you, barely managing to contain his amusement.

“Well she has something from you too.” He changes the topic.

“Hm?” You hum in question as you lock your phone and look up, only to find your lips meeting his.

“She smiles every time I walk into a room.” You can feel his smirk against your lips as he speaks in between kissing you. That she did.

#asks #send asks #requests are open #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner blurb #blurb #baby girl hotchner #would smile everytime aaron walks into a room too #Hotchner™️ frown #Hotchner frown

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