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goorgeousz · 15 days ago

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lacy dreams | aaron hotchner

after hours au

lacy dreams | aaron hotchner

after hours au

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x profiler!female!reader

summary: hotch had been managing to do just fine in suppressing his desire for you, until he caught a glimpse of your lacy underwear peeking over your jeans.

content/tw: perv!hotch, masturbation (male), dirty thoughts, wet dreams, reader has the ass and tanned skin (I try my best not to describe the reader's physics but I just had to be a little self-indulgent on this one, sorry…)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: again, I attempted to focus on the steamy part of this but I got too invested on the build-up. I liked this one more than I thought, hope you guys do it too <3

my requests are opened, for this series or not!

just a heads up, this series is a slow burn so it will take a while for them to be together. I'm focusing more on the build up, their relationship and the construction of it! so if you want to have requests involving any of that, I'll be happy to write it! I have at least ten drafts in the making for this series, I'm super excited!

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

Between dealing with serial killers, terrorists and, maybe the hardest, FBI bureaucracy, Hotch almost didn’t have time to think about you.

Key word: almost.

The unit chief of the behaviour analysis unit. Hotch deserved that title, he knew it. He was perfect for it. Not everyone is able to fully commit to the job. To lock their feelings into a tiny little black box and keep it hidden. To be entirely selfless, to give themselves – their soul, mind and heart – to the job. To abdicate free time, good rest, personal relationships. No one understands what it takes to be the B.A.U. unit chief.

Unless, of course, THE B.A.U. unit chief.

No one in their right minds would ever doubt Hotch was perfect for it.

He was kind, respectful, smart, attentive, giving, centrate and ready to give it all for the job. The things he’d gone through… it wasn’t for the weak. But he wasn’t. So he took it. Silently, proudly and steadily. Like a knight, a fighter.

But Hotch was also a man. He ate, he drank, he slept. He had a soul, a heart, a brain. And he had memories. Good memories. Precise, even. And despite being incredibly professional, he still remembered.

Every. Thing.

It was a blessing and a curse.

Every time you stretched, your shirt slightly rose up, showing the skin of your stomach, and he remembered how he licked and kissed that very same part. Or when you laid on your side on the jet, he remembered how he fucked you at that very same position the morning after your night together – and before your first day at the B.A.U. Or whenever you get a papercut because you went through your files too eagerly, and you let out the tiniest, most delicate and breathless sound, and he has to fight every cell on his body not to lean closer and beg you to say it again.

Point is: he remembered.

It wasn’t like he had an eidetic memory – poor Spencer – or anything, but it was hard not to replay that night in his head from time to time. Whenever he had time for it. Or whenever images of you invaded his thoughts, uninvited and demanding. Ruining him, piece by piece.

He didn’t let it show, though. It was harder at first, when you and him were still on thin ice. Poking the water with the tip of your feet to see if it was safe enough to dive in. Not knowing each other's boundaries, wanting, needs. Only one thing for certain: you wouldn’t let that get between your job. Surprisingly, it worked just fine.

You were an amazing addiction to the team, and he was proud to see how good of an agent you turned out to be. Your relationship was strictly professional – unless the filthy thoughts inside his head, but those didn’t count –, even the team started laying off of you two.

Hotch, ever the profiler, noticed how they whispered around, throwing glances at each other and winking here and there. He knew they wondered. He also knew neither of you would give it to them. So they waited. And waited. And when nothing happened, they waited a little more. He was a little smug to see their frustrations, honestly. He beat those odds, surprisingly – again, how he felt about you didn’t count. And eventually, thankfully, they laid off of you. Maybe they gave up, accepted defeat. Giving up didn't fit their profile, but well, he’ll take it!

He was good at suppressing his emotions. A professional, if you will. He even managed to look at you in the eyes with a straight face and discuss about disposal of bodies while thinking about bending you over and fucking you right on the top of the table you were tapping your sharp nails against.

It was a whole other job to contain his thoughts when he was home – whatever he did in the privacy of his own bedroom was his business only. But for now, he was handling just fine.

In some ways you helped him. Despite whatever went through your mind, you never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a blush, a stutter, a lingering touch… Nothing. Ever. Every fantasy he had with you was solely the work of his bright and evil mind.

So, long story short, Hotch was kind of a pervert.

Secretly.

With all that said, there was one time Hotch absolutely lost it.

At least as much as someone like Hotch could lose it.

It was a Tuesday morning. The team sat together after a morning briefing, still chatting around. He was deep in conversation with Spencer when he heard Morgan’s teasing.

“So, where is it?”

You frowned “Where what is?”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a smile “You’re always wearing a red item somewhere” she explained “Today you’re all in charcoal grey.”

Hotch had noticed it, obviously. From the moment you walked in, a quick inspection of you later and he noticed it. He thought you’d just forgotten it. So much for his profiling skills. He wouldn’t dare to point it out, though. He had boundaries.

You laughed “You guys take the job that seriously, huh?”

“They even bet on you” JJ snickered, chuckling. You gasped, faking surprise.

“I’m winning.” Garcia sing-song it “Maybe you should rethink their profiling skills, sir.” she told Hotch, in a mock serious tone.

“Wow. I’ll have to step up my game, then.”

“Come on, doll.” Morgan nudges your hand with the tip of his pen “Where’s the red? Ten dollars at stake today.” you laughed loudly, leaning closer to him.

“Trust me, the money would be the smallest of your winnings if you knew where the red is.” you whispered, loud enough for the whole team to hear.

JJ barked a laugh, walking past you to go grab herself a coffee and giving you a high-five in the process.

Hotch watched it all unfold without a word. He even managed to change the subject after that rather smoothly. No one would have guessed what was going through his mind while he explained statistics and budgets. He didn’t blush, didn’t stutter, didn’t let his eyes wander.

He was a gentleman, afterall.

But when the meeting ended, all the team standing and heading out the door all together, you were right in front of him.

He stayed a few steps back behind you, more to his own safety than to yours. So he witnessed what happened in slow motion — at least that’s how his mind played it.

You were laughing at something Derek said, smacking his shoulder and letting your hair clip fall in the process. With your quick instincts and — good god — your easy flexibility, you bent over to pick it up.

And that’s when it happened.

He wasn’t looking, you see. Blame it on his academy years, his school-soccer years even. His unit chief abilities™, if you will.

It was just like in the field, his senses had to be turned to a maximum to see any possible threats. And that for sure was a hell of a threat.

As you bent over, knees bending just slightly, the rem of your button-up rose up. Simultaneously, the waistband of your pants slide down an inch, to cover the — voluptuous and perfectly round, bless you — curve of your ass.

Then, he saw it. The flash of red blinding his sight like in a lighthouse. Exactly like a gun pointed at him in his peripheral vision, his eye darted to the flash of red in order to eliminate the danger. He was trained for this, he couldn’t just turn off his spider-senses federal-agent-senses.

Peeking over your pants there was a thin, lacy and beautiful red underwear. The exact same kind you wore that night. Not the same, no.

Again, not an eidetic memory – god bless reid – but no matter how hard he tried – not that hard, really – to forget, he couldn’t. His stubborn mind insisted on replaying the view of your bare ass, covered only in those dark-red lacy panties, pushing back against his very expensive suit pants, teasing his hard on still very much covered. A sinful view, your toned body displayed for him across your wooden dining table like a four-course meal. Better than that, honestly.

Back to the subject, the colours were different. This one was a brighter shade of red, its colour very distinguishing from the sober grey of your clothes. So beautiful, calling for him. Begging for him, really. It was a siren’s song, enchanting him and luring his eyes into you. Deadly, dangerous.

As fast as it came, it was gone. You stood back up with an ease that made his backbone jealous. Unfortunately, not fast enough for the sight not to be engraved in his brain.

He stopped mid track, his eyes widening slightly. Thankfully, he was the last one behind, so no one could see his reaction. Not-so-thankfully, you turned around at him, a polite but cheerful expression on your face, the remains of your laughter still on your face.

“Hotch, the file of that Minnesota case I was working on is already on your desk. I left it there before the meeting, forgot to tell you.” the easy smile you had on your face faltered for just a second, confused by the stunned look on his face.

He quickly covered it up, building his walls back up in a record-deserving speed “No problem, thank you.”.

You just nodded, seeing he walk away in that always-hurried way of his before you could manage to ask him what’s wrong.

And just like that, his facade was ruined – it wasn’t really. No one bat an eye at him or his reaction, but he did try to fool himself and pretend he didn’t care. And that facade was, in fact, ruined.

A four-months, twenty three days – the exact time you’ve been on the team – streak of being reactionless vanished with a quick glimpse of your underwear.

How pathetic of him.

How twelve-year-old-boy-just-discovered-women's-breast kind of pathetic of him.

It wasn’t just about how his heartbeat quickened at the sight. Just how the blood rushed to his veins. Just how his eyes widened and his mouth slightly parted. Just how his breath hitched loudly enough that if someone were behind him, they would’ve noticed it.

It was all that, added to the fact that he had to basically lock himself in his office all day. Two bathroom breaks. One coffee break. One lunch break. All of them combined, in order to reduce his breaks at a minimum.

He got work done, somehow. It took him the entire work-day for him to finish what would’ve taken him a single morning? Yes. But it got done, anyway.

His thoughts mid reports wandered towards you. Did you do it on purpose? Of course not, he was that self-assured. But you were a tease, so it was very on character for you. But you seemed so innocent, telling him about your reports. Again, that never stopped you from making the dirtiest jokes he ever heard. Was it all a punishment? Some destiny cruel joke on him? A way for the universe to tell him he doesn’t have control of anything? It seemed like all the options above.

The day passed in a rush, humiliating so.

Deciding – after a lot of guilt and self-deprecating thoughts – he wasn’t being any useful for the country and it was best for him to rest and come back renewed – read free of dirty thoughts of you – the next day, he went home.

His ride home was silent, he didn’t even turn on the radio. Or did he? It didn’t even register. It was a win how he managed to get home safe without causing any accidents in the process.

He ate a quick dinner, an improvised sandwich of everything he could find in his fridge. And finally had the – oh so deserved and waited – glass of scotch. And a second one. And a third one.

After finally having his gain back the control of his own thoughts, because of the shameful amount of work he’d done, he decided to ignore the very prominent and aching volume on his pants. Yes he was that controlling.

So, he took a freezing shower and went back to bed without a single thought of you.

Yes, he was proud of himself.

No, it didn’t last.

It was 02:17 in the morning when he woke up from the most wonderful yet terrible dream of his life, with an aching boner and a stain of cum in his underwear. How lovely.

He opened his eyes and stood there, his chest rising and falling while he tried to steady his breaths. He came to the realization that whatever happened was just a dream. A very wet dream.

You haven’t actually showed up at his house, still in your work clothes. You haven’t really thrown yourself in his arms, kissing him so hungrily he almost fell down. You haven’t really taken your clothes off, your eyes locked in his while you stripped down until you were only in those red lacy panties. You haven’t really laid down on his bed, your legs stretched and your hands touching your perky breasts. He haven’t really fucked you senselles, raw and stupid on his mattress – yes, that very same mattress he was currently laid on – until you both came at the same time while you moaned his name over and over. His first name.

He replayed the dream in his mind, groaning to himself when his hand unconsciously roamed to his shaft, gripping straight under his sweatpant.

It was no use to fight against it. He let himself have it.

Hotch squeezed himself, his cock sticky with barely wet and warm cum. He hummed, half in annoyment, half in satisfaction.

He stroked himself to the thought of you. His dream wasn’t real. But the images of you, the sensation of his cock buried deep inside of you, his names on your lips like a mantra, like a spell. They were all real, all memories.

And he held on to them for dear life.

The feeling of his tight grip to your flesh. Your yelps, moans, hums, groans. Your dirty words, your dirty mind. Your velvety and hoarse voice. Your eyes – oh, your eyes. So beautiful, slightly open, deeply darked and overly glossed. The tear of pleasure that fell after you came for the third time, its salty taste on his tongue when he licked it. Your mouth. Full, glossy and tasteful. Your tanned and smooth skin, little red sports he proudly bruised.

He quickened his movements, his eyes closed shut and images of you behind his eyelids. He memorized all of you. And with the sound of his own heartbeat and the memory of your voice hoarsely begging his name, he came again, letting out a long and dragged groan.

He stayed there for a while, waiting for his breath to get back to normal and his heartbeat to slow down.

Just for a moment he let himself be, not drowning it sorry and guilt. Just enjoying the relief coursing through his body.

But like almost everything in life, the moment passed.

Almost.

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mysindividual · 9 months ago

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Unknowingly, his | Aaron Hotchner

requested

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: You never fail to make Hotch smile, even in hard times. One late night, when reader comes to his office to do some paperwork with him, he cannot help but catch himself staring at you and wondering if Hayley had the right to be jealous of you

cw: hints of jealous reader, mentions of jealous haley, divorce talk, cheating talk, mutual pinning my beloved <33

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

It was 7 in the morning when you entered your dull office with an emphatic unambiguous ugh. You tossed your briefcase and jacket onto the leather couch to your right, closed the door behind you with your heel, walked over to the table and turned on the light. You did a good job rearranging everything last night, but the files you were supposed to audit for the day had already been put on your desk. Though, you needn’t to rush as the team had already gotten a new case when 20 minutes prior you received a call. At least you had already been prepared to come down to your office, all dressed up. The phone call came through just as you were to about to cross your doorstep.

Moaning, you picked up the phone, dialed the number and patiently held for a response. You despised this. After a month, the team had a day off and you weren't expected to have a heavy workload today (also, you could never take a day off when the rest of the team did), so the most noticeably awful thing to do on a day like this for you was to call them back in.

You played with a tangled cord of your telephone when a hoarse voice spoke, "Hotchner” on the other end of the call.

Great, you wondered, was he already awake or did you wake him up. You could name a handful of different better ways of doing so.

"Uh, hi, Hotch." You noticed it was slightly too sweet how you said it. It might have been your way to make the news more appealing, or maybe, his early morning voice made you melt. You could never be certain which is the one.

Before he spoke your name, he cleared his throat and you believed you heard a light peck against his lips and someone’s chuckle.

The butterflies in your stomach died in an instant. Another great thing you had to do this morning.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything,” you said with a wry smile, rolling your eyes, “but I’m afraid I don’t have good news.”

Silence.

It made you glance at the handset you were holding to your ear.

Oh, how you have ruined his day before it even began.

“I figured. Call the rest of the team. I’ll meet you there in 20.” And with that, he ended the call. You could already detect a sudden shift in his tone, could already see a familiar frown appearing on his face.

──────────────────────

It was late at night when you knocked at Aaron's office door. Most of the agents on the sixth floor of the building were already out. Aaron could hear your heels clicking against the floor, echoing in the space before you even entered the bullpen.

"Hey."

A frown was settled on his face as he sat in a large chair behind his desk, his red tie slightly askew on his white-collar shirt, his rolled-up sleeves revealing his bare forearm. You couldn't help but notice that his hair, too, was more disheveled than normal. You tilted your head. If you had the chance, you would stare at him like that for eternity.

When Hotch regarded you with a fleeting gaze and a quick 'come in' in response before resuming to his paperwork and forms, you entered his office with a gentle exhale.

There was no need for questions or instructions as you silently retrieved the documents from your side of the table once you had sat across him.

That was the schedule you used to follow regularly.

Every time a case ended, both of you had to come together and complete the paperwork. At times, you’d spend extra time working together into the late night until you both were barely able to keep your eyes open, whilst other times it didn't take as long. Even though some might argue that it was not the perfect scenario - staying up late with your boss - those times when you had to be silent and be in close proximity to him were calming and almost sufficient to fuel your bizarre attraction that began the moment you first laid eyes on him. It was constantly shifting, influenced by mood changes from both of you. You were never afraid to express your strong opinion even if it didn’t parallel his, never afraid to speak for yourself, but you were also the one that spent most time with him, knew him better than the rest of the team, even had the most in common. The team referred to you as Hotch’s soft spot (not to his knowing, of course). In spite of being one of the youngest members of the team, if another member messed something up, they’d hide behind you, ask you to talk some sense into Hotch. To him, you could never do wrong. He was always a little bit blind to your faults. And you, obviously, weren’t oblivious to that. Not that you took advantage of it, or to be quite frank never a serious one. You could notice how one look, one ‘Hotch?’, one ‘please?’ could make him easily change his mind no matter who stood on the other end of the topic. You still remember when Penelope first started working with the team, and the first time she saw you two together - you saw a ‘?!?’ above her head. She asked if you were the wife.

And then, on the other side, there was a wife. Hotch was married, and you knew his little family - Haley and their son, so you never thought about breaking that boundary. As such, you were very adept at playing the game of hot and cold when it came to Hotch. Even if he weren’t someone’s husband, there was still a bit of an age gap between the two of you, and let’s not forget Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism. He was your boss after all, and in all your mind, you just firmly believed Aaron would never allow himself such a thing.

While you filled out the forms, you noticed something quite different tonight. Hotch had complete trust in you, he was aware of where your loyalties laid. You'd been on the same team for a few years in a row now, during which he would occasionally sign certain documents prior to you completing them. However, tonight was different. Tonight, he appeared unenthusiastic about returning home early to maximize the limited time his job allowed him to spend with his family.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired, feigning ignorance of his eyebrows raising towards you.

He shook it off, replied with a stock ‘Nothing’.

Neither of you seemed to stop whatever you were writing down.

“We’ve spent way too much time together. If you think I wouldn’t notice,” you eyed him. “You are wrong, boss.”

Aaron’s eyes finally really met yours for the very first time tonight. He leaned back in his seat comfortably, arms resting on armrests. “Are you a profiler now?”

“I might be one,” you mused, leaning back in your seat, crossing your legs as you put your pen aside. “Perhaps I have picked up a few skills working with the best.”

He surveyed you, a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

Aaron Hotchner - the profiler - never misses anything.

“In any case, I believed we had agreed not to profile each other,” he spoke gently.

You expressed gratitude to God for that. Would he, then, realize the extent of a crush you had for him in those little moments and mood changes? Was he just as unaware of that as any other man even though Aaron Hotchner was not just any man? You, in rare cases of boredom, would wonder what he really thought of you. Did he think it was just your personality - being all flirty and smiley, with everyone?

“I’m not profiling you, Hotch.” You reassured him. “It’s just… Would you not ask me if I were fine if you’d noticed?”

“Yes, I would.”

“And you’d want me to tell the truth?”

He nodded slightly in response.

Your eyebrows snapped together. “Then?”

As soon as the thought of Haley came back into his mind, his expression fell serious, his smile faltered.

He couldn't believe that Haley could possibly be jealous of any of his colleagues. After being together for years, he believed she would have had more insight, would known him better than that. For months now, that had not been the case. They practically turned into strangers who occasionally had to share the same bed. Even though he didn't realize it then, after the final confrontation and some calm reflection, everything became clear. Although the very thought of losing Haley was unknown… painful.

That morning when y/n called him, the moment Haley was waking him up in bed with her kisses, he called out your name. They both got carried away in the heat of the moment, not realizing that the call was indeed coming at his work number.

He recalled the way she gazed at him then - disappointed more than anything else - she shook her head and pushed him aside, getting up from the bed and putting on her robe. After the call had ended, he wanted to explain to Haley but what she said to him petrified him.

“It's always work, and it's always her, and you always go running like a dog whenever she calls you!”

He was upset, offended. However, he was fully aware that Haley was determined to find a way to bring their relationship to an end, regardless of his actions, whether positive or negative.

Aaron remembered then the call to the home telephone which he had picked, but was welcomed with silence before that someone hang up on him. And then Haley's mobile rang. He knew. He knew then, in that shared gaze with Haley. But regardless of all that, Aaron wanted one more chance, at least for their son Jack, who needed a united family more than anything else.

“Haley and I are getting divorced.” He spoke, not realising you had been back to signing the documents whilst he was busy in his thoughts.

“What?”

That took you by a surprise. You would have never guessed it. Yes, you shared glances with the rest of the team while working on the last case, noticing how something bothered Hotch, how slightly distracted he was. You could have notice how quiet he was on your way back home in the jet, not engaging in a conversation with anyone, with you. Yes, you all have guessed he had an argument with Haley having to leave for work again when he’d finally had a day off, but divorce… No one believed the two of them would ever divorce.

“I’m so sorry, Hotch.”

“For a while it has been… different. I guess there’s nothing I could do about that now, nothing to change the situation we have gotten into.” He spoke as if though he hadn’t heard you, his dark eyes distant in a dim lighting. “I tried.”

You didn’t want to pry. You needed not to know what happened - their reason, whatever it might have been, was sufficient. You didn't believe it was Haley's fault, nor his fault. You could understand both of them. It was indeed a rather challenging one. Only a handful of individuals could understand the job you have chosen to do, sometimes it made you wonder if you’d ever find anyone that would.

Unless it was someone doing the same job, the chances were relatively small. Reid could give his statistics on this one, you’d remind yourself to ask.

“I know, Hotch.” You reached out instinctively, your hand over his, slightly squeezing. He did not move or flinch, his eyes shifting to where the contact was. The hand under your palm was warm, simultaneously rough and soft. His wedding ring was reverberating a tiny bit of coldness against your skin. “And I know you. I know you would never just quit. You don’t deserve this. And I’m really so so sorry.”

“I’m not ideal. Haley has every right. I’m more gone than present, more a boss than a husband.” He sighed, pondering. “My own marriage’s been in trouble and needed saving, but I wasn’t able to admit it and help myself, help us. I wonder how I still keep this job.”

“Don’t take it too hard on yourself, ok? It’s never just one side, but it does get better. I promise. At least that much I know of. If there’s anything I can do…”

“You are here. Listening.”

You once again felt noticed as his intense yet somehow gentlest of gaze met yours. You loved that about Aaron, the ways he could make you feel in just seconds - you could be all platonically giggly and flirty with him in one, but in the next moment when he would regard you with that look in his eyes, one word, one smile - the world would stop, you could only hear your heart beating, his presence only existing. And it scared you.

It should have been just a banal crush.

You withdrew your hand from his at the thought, clearing your throat to cover a moment that was… profound, finding sudden interest in the documents again. “I can complete this by the end of night, you can-“

“No.” He cut you off, sighing as the documents on his desk filled his sight again. “It’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be in particular tonight. I have to finish this by morning…”

His brows raised once his eyes met yours again before he added, whispering. “And I could use some company.”

Or preferably, he could use your company.

“Ah, Strauss… The woman knows how to keep her employees in dislike of her.” You stated, averting your gaze from his eyes, taking another file from atop of others. “You should give her some tips.”

A soft chuckle escaped his throat, breaking the silent grimness that spread in the room.

“Since this is gonna be one hell of a night...” You put your hands on the armrests, ready to stand up. It was an attempt to run, reflect, calm down. “Anything you want me to get you?”

“Actually, I’m about to get some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Well, if we must finish all this work…” You nodded, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we have to.”

“Ok.” He said in a soft-spoken manner, rising to his feet, and then pointed his finger at you in a manner similar to scolding a child. “But don’t doze off on me again. I’ll be right back.”

You put your hands up in defiance.

When he passed next to you, you followed him with your gaze out of the office. His perfume barely reached up your nostrils and you slumped in your seat, eyes closed, your breath shuddering.

That was close.

And about that… It wouldn’t be your first time. The team was amazed by your ability to fall asleep literally anywhere - desk, bench, floor, cinema, waiting rooms - you name it.

The first time Aaron found about this talent of yours was after the case. You went to check out of the hotel with the rest of the team, and while waiting for others in the lobby seated on a bar stool with your arms crossed, you fell asleep. He was quite taken aback, or rather impressed as well as everyone else, to see you dozing off while seated. On your way home, the team occasionally made jokes about it, but what stood out to you the most was that Hotch was also very engaged in them.

“Thank you.” He said once he returned to his office and put your cup of coffee before you.

You locked eyes with him, offering a small smile. “You are always very welcome.”

Taking a break from work, you took a sip. Just how you liked it. How attentive. Not that it was surprising. “And I suppose I should thank you.”

He lifted the cup in his hand to his lips but halted before taking a sip, his tongue gliding over his lips. You stared, hypnotized. “I’m sorry? Thank me for what exactly?”

“Yeah, you know…” Nervous, you offered him a report you’d just finished hoping he didn’t catch that. He reached forward to take it. “For indirectly acknowledging that seeing my name on your phone on a day off is not the most pleasant thing. I suppose I am bad news.”

“It’s a rather heavy subject, you know.” He replied in a professional tone, his eyes glued on the paper.

“Well, we’ve got all night.” You joked, throwing your hands in the air.

His eyes softened upon meeting yours once again. “I didn’t say that, and no, you aren’t.”

You lifted your brow at him. And then, there was that crooked grin on your face, teasing him to admit.

He observed you for a moment. “Sometimes, yes.” He succumbed to your will once again, before signing the report, concealing his own smile from you.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #i might turn this one into a slow burn series #like just some chapters here and there #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #unknowingly series

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sincerelybubbles · 1 year ago

Text

it's a date || spencer reid x reader

part 2

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention.

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you.

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight.

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind.

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain.

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door.

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous.

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee.

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply.

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over.

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide.

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge.

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove.

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh.

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor.

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book.

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta.

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart.

You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news.

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting.

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident.

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well.

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face.

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief.

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest.

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled.

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression.

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere.

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile.

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder.

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile.

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are.

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted.

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him.

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space.

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones.

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically.

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head.

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name.

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone.

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait.

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in.

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks.

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack.

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something.

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder.

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up.

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains.

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little.

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one.

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted.

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread.

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him.

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it.

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes.

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him.

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about.

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere.

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable.

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away.

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms.

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly.

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something.

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers.

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging.

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering.

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct.

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back.

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly.

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored.

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory.

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught.

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street.

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food.

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street.

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs.

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks.

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer.

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house.

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head.

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window.

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology.

You wish he hadn’t.

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again.

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle.

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts.

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway.

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side.

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun.

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low.

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms.

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid.

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy.

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head.

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket.

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team.

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway.

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you.

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away.

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it.

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile.

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

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hisirishsoufflegirl · 3 months ago

Text

Tea Is A Love Language ~ A.H x Reader

A/N (wow I haven’t wrote that in years): Hi! I’m back (says them to people who did not even realise they stopped writing lmao). There’s been an Aaron Hotchner x You slow burn fic brainstorming away whenever I’ve been rewatching Criminal Minds for the past few years so I thought I’d make a comeback to write a sample entry (that takes place a bit into the actual fic) to see what everyone thinks, aha.

CW/Context: Aaron and Hayley are divorcing/there’s no Emily(sorry!)/Aaron being grumpy but then surprisingly sweet/Reid and reader are best friends/Morgan and reader are very close due a traumatic past/Aaron gave a private lil sweet pep talk to reader when they got overwhelmed after the college campus murders/the timeline is a bit jumbled but it’ll be easier to follow/explained in full fic/in canon mentions of violence/I’m rusty at this, forgive me

A sigh. Then a smacking sound as the paper contents of a file hit the desk.

“Who’s up for a drink?” Morgan stood up. Eyebrows raising as if a lightbulb flashed atop his head, he turned. “Actually.. who’s up for five?”

The man didn’t need to ask you twice. Nights out drinking with Morgan were always the safest. Sure, they were wild and chaotic.. but you always knew you would get home and you always knew you’d never wake up the next morning fearing you did something you regret. It was funny. One of the men who inspired you to join the Academy and pursue this as a career was not only now a colleague but a friend. A close friend at that. Your letters containing updates on your life since that awful period of your life when you were 18 were more for Gideon’s sake. Though that didn’t mean Derek never checked up on you throughout the years that led to you surprising the agent the day it was announced a new member was joining the team and in you walked into the table meeting.

“I don’t know..” your best friend trailed off, his focus on fixing the contents of his brown satchel.

You got up from your desk, the one attached to Spencer’s, shouldering your own bag. “Nuh-uh, Spence. You’re coming.” You looked up at him, trying your hardest to use your eyes to silently beg to coax him out.

It worked. It always worked. Reid hated nights out, especially Morgan’s definition of a night out, but you knew you made it tolerable for him. Many a night of drinking you sat with the doctor, letting him ramble off about statistics or Star Trek and often debating the one topic you yourself did know about - Doctor Who. You didn’t know why some of the others treated listening to his interests and rambles as almost a chore. You had always found them interesting and besides, how could someone not take an interest in what their best friend cared about?

“.. you’re still cosplaying at comic con with me, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed at you.

“Of course.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

You mouthed a “thank you” at him, your hand coming up to touch his elbow as a comfort as you both walked to join Morgan and Rossi heading towards the door.

“JJ?”

“Ugh, I’d love to but.. gonna have to take a rain check.” the blonde woman grimaced, picking up her share of files.

You felt someone brush past you as they hurried towards the glass door of the bullpen. You turned your head, realisation hitting you that it was your Unit Chief. You hadn’t properly spoken one on one to the man ever since the day the team was about to leave Flagstaff, Arizona. There had been a spree killer on a college campus, murdering women who were very similar in age to you and it brought back some painful memories. Painful memories as well as a feeling of guilt that you had survived your own attack and had went on to go and finish college. A privilege that those victims never got to make a reality. You had stepped away for a moment to compose yourself back at the hotel while the other agents were packing to go home when Hotch had appeared beside you. You had been sure you were to be scolded for being too soft or for your exterior slipping, a worry that was all too evident as you had tried to quickly wipe your tear away and swallow the ache in the back of your throat. But no. He had been kind. Really kind. The conversation had not been long, nor did the comforting hand on your arm to gesture you back to the hotel to leave linger, but it had helped.

“Hotch, you up for a beer?” the Italian man extended the invitation to his friend.

Hotch stopped in his tracks, his eyes flickering to the side as he pondered his answer. He decided with a sigh. “Sure.” He turned and you offered an awkward smile when his eyes settled on you.

“Agent Hotchner.” came the suited man with a clipboard and envelope into the room through the glass doors.

Breathing in, Hotch’s eyes looked away from you as he turned. “Yes?”

The man presented him with the clipboard and a pen to sign for the brown envelope.

Hotch’s eyes shifted down to it and his body stiffened slightly with a sharp intake of breath.

You had never seen Hotch display a crack in his exterior like that before. I wonder what’s in that envelope. You thought.

Breaking the silence, you sucked your lower lip in - a tell, you had been told by one of your profiler buddies, that you felt awkward and anxious. “What is it?”

Your boss stared down at the envelope, his fingers subconsciously kneading the paper. That’s one of *his* tells, you surmised, whatever it is it’s bothering him.

He finally glanced up at you through dark eyelashes, a look of defeat in those dark eyes. “Hayley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.”

Fuck. Fuck. You fucked up.

You watched as Hotchner took a final look at the contents in his hands before walking away, no longer feeling up to a fun and happy night.

“McCoy Boy! How was Connecticut?” You greeted Spencer as you, Morgan, JJ and Rossi piled back into the bullpen. You dropped your bag onto your chair and circled round to the opposite side of the desk to throw your arms loosely round the genius’ neck and shoulders. You never took advantage of the privilege of being the only one Reid allowed to casually touch him like this but now didn’t count. You had missed him. While you were in Indianapolis helping Rossi catch the monster that haunted him and three siblings, your best friend and your Unit Chief were in Connecticut interviewing a death row inmate.

Spencer rested his hand on one of your arms as you squeezed him, propping his book down on his desk. “Ultimately uneventful.”

You shifted your head from the top of Reid’s curly mop to his temple. “Fill me in anyway.”

Spence chuckled before turning his gaze at Rossi. “Uh sir, there’s someone waiting to speak to you in your office.”

You pulled back to crane your neck behind you. Sure enough, Kevin Lynch stood in the doorway to the office at the end of the walkway.

You focused on JJ’s face as Kevin talked, a face barely containing her smile and giddiness. Your eyebrows furrowed confused and as Rossi walked past to talk ‘man-to-man’ with the tech analyst, you mouthed ‘what??’ to the blonde.

JJ raised her eyebrows suggestively at you as she swivelled to walk away. “Garcia and Kevin sittin’ in a tree..”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Get out of here.”

“Wait, what? What?” the brown eyed genius piped up, confusion and anxiety about missing a clue seeping in his voice.

“Didn’t you hear the song, love?” You asked your friend, your left arm still leaning on the back of his office chair for standing support.

“The song meant something? No, I missed it!” Reid grew frantic. Adorable.

“Yeah, it..” you trailed off as your eyes looked around the room as you looked up. They landed on the dark haired man in his pristine suit, shoulders tense as he hunched over his desk, one hand resting on his forehead.

He looks so stressed.

You sucked in your lower lip. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” You ruffled the top layer of Spencer’s brown curls. “I’ll explain it later.”

You moved your duffel bag onto the floor underneath your desk and settled in your chair. Every instinct in you was screaming to check in on your boss. That’s just the type of person you were and your instincts never did you wrong. You had gone on gut instinct when you asked Spencer what was causing him to struggle which eventually led to him going to rehab. You had listened to your instinct when it told you to gather up Morgan and JJ to join Rossi in Indianapolis a few days ago. But this was Hotch. This was your boss. You had never seen the man crack a smile let alone open up about his feelings.

Leaning your chin on your hand, your head twisted to look at the environment behind your desk. Looking behind you had become a habit since you were a teenager, even when your body knew it was in a safe environment such as the bullpen. But old habits die hard and listen, it was a habit that kept you alive in the field. Funny that. You’d think someone with that self preservation habit would run away from situations that posed a threat, not run to them. And certainly not make a career out of solving them.

Your eyes landed on the coffee machine set up and kettle sat on the communal kitchen countertop.

Hmm. Too late for coffee. You hummed. Hold on..

You swung your legs out from under your desk, pushing yourself up and away from your desk and headed towards the communal kitchen. The plethora of jars containing coffee grounds - the jar with the brown and gold label was Reid’s only go to - and sugar - the plastic tub of aspartame was JJ’s - littered the counter. But you weren’t looking for the coffee. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you opened up each cupboard. You searched the top two before bending down to view the contents of the bottom ones.

A-ha! Found you. You took out the green box praying it wasn’t empty and silently thanked God when it wasn’t. Plopping one of the tea bags into the clean ecru mug you found, you filled the kettle in the sink and flicked on the switch.

As the water boiled, you dared to glance to your right at Hotch’s office. You didn’t think it was possible but the man looked even more stressed. The noise of the kettle turning off drew your attention and you poured the hot liquid into the mug, pressing the teabag to the sides of the mug with the spoon before scooping it up and binning it in the pedal bin. Stealing the last of the semi skimmed milk from the fridge, you trickled some of it into the tea before stirring. Dropping the spoon into the sink promising to clean it in a few minutes, you grasped the handle of the cup and headed towards the steps to the walkway.

Your feet reached the closed door to the office and your knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Come in.” He sounds tired.

Careful not to spill the tea, you pushed the handle of the door down and the door opened. Hotch glanced up. Twice. Once out of habit. The other a double take. His head left his hand and he placed his pen down on the case files in front of him. You could tell he was trying to figure out what you were doing in his office, it was obvious in his eyes. For a man so expressionless, his eyes were always so expressive.

You realised you had been staring at him for probably a bit too long and shifted your eyes down to the mug in your right hand, your other hand clasping round it for the excuse of holding something as a distraction. You lightly tapped your ring against the porcelain as you tried to word your sentence in your head before your mouth could get you into trouble. The action had Hotch’s gaze look down at your hands, something you noticed he did often. You had a habit of fiddling with one of your rings when you wanted to say something but were deciding if you should or not. It usually ended in Hotch noticing and asking you your opinion on the topic at hand.

You took a breath in. “Sir, if I had known.. I wouldn’t have asked about the envelope in front of everyone.“

“Y/L/N-“ Hotch sat upright in his chair.

“Anyway, I uh, I’m not going to ask you to talk about it.” You reassured him, cutting him off. Still looking at the mug in your hands, you continued. “I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. I, the team, will support you in any way we can.”

You could feel your heart speeding in your chest, you were sure your boss could even hear the thumping. You risked looking up. The usually stoic man’s gaze softened, his forehead smoothing out. Maybe Hotch wasn’t so scary all the time.

“My mother always liked to show it with tea,” You remembered the mug in your hands. Probably should explain that, yeah. “And it’s what I know so.. uhm..” You shuffled forward closer to his desk and settled the cup on top of the dark wood. Stepping back, your hands went to the back of your trouser legs.

Hotch stared at you, his expression not giving anything away. “You didn’t have to.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Think of it as repaying the favour.”

You watched as those big dark eyes softened, gaze switching to the mug now sat on his desk. Giving an tight lipped smile, you nodded awkwardly and turned to leave. You didn’t wanna overstay your welcome. As your hand reached for the door, your name being called stopped you in your tracks. Not your last name. Your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned, surprised at the switch from your surname to your first name. Hotch called everyone by their surnames, even Rossi sometimes. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” He meant that. Sincerely.

You tried to stop the smile etching its way onto your face. You felt bold. “Don’t mention it.. Aaron.”

Hotch - Aaron cracked a small smile. A tiny quirk of his lips. You nodded at each other, your hand closing the door behind you as you left the office.

Taking the steps down to your desk, you didn’t see Hotch bring the mug to his lips, taking a swig. His eyebrows raised in approval. Another swig. Leaning back in his chair, he inhaled, looking to his left to watch the bullpen out of his office window. He spotted you carrying case files back to your desk, engrossed in conversation with Reid.

He sighed, his attention turning back to his desk, pausing before opening the drawer next to him. His fingers hovered over a brown envelope, picking it up and sliding the contents of it out in front of him. Taking a breath and another swig of tea, Hotch picked back up his pen and signed his name on the dotted line.

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watermelongirl01 · 6 months ago

Text

The Tattoo

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: Your first humankind case reveals a new Hotchner´s side you didn´t know.

Content Warning: Flirty Hotch, Homicide description, Abuse, Rape, Violence, Triggering situations. (Please let me know if I let something out.)

Note: This is my version of the episode "Jones" in the early seasons, I changed a lot of the things but not all of them, It is just how I would've liked the case to be in my opinion, and obviously added a bunch of other things to fit the thread of my story, like Jason Gideon not being there. I hope you like it.

“Short stuff, are you ready?”

“Nope”

“Come on, you’re going to be just fine.” Morgan gifted you a reassuring smile.

This was your first time filling in for a member of the group. Normally it wasn’t necessary, but the team was reduced to four. Emily was on mandatory vacation and JJ stayed at home to take care of a sick Henry, so now your presence was requested.

“It’s not what I’m used to.”

“No it’s not, but you are a great agent and will do just fine.” He said gently squeezing your arm. “You will charm them all.”

“Of course I will, there is no doubt.” You smiled back.

“Let’s go then.”

You both walked to the briefing room where the rest of the team was waiting, Morgan quickly walked to the empty chair In front of you, slightly pushing you to the side, leaving you with no option but to sit next to Hotch, not that you minded but lately all the members of the team have been acting a little weird.

You looked at Morgan with a questioning look but he completely ignored you and lowered his gaze to read the case files.

“We have a serial killer in New Orleans. Two men’s dead bodies were found over the last month, and a third body was found last night, the same MO, male, throat slashed, they were all found in semi-public places in the French Quarter.” You heard Penelope explain. “The local police have no leads and no suspects so far, Mike Weller, the head detective is waiting for you.”

Hotch nodded and looked at everyone in the room. “Wheels up in thirty.” He said before disappearing out the door.

—

When arriving, Hotch sent you and Reid to the forensic lab to examine the body.

“No hesitation marks.” You said pointing to the terrible wounds.

Spencer nodded. “Cuts are methodical and almost procedural.”

The forensic doctor looked at both of you. “The person who did this definitely had medical training, there’s no other way he could have done this.”

“He?” You glaze up to the doctor.

“No defensive wounds and took out pretty big men.” You frowned. “Although all the toxicology tests showed signs of alcohol.”

“Any relatives came to claim the body?” Spencer asked.

The doctor nodded. “His wife came with his former colleague.” Both of you looked at him with a confused expression. “He was a retired officer.”

“The lead detective didn’t say anything about that.”

“I’m not surprised, he wasn’t popular at all, he had a reputation for being a dirty cop.”

“I’ll call Garcia.” You said getting your phone out.

But suddenly Spencer’s phone began to ring and he immediately answered. “Where? Okay, we’ll be there.” He looked at you as he got off the phone. “Another body was found, call her on the way there.”

—

“Same MO.” Morgan informed. “Some people saw him leave the bar down the street.”

“So, he was drunk just like the other victim.” You said while eyeing the Weller. “Do we know his profession?”

“Does it matter?” He asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

You step aside standing closer to him and shrugging your shoulders. “Humor me, detective.”

Detective Weller side-eyed you but nodded. “He was a well-known lawyer.”

“I see.” You crossed your arms while raising an eyebrow. “You forgot to mention that the fourth victim was a cop who used to work at your police station.”

“I don’t think it is relevant to the case.” Weller huffed.

“Well, we don’t know that yet.” You insisted. “Do we?”

The BAU men were looking at your disagreement with confusion, and suddenly a strong back wearing a gray and elegant suit got in between, blocking your vision. It took only a few seconds to recognize that it belonged to Hotchner.

“We would like to have access to all of the information available, it’s vital to be able to get the unsub’s profile.“ You heard Aaron talking to the detective.

“Sure, Agent Hotchner.” After Weller left the crime scene, Hotch turned around to see you.

“You are riding with me.” Hotch left the place hurriedly making you roll your eyes and toss your keys at Spencer.

You manage to keep up with Hotch’s pace and climb up on the SUV, some minutes passed and neither of you talked, but you got tired of the unbearable silence.

“If you’re going to scold me, just do it now.”

“I’m not.”

“Hotch he was in the wrong, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.” You shot him a puzzled look.

“Then why get in the middle of my conversation?”

”Because that wasn’t a conversation, he was starting to raise his voice.”

“I can take it, Hotchner.”

“I know you can, doesn’t mean I want you to.” You felt how your facial expression softened at his comment. “Listen, some of these detectives think we are here to make them look bad, they feel threatened.”

You rolled your eyes. “How are their insecurities my fault?”

Hotch chuckled a bit. “They are not, just go easy on them so we can keep the case.”

—

You, Hotch, and Spencer stayed at the precinct to read all the new information about the victims while Rossi and Morgan left to talk with the new possible witnesses. Currently, you are on your third cup of coffee and your fifth case file.

“I can’t believe we were missing all this information.” You hissed.

“Simmer down.” Hotch murmured.

You looked at the evidence board leaning against the table, focusing on the victim's photos, and frowning when looking closer.

“Oh.”

“You found something new?” Spencer asked.

“Hmm, have you seen that all the victims have tattoos?” Both men got closer to look at the photos.

“Well actually, in some religions tattoos are forbidden because they think of the body as a temple.” Spencer babbled and immediately stood up from his chair. “Some other religions even think that if you get a tattoo, you’re not allowed in heaven.”

“Really?” A look of confusion crossed your face.

Spencer quickly nodded while pointing up with his finger. “You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor tattoo any marks on you: I am the Lord. Leviticus 19:28.” He added.

“So, we think this is a religious matter?” You asked.

“It could be a coincidence. Let’s ask Garcia if she can find something about it.” Spencer took his phone and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone, looking at the board side to side.

“Well, that’s concerning. You know, some tattoos are meant to protect you.”

Hotch turned his head towards you. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this kind of tattoos that are protection symbols, usually hunters get them.”

“You have one?” Hotch’s upright posture was visibly shaken.

“I'm no hunter.” You said before walking back to the table, Hotch following you. “But yes, I do have one.”

“I’ve never seen a tattoo on you.” Hotch frowns

“That´s because it’s not in a visible spot.” You giggled while turning your back on Hotch to take out another stack of files.

Hotch’s eyes were found unconsciously roaming over your body. He had seen you in the summer, in short skirts and tiny tops, or with risky cleavages, hell he even had seen you in your pajamas when you shared a hotel room once or twice, but he never noticed any tattoos. That can only mean one last place.

Hotch knew you were busy getting the files so his eyes ended up going down your back to your ass, He was positive your tattoo was on your hip or ass.

You could feel Hotch’s eyes going down and up your body, You even turned your back on him longer than needed, so he could linger his sight on you even longer. Anyone could’ve said it was just Hotch’s curiosity but you saw that tiny shade of lust, sparkle in his eyes for a brief moment when you mentioned you having a tattoo.

You turned your body in a slow move and caught him still hypnotized by your body. “Looking for something Hotch?”

“Hips or ass, agent?” He asked with a straight face but his voice showed a hint of playfulness. He was teasing you.

The question made you smirk. “You’re not gonna hear it from me, you’re going to need to find out in another way, Sir.”

But before he could open his mouth to speak, Spencer came back to the room with bad news.

“Another body appeared, no tattoo.”

–

“Body number five, we can barely keep up with this guy.” you heard in the distance.

“Do we know who he is?” Hotch asked.

“Since it matters so much, His friend says he is a salesman.” Weller said, sending a nasty look at you. “No connection.”

“Detective Weller, I would appreciate it if your answer were directed at me. When I ask a question.” Hotch replied.

Weller huffed with irritation and you thought you heard him grumble something, but you’re not sure if he was agreeing with Hotch or cursing you under his breath. “We have five bodies, Agent Hotchner, and no correlation.”

“Okay, all victims were partying late at night with their friends and killed in the alley with no one noticing, how did the unsub manage to get them alone?” Hotch looked at his team, they were all lost in thoughts.

“A woman.” Detective Weller's mocking laughter echoed in the room.

“Let her finish.” It only took the look on Hotch’s eyes to harden, to force Weller to shut up.

“What is the only temptation for a straight man that’s going to lure him away from his friends and make him leave the bar?” Your expecting eyes were moving around glancing at your team’s faces.

“A woman.” Rossi repeated while nodding his head.

Hotch turned on his heels and looked at the detective. “Gather your men, we are ready to give a profile.”

—

“Ready?” Hotch whispered in your ear, making the baby hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of his voice.

“What?” You whispered back feeling numb by his closeness.

“Ready to give the profile?”

“Hotch, I’ve never gi-.” Your voice trails off. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

“It is.” He assured you pushing you to the side and walking to the room full of cops.

Lost in your thoughts you barely felt two hands holding your arms from behind, giving you a light squeeze. “You got this, Kid.” Rossi left your side and followed Hotch in the other precinct's room.

You sighed and took a deep breath. This was your first time profiling a human case, not covering up supernatural events or rehearsing made-up stories. This felt different, good different.

You walked confidently and stood in the middle of the room surrounded by your team.

“We are looking for a woman between 30 and 35, she’s friendly, she’ll lure with charm but kill with rage.” You began your speech, feeling every pair of eyes looking at you with attention. “We believe she kills men to reclaim her power.”

“She probably suffers from low self-esteem but covers it well.” You heard Morgan's voice.

“We believe this woman went through a catastrophic event, that’s when the killing started.” Rossi pointed.

“She has medical training, you should consider EMTs, doctors, or veterinarians.”

“It’s more likely we are dealing with the Aileen Wournos archetype, motivated by paranoia and fear, luring men with sex.” Spencer added.

“She certainly knows the terrain, so be careful out there.” Hotch remarked.

A couple of hours later after the profile, Detective Weller came in a hurry with a piece of paper in an evidence bag.

“Forensics found a letter on the victim's body.” He said handing it over to Hotch. “She’s mocking us.”

“Dear boss, he wanted it. With that sharp tongue and vulgar hand. I thought you’d like to know that another will soon get what he deserves.

Yours truly.”

“That 's weird.” All eyes searched Spencer’s voice. “Typically offenders write letters to be heard. Jack the Ripper bragged about not being caught yet this Unsub isn’t using correspondence to flaunt her latest kill. Only to explain why she did it.” He explained while moving his hands around.

“It’s possible that she considers herself a vigilante. That the man she’s killing deserves to die.” Rossi blurted.

“Then, every kill she’s acting out is a fantasy of revenge or a real revenge?” Everyone in the room returned to their thoughts wondering at Morgan’s question.

You shifted in your place with uncertainty. “Maybe she is contacting us not because we are on the case, but because she believes we understand.” With fingers tapping against the wood, you began to unravel the tiny hints in the letter. “The Unsub wrote, He wanted it as she couldn’t help herself. What if she’s mirroring the man who raped her?”

”Where are the files stored from your Sex Crimes Division?” Hotch looked at Weller’s direction.

The detective stepped out of the room momentarily and returned with a medium-sized carton box with a few files that barely stuck out of the box. “Here they are.”

“That 's it?” You let out with a surprised tone of voice.

After several hours of trying to match your profile with any file in the box, you were exhausted. You decided to take a quick break and enter the bathroom, You locked yourself inside one of the bathroom booths and sighed while your hands held your head.

The sound of the door being opened ripped you out of your pessimistic thoughts. Suddenly a hand left a piece of paper report at your feet, leaving you uncertain on what to do. You tried to thank the person but, you were answered with fast footsteps leaving the place.

You took the paper and read in a whispered voice, Disturbance at Jones.

“Care to tell us what happened then, detective?” Hotch asked.

Detective Weller shifted in his seat with discomfort. “How did you know about this incident?”

“It was in the box you gave us, Weller.” Morgan said while leaning against the wall, looking directly at Weller.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you misplaced it, who cares?” You argued.

He looked at you with disdain. Aaron couldn’t help himself and stepped closer to you showing protection. “This happened when the head detective before me was in charge, I took some of the declarations but that’s it.”

You smirked with satisfaction Knowing you were right all along. “The detective before you as our third victim?” He nodded.

“What happened there, detective?”

“One of the boys asked her if she wanted to play pool. Witnesses claim she was up for anything. His friend, not far behind.“ All the eyes were on him. “He claims she knew he was there, She said she claimed for help but not a single person claimed that they heard her.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

He continued, “That’s why it was registered as a disturbance. She wanted to press charges. But the head detective back then told her it was a waste of time.”

“How is this just a disturbance?” Rossi asked, frowning at Weller.

“As far as I was concerned, no such rape ever took place, and the boy was a colleague’s son, he is a good boy.”

Something in your stomach twisted and anger started to build up.

“We are trying to know her name; she could be our Unsub.” Morgan pointed out. Weller sighed when this realization dawned on him, but he slightly shook his head as he was ashamed of not knowing the answer.

But you were sure shame wasn’t a feeling men like that could understand.

“You don’t remember her name?“ Morgan asked with incredulity.

“It was nine years ago.”

“What about the name of the good kid that raped her?” You bickered.

“Mr. Tibideaux, we need you to answer a few questions about a disturbance you were involved with.“ Hotch’s voice resonated inside the four walls of the interrogation room.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Disgust appeared in your face, but you hid it by biting your tongue. You didn’t know why Hotch asked you to be there, but you hated every minute of it.

“At a bar called Jones, It was Mardi Gras.” Hotch reminded him.

“You know, then I must’ve been drinking or something. Cause I don’t remember a thing.”

With your feet tapping the floor, you were counting the seconds to be able to leave the room and be away from the so-called good boy.

“We just need to know the name of your accuser.” Hotch demanded. If he was annoyed there was no way to know.

“Look, I told you. I don’t know what you are talking about”

You roughly massaged your right temple, fuming.

”The statute of limitations is up, we just need a name.” He added calmly.

“Someone accuses me of rape, I’m gonna remember her name.” You taunted.

“Well, what can I tell you, Cher? I guess she didn’t make that good of an impression.“

Your eyes narrowed dismissively.

”Unlike yourself right now.” You retorted.

“You know. I’m guessing if someone did do something to that girl that night then she was probably asking for it. Maybe even liked it.”

You controlled the urge to smash his head against the table and abruptly took the file out of Hotch’s hands, you opened it and began to display all the victim's photos in front of him.

“You know Hotch, maybe we are not too late, she murdered these men and I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before she works her way back to the one she really wants to kill.” You tilted your head to look at him but he was busy looking at the pictures with a horrified look. “Is she making an impression now?

Your words suggested you were talking to Hotch but your sight was set on the other man in the room.

“You don’t want to tell us, fine.” You snickered. “Cause Daddy can’t make this go away, and I have no problem waiting for your dead body to give me a new hint.”

You leaned closer, you didn’t have to talk anymore, you knew your eyes were saying enough. But you continued.

“In fact, I wouldn’t like anything else, so I’m gonna go ahead and set my alarm for tomorrow morning when I get the call from the police.” You ranted. “Cause, believe me, I’m going to sleep better knowing there is one less offender out of the streets.”

After hearing the name you needed, you stormed out of the room leaving everyone behind without looking back until you heard a voice calling for you.

“That was out of line, agent.” You abruptly stopped and turned on your heels to look at Weller.

“The only thing out of line is how pathetic you are at doing your job, Weller.” You turned back at him one more time and kept waking till reaching a quiet corner to make a phone call.

“Work me.” You hear Penelope’s voice on your phone.

“We have a name. Sarah Danlin. I need an address.”

“1141 Sherman Avenue. It looks like she was a med student at Tulane but she dropped out.”

“Let me guess, February nine years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

You returned to the hotel room by Hotchner’s request, and you knew he was in the right to send you back, you got carried away by your emotions.

You were a mess. Closing your room door, you let your emotions overpower you once more. Tears were falling down your face. You weren’t sure what you were feeling. No one ever prepared you for this kind of case, you felt powerless, empty, and lost. And finally, rage possessed your emotions.

You tossed glasses and trails of empty dishes, and your luggage and clothes flew around the room until your energy and strength gave up and tiredness reached you.

You are sure the hotel staff let Hotch know, cause he kept checking with you constantly. He let you know when they arrested her and how she told them she killed every man who helped cover up her abuse.

You heard your door being open and looked at Hotchner with a questioning look when you saw him standing there.

“How did you open my door?”

He showed you his key. “We are sharing.”

You frowned. “Since when?”

“Since now, there has been an unexpected cut in the budget.” You nodded knowing it was a lie and he probably wanted to check on you. But you said nothing.

“Some things fall by themselves, I think there’s a ghost.” You said when you caught him looking at the mess on the floor.

“I think you can manage that.”

He left his duffel bag on the floor and sat next to you on the bed.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

That simple question was enough to break your strong façade. It was a question you normally have no problem answering with a lie, and you didn’t know if it was the situation or just because Hotch was the one asking. But it brought you down to tears.

He took you in his arms and hugged you tight.

“I’m sorry.”

“It 's okay.” He softly mumbled on your head reassuring you. “You said what you needed to say.”

You quickly shook your head.

“I meant it.” You sniffled. “I was willing to wait.”

“I know.” He said while caressing your back with soothing movements.

“So, normally you have to deal with these detectives making your job impossible?”

“Yeah, all the time.” He chuckled.

“God, it’s exhausting.” You laugh a little

“You don’t?”

“No, they basically beg me to take the case out of their hands.”

Hotch sighed. “You need to learn new methods for the interrogation.” He searched for your eyes. “I mean, only if you want to keep coming to these cases with us, you want to?”

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“You are a profiler now, welcome to the team.”

Back in Quantico, you were getting ready to leave your office when you got a call from an unknown number. You hesitated but finally answered after letting it ring for a couple of seconds.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean?” You frowned looking back at the number.

“We need a little bit of help.” Reality sank on you.

“Tell me you are not calling from where I think you are calling.”

“Agent Henriksen got to us.”

“Damn it, Dean, How the heck did he manage to do that?”

“Bella Talbot.”

“That bitch again?” You sighed. “Where are you?”

“Colorado.”

“I’m on my way.”

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marilynthornhilllover · 10 months ago

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I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me,

Emily. P x Jennifer. J x Fem!Reader

Warning: talk of drug consumption, reader is high, mood swings, use of guns (weed) , bad flirting, mommy kink, praise kink, teasing, cringe kiss etc .

A/n: I saw that new jennifer and emily episode where Emily was high and they were so cute! Had to make a fic😌

It was that quite long awaited time of the year where criminal agents are given two weeks off from work. You were beyond exhausted but nevertheless was very happy to finally be able to take off your FBI vest and feeling relieved that you won't have to be picking it up for another week or so.

You soon realized that you literally didn't have plans arranged for the upcoming two weeks ahead, or even tonight. Everyone was pairing up as they packed up their office stuff and headed out. Spencer and Derek laughed and gave eachother a high five as they made their way downstairs to sign out while Emily and jj were already giggling about some random joke as they continued to pack up.

You nervously decided to walk up to them standing in the corridor like a shadow making sure not to seem creepy— but maybe you were doing the opposite. Ever since you joined the team, yes you did make friends but no one ever went the extra mile to offer to hang out with you. Only Emily would now and then eat lunch with you at her desk.

Jennifer wasn't bad either, she did offer to help you with a case file once, you went over to her house which you complimented her for the cozy interior, and yes the boys were also good to you but on a employee holiday like this no one was paying any attention whatsoever to you. They already plans of their own.

You on the other hand, had none, all you were gonna do was shower, eat, sleep and repeat for the next week or so. Nothing productive, not as if you had anything to do either. Prentiss and Mantegna had insisted that someone help you with case files so its not as if you have a major cade to crack over the holiday.

You were as free as a bird and your energetic self needed something to reinforce that energy into. If you could have went on a cruise for two weeks you definitely would have.

Emily scoffed at Jennifer's joke before turning around and spotting you cuddled up in the corner like a little mouse. She tilted her head to the side before approaching you with a warm smile.

" hey hon, you got any plans for the holiday?" She asked chewing a piece of gum that she had been for the entire day — somtimes you wonder if any flavour at all is still existence in it.

" uhh nope, but I'll sure my couch has plans for me though" you said sarcastically and of course she laughed, because Emily laughs at anything and everything which you did find cute. Emily always made sure that she kept everyone at a level where they felt at their absolute best when around her.

She was never mean to anyone really. Always funny, ambitious, smart and talented she was everything. Sometimes her aura was just too high, but she was always still approachable and not prideful.

Emily was like one of those drugs that you couldn't stop using because it feels too good, and when you do take it, it altars with your entire brain function and chemistry.

And speaking of chemistry, that was something you and Emily had alot of. Everytime her eyes made contact with yours, you felt as if your body was thrown into the deepest pits of hell. You'd get shivers everytime she passed you or called you a pet name. You'd go completely weak in your knees when she made the littlest amount of psychical contact with your skin — it was absolutely ridiculous just how easily she could get under your skin.

Or the time when you were making coffee in the kitchen and she needed to grab something from the top shelf and she moved you by putting her hands on your hips, with her chest pressed so closely against your back with face by your neck.

Emily made you question things. You knew you always had a thing for older women, always, since highschool and it never seemed to go away. And Emily was exactly your type, you just weren't sure if she felt the same way in return and you didn't wanna ruin the amazing friendship you both had by letting your stupid emotions and hormones get the best of yourself.

" well I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself, JJ and I are hooking up at her place tonight for snacks and a movie" she placed hands on her hips are she turned to look at jj who was texting away on her phone before turning back to you. You gaved her a akward smile, before a breathy nervous laugh escaped your mouth.

" hooking up huh" you saw as her eye brows quirked before a sly smile came into evidence on her face and quickly glanced at Jennifer who was now angrily texting before taking a step closer towards you, closing the the last gap space that was there. Her body heat and perfume over took your senses making your breath hitch.

You pressed your palm against her chest sneaking a quick glance at jj and the camera above. Emily was looking at you with a teasing smirk, she leaned down besides your ear and whispered.

" do wanna hook up with me as well?" She pulled back to see the reaction on your face and just as she imagined it was absolutely priceless. She chuckled before pulling away completely.

" oh my God emily would you leave poor y/n alone, let's go already" Jennifer said with a tint of exhaustion and annoyance her voice. Emily chuckled before gently caressing your cheek. The both women waved you goodbye before departing and going their way.

You sighed before picking up your bag and leaving, you locked your office door and went home. You did decided to walk with a few case files home and evidence objects to keep yourself busy during the holiday to stop yourself from going insane from the intense boredom you were prone to have.

— — — —

Emily and Jennifer had just sat down and were about to enjoy their late afternoon with wine and salt and vinegar chips when a continuation of loud knocking could be heard on jj's front door. Both women looked at eachother with utter confusion on their faces — the weren't expecting anyone. Jennifer decided to get up and go check the door, Emily following closely behind with her hand placed tightly on her gun.

The door bell soon started ringing along with the knocks which triggered Jennifer even more. Unlocking the door Jennifer threw it open, not caring what stood on the opposite side of it, after all emily was ready to protect her best friend at all cost, even if it meant shooting someone in their foor.

" if I had my way I swear I would—" as soon as she saw you she stopped talking, her eye brows quirked as she squinted her eyes to make a better appearance of your face in the dim moon light. Emily let out a soft sigh when she saw you but quickly went back into a state of worry at the same time.

Now you had both women wondering what you were doing at their house.

" y/n? I didn't know you were coming over, did Emily invite you?" Jennifer turned around hoping to get a confirmation nod from Emily but she shook her head and pursed her lips, letting her know she was just as confused as her.

" Well aren't you guys a bit rude, aren't you gonna invite me in?" You muttered but before they could react you let yourself in. You carefully walked down the long fancy corridor switching off some lights on your way because they made your eyes burn, making your way to the living room area, having knowing your way around jj's house since the last two times you were there.

You stumbled over the coffee table and landed right onto the sofa, face first with a soft groan. You dropped the ziplock bag of cheese puffs you had brought onto the floor.

She walked up to you and you and sat beside you on the couch, she picked you up by both your forearms and made you look at her.

Both women side eyed eachother, both in desperate need to know what on God's green earth was going on. Jennifer leaned against the wall to further scrutinize you. Emily on the other hand was just worried how you got here on your own with no car or phone.

" hey y/n sweetie are you..... drunk?" Her voice sounded like when water got into a phone speaker and you tried to play a song— you couldn't understand it. You rubbed your eyes and glanced at the table to which your face instantly lit up when you saw the salt and vinegar lays chips.

You grabbed them ferociously then took out some chopsticks you had stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans and started eating the chips. At this point both women were flabbergasted, mouths open, jaws dropped. Jennifer took a deep breath before she turned around and went to her fridge to grab you a drink to help you sober up because it was crystal clear that you were beyond drunk, drunk was an understatement.

" what time is it?" You suddenly asked putting the chips down and dusting off your hands.

" time for some hydration, here you go" Jennifer said as she passed you a bottle of cold cranberry juice. Once again your face lit up like a child on Christmas day.

" ohhhh, it's got what plants crave!" You exclaimed. The look on Jennifer's face when you said that was priceless as Emily silently continued to look at you with a completely blanket stare.

You placed the bottle of juice at the side of your head as if it was an ice pack and burped. You cleared your throat before speaking up again.

" have you guys seen that movie! Idiot city!.... wait city Idiot... wait... yeah" it's like your body was replaced with a child's and this called for huge concern. Emily sighed heavily and took the bottle from your hand.

" Idiocracy?" Jennifer whispered and you nodded.

" I knew I liked you! Ohhh, I and on my way here I saw a cat jumping off your house roof then it turned into a dog and flew away as a mosquito" you said before the loudest laugh took you over that you almost started crying.

Emily whispered " oh good lord" before she shook her head, Jennifer was still completely and totally lost for words. Jennifer had a feeling that being drunk would not cause someone to behave like this— well of course she knew, she's a profiler. She had a feeling you were high, but she didn't want you to act out and she would need proof for Emily because knowing her she wouldn't believe for a minute you would do drugs.

" umm y/n what's in the bag?" Jennifer asked and your eyebrows quirked, you placed your finger at you ear urging her to repeat even though she was so damn close to you.

" What's in the bag" she repeated as she dragged her words this time. You shrugged.

" I don't know what time the supermarket closes" emily stood up and walked towards to kitchen to grab her phone, you had the agent stressed. Jennifer just took it upon herself to grab the bag of " cheese puffs" before she walked towards emily.

" look I know you may not believe but I have a pretty good feeling that, that girl right there is literally the profound definition of what we call high" emily scoffed.

" Oh come on, she probably had too much wine I mean weren't we just about to drink wine as well?" She restated trying to convince Jennifer, but honestly to this rate she just couldn't, Jennifer was already convinced from her own opinion.

" emily elizabeth prentiss which wine do you know makes someone this drunk?" Jennifer asked, emphasizing on the last two words of her sentence. Emily shrugged before looking back at you, who was now sniffing the air every two seconds like a curious dog. Jennifer rolled her eyes before opening the bag of cheese puffs and taking a sniff.

She gaged before pulling away quickly.

" this smells like straight up weed!" She swiftly turned to let Emily have a sniff, to which Emily pulled away as well. Jennifer closed the bag and turned it around where there was writing in black. " DO NOT OPEN, CONTAINS CASE 101 EVIDENCE".

" you ate the case evidence! Oh my god!" Jennifer looked like she was going to erupt like a volcano and her high pitched tone of voice was making your head hurt and ears ring.

" I was hungry, and I didn't know that they were edibles" you whispered as you squinted your eyes since it was getting harder to see. Jennifer looked at you in disbelief as she turned to Emily for back up. Before Emily could utter a word Jennifer was already furious.

" Emily, don't even! She basically ate the entire bag!" She shouted. She saided pacing the room with her fingers gently massaging her temple to calm her.

" what are we gonna tell hotch, or even worst David" Jennifer covered her face with her both her hands before leaning over the kitchen counter.

" Well I mean, she probably just ate the backup stash, it should be fine, we should really be worrying about is her health" emily muttered scratching her head. Jennifer looked up at emily as her jaw dropped.

" your defending her?!" Emily raised her hands in defense but before she could reply Jennifer took the chance.

" I seriously cannot believe you right now!" Jennifer once again, started pacing the room, this time even more quicker.

" Oh come on jj, what are the odds that people make silly mistakes like these?" Jennifer stopped, and looked at emily with wide eyes.

" Well with the odds as high as her I'd say zero!" She said angrily before picking up her phone.

Emily sighed before looking over at you who was now eating the chips and gnawing your teeth wildly making crumbs fall all over the place. In a way Emily felt bad for you, mostly pity because she knew what you did was down right stupid but Jennifer was being a tadbit too harsh on you in your current position — knowing you couldn't properly comprehend the situation or what was going on.

" ok I'll take her home and we can speak to the team about this tomorrow when y/n is a better state of mind, ok?" Emily said in a reassuring voice. Jennifer sighed in frustration before biting her lip and nodding approvingly.

Emily carefully picked you up off the couch and wrapped her arm around your waist as she insisted to take you home safely. Her body warmth was comforting and her perfume was like a lullaby putting you to sleep this time. You melted in her embrace as she took you outside.

Your vision was blurred and the cold air on your skin — although you had a jacket on, was making you shiver. Seeing this emily hugged you tighter. She opened the door to her wagon and assisted you into the passenger seat and putting on your seat belt for you. You looked at her, she looked like one of those ancient paintings,the ones you can't withdraw your eyes from, the Renaissance ones.

You weren't sure if maybe it was the drugs or the hormones that came after taking the drugs but you felt the need to kiss emily, your eyes flicked down to her lips that were slightly parted as she concentrated on getting the seatbelt to adjust to your liking. Her smooth skin and wrinkled lines that ran across her forehead and eye line area, her little cute eye bags from all the hard work she does.

You couldn't resist the urge, she was a drug, she was your drug. You licked your lips and leaned in. Your lips connected with hers in a slow soft kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Emily didn't pull away, she was surprised yes, but she didn't pull away. Emily couldn't cover up the feeling she felt for you but she also didn't want to take advantage of your drunken state.

Taking it that she was enjoying it as much as you, you tried to force your tongue into her mouth but that's when she pulled away. Your brows furrowed and for a moment the drugs may have returned your common sense and you realized what you did — what you were trying to do. And soon the embarrassment and cringe settled in.

" sorry, oh God I'm so stupid!" You whispered as you fought back tears, you covered your face with both hands and started sobbing. Emily sprinted around to the drivers seat to comfort you. She gently peeled your hands away from your face, holding your palms in hers she caressed them with her knuckles softly. You sniffed and shook your head in denial before looking out the window.

" hey, sweetheart look at me please" her voice was as soft as an angel and so gentle as if you were something valuable that could be broken, that's something you loved about emily, she was so comforting in all circumstances, no matter what. She placed her hand under your jaw and turned you to look at her. She stared at you with her cute Bambi eyes so filled of love, and she so badly wanted to say " I love you" but she knew you wouldn't be able to comprehend them.

" look y/n, i wanna— kiss you back but I can't. That doesn't mean I don't want to, I just want you to be able to give me your full sober concent." She spoke as slowly and clearly as possible so you won't misinterpret anything.

" and your not stupid, we all make mistakes my love. Once I accidentally— well I got drunk the morning of my Law exams and failed them, and that did set me at a disadvantage for my career but I still made it into this job" she continued to rub your knuckles and wip every tear that fell from your eyes.

" and this joke takes y/n, but it also gives.... it gave—" she took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. " it gave me you." Hearing these words made your heart flutter souly. Your little smile came across your face which emily mirrored.

" now, my sweet girl, my I take you home?" She spoke in a old French accent waving her hand a fancy motion, You both laughed until you were out of air. after the laughter died down She chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh squeezing the tender flesh which made your breath hitch.

The drive home was long but certainly not quiet at all, you and Emily blasted high 2000s music all the way until she arrived at your home. You knew there was gonna be alot to discuss the next day but you should be fine once you have emily by your side.

#law and order svu #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #fypシ゚viral #fanfic #love #tw drugs #smut fanfiction #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #billie eilish #slow burn #kisses

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whosscruffylooking · 22 days ago

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The Purest Things: Magic

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: Murder. Blood. Death. Weapons. Canon typical violence. Everything that makes Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds. The Purest Things Masterlist | Taglist Form

au! sept 2010

Six months have passed since Haley’s death.

Time hasn’t softened the ache — not for Aaron, and not for you. But life has a way of moving forward, even when your heart feels stuck somewhere behind you.

At Quantico, you and Aaron cross paths only in passing. His eyes find yours sometimes in the hallways or during joint briefings, but the look never lingers long enough to be called anything more than habit. If anyone else notices the way his gaze strays when you speak, they don’t mention it.

Your transfer to another unit has kept you busy — new cases, a different rhythm you’ve tried your best to settle into. You keep your head down, working late more often than not, finding comfort in the steady flow of paperwork and case reports that give you no room to think about anything else.

When weekends arrive, you let the girls drag you out on bar crawls — a tradition you’ve all kept alive as long as your schedules allow it. JJ orders the first round, Emily talks you into shots you know you’ll regret, and Garcia insists on stealing the jukebox to play the sappiest ballads she can find. By the time you’re three drinks in, you’re laughing louder than you should, letting their warmth and noise drown out the ache you never quite shake.

But you still wake up most mornings thinking of Aaron — his hand curling around your wrist that day at the cemetery, his voice low and pleading when he’d said, Don’t let this be final.

Most nights, you dream of him. And when you wake, there’s no laughter loud enough to quiet the longing that follows.

At the BAU, Aaron resumes his position as Unit Chief with the same unwavering focus he’s always carried, but the cracks are harder to hide now. The team sees it in the way he remains too long at his desk, staying late when there’s nothing left to finish. In the quiet moments, when he thinks no one’s looking, they catch him rubbing the bridge of his nose or staring at his phone like he’s willing it to ring.

Morgan keeps trying to draw him into conversations — sports, weekend plans, whatever feels easy — but Aaron always offers some clipped reply, returning to his files before anyone can press further.

And it’s you they notice him miss most.

He still pauses when someone mentions your name, his hand stalling mid-signature or his eyes flicking just a little too fast to the doorway, like he half-expects you to walk through it.

“Have you talked to her?” Rossi asks one evening, stepping into Aaron’s office long after the others have gone home.

Aaron doesn’t look up from the file in front of him. “She’s busy,” he says — too quickly, too practiced.

“She’s avoiding you,” Rossi corrects. “And you’re letting her.”

Aaron closes the file with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. He knows Rossi’s right — knows you’ve been pulling away, but he doesn’t know how to reach for you without asking for more than he should.

“She thinks she’s in the way,” Aaron says finally. His voice is quieter than usual, thinner. “That she’s… taking something that doesn’t belong to her.”

“Is that what you think?” Rossi’s voice softens.

Aaron’s answer is slow — measured, as though saying it aloud makes it too real.

“I think…” He stops, his eyes drifting to the empty space where your desk used to be before you transferred. “I think I let her believe that because it was easier than asking her to stay.”

“You’re still wearing your ring,” Rossi points out.

Aaron’s thumb drifts toward his left hand, his fingers absently tracing the band still resting there.

“I know.”

The admission carries something hollow — something that feels too close to giving up.

“You don’t have to be ready for more,” Rossi says carefully. “But you can’t spend the rest of your life pretending you don’t miss her.”

Aaron doesn’t answer. He just stares at his empty doorway, wondering how much longer he can stand waiting for you to walk through it.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Four more months pass — just as empty as the last — but the emptiness feels calmer now, something you’ve grown used to carrying. Work fills the spaces where memories used to linger, and the ache that once felt unbearable has dulled into something you can manage.

That is, until your unit is assigned to work alongside the BAU on a case in California.

The moment you step into the precinct, your eyes are drawn to Aaron’s like a moth to a flame — inevitable, instinctual.

You pull your gaze away and make a beeline for your team’s designated space, burying yourself in the case files you’d been too anxious to review on the plane. If you keep busy, maybe you can forget the way his eyes lingered — or how yours had so easily��found his in the first place.

“Ahem.”

You know that voice — and you know exactly what’s coming. Eyes closing, you draw a slow breath before turning in your chair.

Emily stands behind you, arms crossed, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.

“So,” she drawls, “are you two gonna need a mediator or…?” Her eyes flick pointedly between you and Aaron.

“I’m going to say hi,” you mutter.

“Well, you better do it soon,” she warns. “I’m trying to get this case wrapped up, and whether you like it or not, you and Hotch make magic together on cases like this — so I kinda need you two to… interact.”

“Fine,” you groan, pushing your chair back with more force than necessary.

Emily follows you to where the team is gathered, their greetings warm and familiar — a reminder of the life you left behind. But it’s Aaron who stands just behind them. He’s watching you, his gaze unwavering like he’s been waiting for this moment.

You force yourself to meet his eyes and suddenly it’s harder to breathe.

“Hotch,” you manage, extending your hand.

His fingers close around yours, and there it is again, that same jolt you felt months ago when he caught your wrist. His touch feels both too much and not enough, a reminder of everything you’ve tried to suppress.

You pull your hand back too quickly, your pulse hammering. His eyes soften, noticing your hesitation.

“It’s good to see you,” he says quietly, his voice gentle in a way that makes it impossible not to believe him.

“You too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright,” Emily interjects, giving you both a deliberate nudge forward. “Time to get on it.”

“Emily,” you snap, shooting her a glare.

“What?” she shrugs, feigning innocence. “When I called to brief your team, I suggested we could use your insight on this case. They’re tied up with something else.”

“You talked to my team without me?” you ask, incredulous. Your gaze flicks to Aaron for some sign that this wasn’t entirely her doing.

“It’s my job to listen to my team’s suggestions,” he says with a faint shrug, though the hint of a smile betrays him. “And Emily suggested she be the one to brief your unit.”

Your eyes narrow. “So you all were in on this?”

Aaron doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away — just offers you a look so steady, so sincere, that your breath falters.

“We missed you,” he says quietly. Just that — simple, honest — like the words had been sitting in his chest for months, waiting for a moment like this.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The conference room is a mess of evidence boards and scattered files, agents murmuring over theories that keep twisting back on themselves. Hours have bled away, and the case feels like it’s fraying at the edges leads unraveling faster than they can be tied back together.

You stand at the far end of the table, scanning the timeline on the whiteboard. Aaron is beside you, arms crossed, brow furrowed. The others keep their distance, quietly observing the familiar rhythm between you...the way you both lean into the silence, minds spinning in tandem.

“Look here,” you reveal, dragging your finger across a series of dates. “The victims... there’s a pattern, but it’s not by location. It’s timing.”

Hotch steps closer, following your hand. “Every fifth day,” he says under his breath, as if reading your thoughts.

“Exactly,” you nod, reaching for a map. “He’s not choosing places at random — he’s moving outward in a spiral. Expanding his comfort zone.”

Hotch grabs a marker, circling points on the map. “If this pattern holds, he’s heading west. The next attack…”

“Santa Rosa,” you finish.

He turns his head sharply, meeting your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, and there’s a trace of something light in his voice — something the team hasn’t heard in months.

As you both sweep out of the room, the others exchange quiet looks.

“Did you see that?” JJ murmurs, her smile small but unmistakable.

“I’ll be damned,” Rossi sighs with a chuckle. “I almost forgot what that looked like.”

Emily leans against the doorframe, watching as Aaron walks beside you — something easier in his posture, his usual stoic presence eased by your presence.

“He’s different with her,” Emily says, more to herself than anyone else.

“Yeah,” Morgan agrees, folding his arms. “It’s like…he’s breathing again.”

“Magic,” Emily whispers to no one in particular. And it feels like the team — like Hotch — might just be whole again.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The case wraps late in the evening, exhaustion settling over the precinct like a heavy fog. But there’s relief too, the kind that comes with knowing you saved someone.

You’re at your desk, gathering stray papers into a neat pile when Rossi appears beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, that signature half-smile playing at his lips.

“So,” he drawls, “a few of us are grabbing dinner. You should come.”

You pause, fingers still on the edge of a file. “Rossi…” you start, already hesitant.

“Oh, come on,” he cuts you off with a casual wave of his hand. “It’s not a setup. Well, not exactly,” he amends with a smirk. “We just miss you. And Hotch…” His voice softens, just slightly. “He could use the company.”

Your breath catches, not because you hadn’t noticed, but because you had. The way Aaron seemed lighter today — the gentle traces of warmth that kept sneaking into his expression, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

“I don’t know,” you hedge. “I should probably head back to my hotel.”

Rossi chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s cute. Like we’re gonna let you skip out on us.” He claps a hand on your shoulder, steering you toward the door before you can protest.

“You guys are relentless,” you mutter, but there’s no real fight in your voice.

“We’re family,” Rossi corrects. “And you? Whether you like it or not…you’re still part of this one.”

The warmth in his words surprises you, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it — that maybe, after everything, you still belong here.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

When you walk in to the restaurant, they’re already gathered around a table near the back — Emily laughing at something Morgan’s said, JJ leaning into Reid’s side, her smile soft and easy. And then there’s Aaron, sitting quietly at the end of the table, his expression calm, not hollow like it’s been for months, just… calm. Present.

Rossi spots you first and grins. “There she is,” he calls out, gesturing to the empty seat beside Aaron. “Saved you a spot.”

Of course they did.

You hesitate, but only for a second, then slip into the chair. Aaron glances over, his gaze meeting yours, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything right away... just shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly, his arm resting along the back of your chair. His sleeve brushes against your shoulder — faint, but deliberate.

He’s here. Not just physically, but here with you. And he wants you to know it.

Conversation swells around you, stories about the case, Morgan teasing Reid, Emily snickering into her drink — but Aaron stays close, his peaceful presence grounding you. When he speaks, it’s softer than usual, but he’s engaged, sharing details from Jack’s latest school project and nodding along as Rossi recounts a story from his early days in the Bureau.

But it’s the way his arm lingers, the faint warmth of it seeping through your sleeve, that holds your attention. He’s not just leaning in for space; this is something else. A quiet gesture, a wordless admission: I’m here. I’m with you.

The grief isn’t gone and it may never fully be, but tonight, there’s something else. Like the first rays of sunlight breaking through after a storm.

Maybe things are starting to fall into place. Maybe he’s finding his way back — not just to himself, but to you.

The night stretches on, warm and easy, laughter filling the spaces that once felt hollow. Plates are pushed aside, wine glasses half-empty, and the conversation dips into the familiar teasing that feels like home.

“So,” Morgan starts, pointing his fork at you with a grin, “anyone special in your life these days?”

You smile — not flustered, just amused.

“No,” you answer simply, taking a sip of your drink. “I’m waiting for the perfect person.”

“Ooh,” Emily chimes in, dragging out the word. “The perfect person. Now that’s a high bar.”

“Yeah,” Morgan chuckles, leaning in. “And who exactly is this ‘perfect person’?”

For a beat, you hesitate. It’s not nerves...it’s choice. You can feel Aaron beside you, his arm still resting along the back of your chair, his fingers now idly tracing the curve of the wood. You don’t have to look to know he’s listening — reallylistening.

“Well,” you begin, turning your glass in your hand, “if he’s the one I think he is… he’ll know it.”

Rossi’s eyes flicker between you and Aaron, and for a second, the conversation stills. It's not awkward, just charged.

Aaron’s heart thuds in his chest. He keeps his face neutral, but his fingers press just a little firmer against the back of your chair — not enough for anyone else to notice, but you do.

Morgan squints at you. “What does that mean?”

You smile, one corner of your mouth lifting like you’re keeping a secret.

“It means,” you say slowly, “I don’t think I’ll have to say it out loud when the time comes.”

Morgan groans, laughing as he throws his hands up. “Man, you and your riddles…”

But Rossi’s still watching you — and Aaron too. He sees it, the way Aaron’s arm hasn’t moved, the way you’ve shifted just enough that your shoulder leans into him now.

The others start to filter out one by one, still lingering in the doorway, tossing goodbyes over their shoulders. Morgan claps Aaron on the back with a teasing grin, Emily gives you a pointed look, the kind that says you know what you’re doing, and Rossi, ever the orchestrator, pauses on his way out.

“Another round?” he asks, though it’s not really a question. Two fresh glasses arrive a minute later.

Now it’s just you and Aaron, the hum of conversation fading as the restaurant empties out.

Aaron clears his throat, fingers brushing his glass. “So,” he says carefully, “this… perfect person you were talking about.”

You smile — small, faint — and trace the rim of your glass with your fingertip. “What about him?”

“Is he…” He pauses, choosing his words like he’s defusing a bomb. “Is he worth waiting for?”

“I think so,” you say softly. “I’m not sure where he’s at with… everything. But I’m waiting patiently.”

Aaron exhales, quiet and measured, and when he finally speaks, his voice dips low — enduring, thoughtful.

“If he’s the perfect person for you,” he says, his eyes locked on his glass, “I think he knows that time hasn’t been the kindest. There’s been… a lot to get in the way.” His fingers toy with the base of his glass, knuckles flexing. “He probably can’t make promises right now — not the ones you deserve.” He pauses, just long enough that you feel it in your chest. “But I think… if he’s the person you’re waiting for… he’ll know you’re worth the chase.”

He says it like he’s speaking about someone else, like he’s distanced himself from the words, but you both know better.

Your fingers inch closer to your glass—closer to his—and for a moment, they almost touch. The space between them is barely there, just like the space between the words you aren’t saying.

Aaron exhales, slow and measured. “I don’t know what happens next,” he murmurs. His voice is careful, but the way he looks at you isn’t. “But if I were him…” He hesitates, his fingers flexing against the table. “I’d like to think I’d make sure you know how wanted and needed you are.”

Your breath catches. He’s not speaking in hypotheticals, not really. And neither were you.

He watches you for a long moment before he says, quiet but certain, “Come back.”

Your chest tightens. “To the team?”

His nod is slight, but there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

The past ten months unfold between you like a distance you once believed necessary. You had convinced yourself leaving was the right choice, that space would make things easier. But sitting here now, feeling the stength of his gaze, the subtle certainty in his voice—you’re not sure anymore.

“Aaron…”

He shakes his head, just once. “We thought the distance was good,” he says, steady but low. “We told ourselves we needed it. That it was better this way.” His jaw tightens, a trace of something restrained crossing his face. “But it’s not.”

He doesn’t look away. “I can’t lose you too.”

The last few patrons slip out the front doors. A waiter stacks glasses at the bar. The low hum of closing time curls around you both like fog.

Your fingers finally brush his, light and tentative. But this time, neither of you pulls back.

“You know I can’t just drop everything,” you say, voice soft. “My current unit still has open cases. People depending on me.”

He nods slowly, his hand turning slightly beneath yours so that your fingers lace—not quite holding, but almost. “I know. I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see it—the exhaustion, the grief, but also something else. Something open. Hope.

He draws a slow breath, thumb grazing your knuckle.

“Finish your cases. I’ll talk to Strauss. We’ll make it look like a transfer request came through channels.” He hesitates. “And when you’re ready…you come home.”

Your throat tightens around the word. Home.

“You’d wait?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

He leans in just slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been waiting.”

You exhale, slow. Shaky.

“Just a few months,” you say, like you’re testing it. Feeling the shape of it. “And then I’m back.”

He nods once, firm. “Back for good.”

The tension eases in your chest—not gone, but different. Lighter now. Bearable.

You squeeze his hand, and this time it’s deliberate. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s make it happen.”

Aaron nods again, the weight in his gaze grounding you.

“You’ll still come by?” you ask, a little teasing now, a little unsure. “In the meantime?”

He looks at you with something soft, something that burns.

“Try and stop me.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Tag List :)

@percysley @sammypotato @spideyreid @ithinkitzleslie

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds imagine #the purest things series #slow burn aaron hotchner

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katharine1994-blog1 · 3 months ago

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Aaron Hotchner xBAUreader!

I Will Find You Part1

First time posting this kind of fanfic, super excited, would love feedback but please be kind haha! not totally sure of correct terminology so forgive for any mistakes.

Back story: You and Hotch have been very close/pining but nothing has ever happened despite all the team knowing and wanting you both together, when something goes wrong with a seemingly unconnected murder case and your stalker, Hotch is forced to confront his feelings about you and fight to keep you alive.

CW: age gap, pining, stalking, murder, kidnapping, physical abuse/assault, adult themes, sexual content. POV reader and POV Aaron Hotchner

The bullpen is eerily quiet, its a Friday 2am, the other agents have gone home or are out on field for other cases, your team is the only one in the office.

The team have been working tirelessly on a local murder case for a few days now and are no closer to catching this killer, 5 young women, all killed by asphyxiation, he's raped them before and again post mortem but leaving no physical evidence, then they are posed in the middle of the bed with a bouquet of dead flowers and dressed in a white dress, the rest of the scene is tidy and spotlessly clean, the local PD requested the BAU's support on Monday when they had the name of another missing girl, hoping she would be found alive, the press have started dubbing him the 'Black Groom' and started causing panic and chaos on the streets of DC, JJ has desperately tried to steer them away from using this name but to no avail, on Tuesday when the latest victim was discovered, Hotch, yourself and Morgan were first on the scene where you discovered a new detail, a new part of the signature.

The first periluminal profile built was he's a white male in his 20s to 40s, he's a sexual sadist and has a deep routed hatred of women in his life, possibly started with his mother but most likely a girlfriend or wife are the current stressor, perhaps a recent rejection or stressful situation where he feels a woman has emasculated him, despite his sadism he is methodical, calm even, keeps the girls for a few days before returning them home 'safely' tucked in bed or left in a motel room close by if there's too much police presence, none of the girls are linked, all single workaholic types with friends being the ones noticing them missing after a few days, usually these women keep to themselves so not hearing from them wasn't uncommon in most scenarios, no men in their lives not even online.

Garcia has combed through these girls lives and there's no link, all are on dating sites but with no common linked matches meaning he's likely stalking them for a few days, learning their habits and routes to and from work before taking them in a spree attack, he's using chloroform to subdue them, then he continues using this drug during the following 3 days likely to keep them subdued and too weak to fight back. But where is he holding them?

The only factor about the girls which was painfully obvious is that they all look just like you, no one had said it out loud which made it worse, you had been with Hotch when you saw the most recent victim and you'd become visibly distressed, Hotch tried to approach you but you had played it off as a bout of sickness, how could you tell him? The single perfect red rose left at the foot of the bed, the new signature, you see it in your minds eye, with the black satin ribbon tied round it, is it him?

You'd been working with the team for over a year now and grown close with them all, at first understandably they were weary of you but making some great calls on your first case and saving Morgan's life with an unsub along with a police officer in New York had really propelled you forward in their estimations, you noticed the most change in Hotch, at first he seemed to not like you very much, he seemed to pay particular attention to you, at first you thought he was being over bearing because you were younger, but as it continued you realised he was protecting you, he would stand with you when out in the field and would often put you in his team, he would help you with your bullet vest and would always check on you after a rough case, he even sometimes drove you home, you thought it was him being a great boss until Morgan pointed out it might be more, deep down you tried to stifle your feelings for him but you felt yourself leaning towards him while he spoke, reaching for his arm and being equally as protective of him, maybe he did feel the same, but nothing could happen, how could they? He is your boss for a start, your stern, tall, strong boss! he's had a kid, Jack was such a great kid and since Hayley's death 3 years ago Hotch had really taken time for them both, stopped taking on everyone else's work and allowed the team to help, all of you helping him finish reports on time, even Will and JJ making play dates even though Henry was far too small to really appreciate a bigger kid to play with yet you all spent time together outside and at work, its not surprising you feel this way. Everything screamed for you to stop liking this man, but you cant help how you feel, and even if he didn't feel the same way, what harm is it doing? apart from that one night, the memory is burned on your memory.

"Alright lets go over this again, the ME said the ligature marks were made on top of each other with fibres found deep under the skin like friction burns, these fibres are commonly found in satin scarfs or something similar, there's no way to pin point exactly from what or where, the unsub is likely choking them until they fall unconscious, the ME also suggested by the wound pattern he's raping them while they are unconscious" Hotch states stiffly rubbing the bridge of his nose "can we deduce anything with a geography profile Reid?"

"Not really, all these women live in different areas and are from different class backgrounds, so there's no safe zone he's choosing its very sporadic I cant work out whether he's working in or out of his comfort zone, I think he's choosing the girls rather than whether its easier or further from home. Their bodies at first seemed to never leave their own home with no evidence of a break in or struggle but the last people to see them said they were heading home they likely never made it, he's likely picked them on the way in a spree attack meaning ne knows their routes to and from home and picking the ideal spot, he will have a car or likely a van to go un-noticed. The latest victim we knew was missing which gave us an advantage slightly thinking he would bring her back home, but he's watching us too it seems, the motel was a few blocks away, he was in and out before anyone noticed she was there"

Reid says staring away from the map on the white board and turning to face the room, fiddling with the marker pen lid popping it on and off the pen, chewing his lip.

"Garcia, anything from the motel CCTV" Hotch didn't look up from his file as he spoke

"No sir nothing, the rooms were vacant with no security cameras on the grounds, seems like a cash on the door no questions asked kinda place, only ones I could find were located around the buildings and apart from supplier vans, cleaners, laundry services picking up, which I've checked there's nothing suspicious and all accounted for and have alibi's, its like he's a ghost" Garcia clicks the keys on the laptop in front of her joining the team in the main conference room as according to the current time frame, he has another girl and she's got less than 12 hours.

"Don't his actions scream remorseful to you guys? like he has to do this rather than wants to? he's not a rapist seeking dominance and to overpower his victims, not like your usual sadist, its the equivalent of turning their faces away during the act by having them being unconscious or asking how it was, his first kill could've been accidental, the scene seems more practice then perfect but caused him greater sexual release, leading him to want to do it again, to rein act the fantasy"

Emily interjects chewing the top of her pen leaning on her elbows on the table glancing down at the scene photos on the table.

Empty coffee cups and take-away containers scattered around the table, yours is untouched, you, Morgan and Hotch went to see the last victim on Tuesday and you've not been the same since, seemingly unfocused and jumpy, you've attempted to shake it off, he keeps them for 3-4 days, he's likely got a victim now but no ones been reported missing, he's 2 steps ahead and with this change in leaving the rose, his time line might of also changed, you sit staring into space chewing your nails anxiously

"Yet the Unsub is now killing them on purpose, you could argue it was an accident on the first victim but now he's got a taste for it, he's coming into his own sadism, he's likely a slim build, can't overpower women normally so the choking and drugging is a crutch, how he's leaving them yes you could say its an act of remorse, but what if its actually a taunt?"

Morgan points out to Emily, leaning back with his feet on the desk balancing on two chair legs

You shiver at the thought of it crossing your arms rubbing them as goosebumps appear all over, these girls suffered for hours before dying and he's only getting more confident, it makes the hair on your neck stand on end, but you've seen worse so why does this case matter you wonder? because its in your city, your home? or something else, the rose.

"He's spending hours with them, days even, I don't think the unsub is leaving them alone at all, the multiple rapes and choking is only a small part of it, see her hair has been washed and combed, she's got makeup on, it its well applied so maybe she's done it herself? but see her arms and legs, she's been beaten, and look this victim is the same, her abdomen is also bruised, victim one seems to of got the worst with him even leaving bruises on her face, he's beating them, either to keep them submitted or something is triggering him into a angry rage, this show pure rage in-between all the calculated steps he takes" he pauses and takes a breath in before continuing "they are workaholic, single, strong women, same build, hair type and race, who would likely not give him a second glance, we need to figure out who his real target is, profile the victim then we might find him, and figure out if she was one of these women or if she's still out there" Rossi states, removing his glasses and stares at everyone before letting his eyes fall onto you, he lingers then returns to his file in front of him.

You and Morgan look at each other knowingly from across the table, you try to avoid his piercing stare as your stomach starts turning when suddenly your eyes catch Hotch, he's been watching you for a while, even though you kept your eyes forward you knew he was watching you, you could feel it, his stern brow knitted together burning a hole into you, but when your eyes finally meet his eyes are all softness and concern, somethings off with you and he knows you are keeping something from him, you've been close in the past but for a few weeks you've been distant and it hurts not to tell him, since that night, keeping him at arms length and maybe been a little short with him, he keeps asking if you're ok, you cant worry him, not now, its better this way, its what he wanted right? there's a girls life on the line.

Morgan signals you to leave the room, you stand Hotch's eyes don't leave you as you try desperately to lose his gaze, if you could melt in to the wall you would

"excuse me" you say quietly and exit the room

"are you alright Y/N?" Hotch's stern voice low and calm freezes you into place.

"Yes, I just need some coffee" you lie with a full stone cold cup on the table, Hotch clocks the cup and his eyes burn into your head as you keep your back to him so he doesn't see the rising panic as you slink out the room, as you leave you hear Rossi whisper "come on Hotch she's clearly not OK, this unsub is hunting girls just like her, just give her a minute"

Morgan excuses himself and follows you, nodding at Hotch letting him know that he's on the case.

You stand in the small kitchen area your hands are shaking, you take some deep shaky breaths trying to steady them, you grab a glass and start filling it with water and take some slow small sips, barely being able to hold the glass, you it grasp with two hands, this cant be happening, it cant be him?

You had told Morgan a few months ago you'd been getting strange notes under your door at home, love notes along with a bouquet of red roses with a black ribbon nearly ever other day at work, at first you were flattered if not a little creeped out, Pen and Emily immediately started the 100 questions of who this guy was and how many dates we went on, but you played it off, after a while of sneaking them into the garbage you had told reception to stop bringing them through, as the attention was getting a bit much particularly from the team teasing about dating someone, and why they knew nothing about him, and he clearly likes you, this seems to really bother Hotch who you noticed would avoid the pit when you didn't get in early enough to remove them, but then they started appearing at home instead, you had tried to play it off and believed they would eventually lose interest, Reid had mentioned how he got gifts from victims we saved when they projected feelings on to us so you supposed this was a likely explanation. But as time went on you thought best to ask for some advise, once Morgan knew he got Penelope to see if she could find who it was, nothing, this guy was a ghost, Morgan even came home with you a few times to check everything over and had a rather heated discussion with the building manager about letting people through the building who didn't live here, the letters became increasingly graphic about your 'relationship' but a few weeks ago everything stopped, that was until Monday morning on your way out the front door of your apartment a red rose with a black ribbon lay on the ground next to a note saying 'we will be together soon', you hadn't yet told Morgan about this new development and weren't sure when it would need to come up again, surely it was nothing.

when you saw the rose at the crime scene everything had gone dark in your mind, this was no coincidence, this was your stalker! Were these girls dying because of you?

Morgan rushes through and grabs your arm forcing you to look at him almost making you drop the glass

"you need to tell him sweetness, this unsub is after you" taking the glass from your hands and resting it on the counter top

"we don't know that for sure, and you know the moment I do I will be off this case, I am much more useful to you helping the team"

"come on Y/N, the rose, you saw it, he's not been active for a while, has he been in touch again?"

you look at the floor contemplating how you should tell him, Morgan sighs and takes your face in his hands forcing you to look at him

"when?"

"Monday morning"

He drops his hands and panic filling his eyes and takes a deep breath

"Y/N you should've told me!! don't you get it? you are in danger"

"why is Y/N in danger?" A deep rumble seems to come from Hotch's chest, you both freeze and hold your breath as you turn and both see Hotch standing looking straight at Morgan, shock and pain all over his face

"its nothing I-" you begin but Hotch raises his hand to quiet you

"I was asking Derek, so will you finally tell me what is going on?"

It felt like hours past but it must've been a few seconds, you pleaded with Morgan in your mind to not make this a big deal, once he knows, everything will change, you will be a victim to your team.

"She's being stalked, and I believe the stalker might be our unsub, I think she's who he's actually after"

The air seems to leave the room, it was true, you thought the same you just didn't want to believe it, you were the intended victim, you were the reason these girls, these beautiful young women with their whole lives ahead of them, were murdered, because you caught this sick bastards eye. Your eyes begin to brim with traitorous tears as you fight them back.

Hotch looks at you for a while his face moving from broken, to full of rage, to completely calm in a split second, was he mad at you? did he blame you too? At that moment his phone begins to ring in his pocket, he takes a breath and reached in his pocket and turns away from you and Morgan to answer, Morgan turns to you and wraps his arm around you mouthing 'am sorry baby girl' as he kisses your forehead, you feel the tears fall down your face and wipe them away quickly. Hotch turns back to you both still holding the phone to his ear

"they've found another victim, up town"

Part 2 to follow

#aaron hotchner #bau reader #aaron hotch x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #thriller #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #one shot #criminal minds

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ranunculussy · 3 months ago

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enigma | part 05.

sunday, monday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of butchering, mentions of dead women (obviously), swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

“Jello?” was the first thing you asked when you gained consciousness a few hours later in the sterile, blindingly white hospital room. The vibrant red gelatine dessert stared back at you from the bedside table. It was almost strange, how unusually appetising it looked.

“Spence left it for you. He said this is the best part of waking up from surgery.” JJ’s answer came from your left side, where the chairs got set up for the visitors. You slowly turned towards the voice while you pulled yourself into a sitting position, causing you to let out a painful groan. Next to the beautiful, blonde agent, there was her other half, the equally breathtaking Emily Prentiss.

“Hi, guys.”

“How are you feeling?” asked the brunette. Now, that you were awake, both dragged their chairs right next to your bed.

“Like I got hit by a cement mixer which then shunted and hit me again.”

While the others chuckled at your response, you decided to reach for the sweet dessert. You smiled at Reid’s gesture. You always noticed how caring he was towards the whole team, even towards you, in his own special way. And you really appreciated this trait of him. He handled you like you handled him. With mutual respect and consideration. Maybe this is what made your rivalry manageable. You strived to be better than the other, you enjoyed the challenge and the rush that your professional disagreements gave you but never crossed that particular line.

“You know that you are extremely lucky, right?” Jennifer’s voice was filled with concern. She reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. You noticed quite early on that she and Penelope were big on physical contact as a form of showing affection. It didn’t bother you, but you never initiated it either.

“Yep, I realised it right there. How angry is the big boss? And how are the others? How did the case end?” you bombarded them with questions.

It was exactly as you said. The minute you heard the other person collapsing, you concluded that the fact that you were still alive was a literal miracle. First things first, you made a mistake. You should’ve pushed the door in from the side, shielding yourself with the wall and waiting for a reaction, but you didn’t. You were too eager and impatient. The thought of losing hundreds of people made you careless, even reckless.

As if life was playing some prank on you before any of your teammates could give you an answer, a doctor and a nurse entered the room to check up on you. You were slightly annoyed, but you tried to hide it as much as possible and hoped that it only seemed as if you were tired. You knew exactly that they were there for you and not against you, but those few, anxiously spent minutes without solace were excruciating.

“Everyone is safe. We managed to reach the trucks before they could get to the airport, and we found all the victims safe and sound. And Hotch is more worried than angry.” went over all your questions JJ after the doctor made sure you were fine and left you to rest.

“Okay, that’s good,” you let out a sigh. You didn’t even notice that you were holding back your breath up until now. “Another question. Was the guy whom I shot a rookie?”

“Oh no, he was a former marine. He was discharged dishonourably a few years ago for sexual misconduct.” Emily’s eye-roll was a habit, her irises full of judgement and condescension. It was obvious that even without knowing the man personally, she was disgusted by him.

“Interesting…” you mumbled as you stared into your sheets, slowly eating the dessert. Now you really had no idea how you may be still alive. Why weren’t you shot in the head? Or the chest? Or literally, anywhere that’s lethal?

“Maybe it was an order? To keep any intruder alive so later they could interrogate them.” as if your best friend saw the rattling train of your thoughts, she shared her idea.

“Yeah, you might be right.”

You tried not to think hard about the what-ifs. It had no use. You were alive and that’s what mattered. But if you wanted to be honest, it was scary, how you, being there in the hospital bed which was warmed up by the heat of your body, instead of at the cold and rigid mortuary was a matter of uncontrollable luck or fate.

×××

A week went by, and you were back in the bullpen of the BAU. You could’ve had another week of paid leave but by the end of the first one, you were feeling antsy and somewhat useless. Even if Penelope called you every day and made sure you were feeling okay, you couldn’t help but miss the team.

One of your favourite phenomena was those few, slow, and quiet minutes that lingered around the spacious area before every briefing. It was such a mundane thing but felt special, possibly because it didn’t really belong to your workplace, which could be described as anything but calm.

That Monday morning when you arrived early, only the soft buzzing noise of the coffee machine indicated that somebody was already there. As you quickly scanned the desks of your colleagues, you noticed the brown satchel bag belonging to the genius. On any other day, you might have become a bit annoyed but not today. You were thrilled that it was only the two of you, making what you were about to do less awkward.

After you hurriedly placed your stuff down on your office chair, you grabbed a neatly sealed peanut-coloured envelope from your bag and headed towards the breakroom, from where you could hear the monotone noise.

“Hey,” you greeted the other with a gawky wave. You couldn’t decide how close, or far you should stand from him, and on top of that, all of your pre-planned lines seemed to have flown out of the window at the very moment you saw him. He wore a black button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbow and a precisely tied burgundy necktie. He was stirring the almost diabolical amount of sugar in his hot cup of coffee. As he leaned at the counter, he looked… effortlessly fine. Annoying, really.

“Y/N?” he couldn’t conceal how surprised he was to see you so soon. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t bear the idea of giving you more advantage to beat me in solved cases than one week. The trafficking one is obviously mine, so you know… I gave you a few days to try catching up, but this is the best I can do.” you shrugged as your lips stretched into a sly grin. This wasn’t your original plan. But acting like this was almost like a defence mechanism for you when you didn’t know what to do or say exactly.

“How generous of you.” He wanted to hide his smile that he couldn’t suppress. In fact, he didn’t even notice it forming, the expression was like an instinct. He took a sip of the sweet drink instead while he also slid an already-made cup towards you.

“On a completely different topic…” you were awkwardly beating around the bush, not being able to look him in the eyes or look at his face at all. “Here. This is for you.”

With his signature furrowed eyebrows, he lowered his gaze to your hand. There was a small, pale brown paper container with some bumps on it. He was rendered speechless. This morning was anything but usual or ordinary. Curiosity got the better of him, so he slowly moved his right hand to reach for the item. As he took it from you, his delicate fingertips brushed against your skin for a few milliseconds, causing a slight tenseness to spread around your body.

“It’s nothing big, I just wanted to thank you for being there the other day and helping with… You know. Me, not bleeding out.” you started to ramble so you could ignore the feeling of anxiety as he was opening the gift you got for him. Also, you always did this when you felt flustered. Soon, with a cheerful clinking sound, a silver and blue keychain fell out of the thin bag, right into his huge palms. Before he could react in any way, nervousness took over you and you continued talking at the speed of light, almost as if you were stating facts regarding a case. “At first, I was thinking about giving the usual things like chocolate, wine or some gift basket, but then I remembered that Pen once told me how much you liked Doctor Who, so I thought it’d be more meaningful or have more use to give something related to what you like. I got it from the official store, it has a full battery, warranty and everything. According to the webpage, it’s a vintage release. It’s not too flashy or vibrant so it’d match your things, and it’s basically a soundboard, which seems fun.”

At this point, it almost seemed like you were debating against him, like you did when your professional opinions differentiated. Overthinking kicked in and the urge to explain yourself felt nearly overwhelming. He is a huge fan of the franchise, what if he already has this? Or what if he finds it childish? And what if he automatically finds me childish because of this? Damn, maybe I should’ve just bled out, it’d be easier now.

“If you don’t like it, feel free to throw it out or anything like that. But thank you again for keeping me company and sorry for literally bleeding all over you. And for the Jello. Thank you for that too.” You didn’t even let him say a single word or thank you properly, you just quickly sputtered a half-assed excuse and left him there. You only reached the door of the break room when you spun around your heels, hurried back to the counter, grabbed the cup of coffee he made for you and left, this time for definitively.

Astonishment. Utter and undeniable astonishment was what Spencer felt. You got him a gift, and not just any gift but something related to him. Even if your relationship wasn’t pristine, you were willing to put energy into looking for something he’d like. With his thumb, he carefully caressed the soft buttons and the cold telephone booth icon at the top of the keychain.

With uncertain words stuck in his throat, his silent gaze followed you back to your desk. It might seem like he couldn’t say anything because of your constant talking but in reality, he found himself in one of those sporadic moments when he had no idea what to say. He had no idea what you would’ve appreciated the most. Should he be serious or playful? Should he simply thank you or try lightening the mood with an unserious response? When it came to you, he had no idea what the best move would be. To quote an exceptional someone in Spencer’s life, ‘Just like that, an IQ of 187, slashed to 60’.

However, he still couldn’t deny the lingering warm, tingling feeling slowly spreading in his chest. Recently, this occurred more and more frequently and seemed to pass by less and less quickly.

A quarter hour later other members of the team started to appear. First, it was Emily, who had the look of despair splashed all over her face.

“Was your weekend this bad?” you asked while you chuckled slightly as she put her stuff down next to your table.

“Oh, even worse,” she said after a dramatic sigh. “I give a chance to date again and what do I get? A textbook alpha male obsessing over crypto and how he’s on a straight path to becoming a self-made millionaire. The only topic he was interested in was himself. It was awkward and I spent the rest of my free time with Sergio and some cheap wine.”

“I mean, the last part sounds great,” you said as a quick memory filled your brain about you, cosying up with your little furballs, wine and the series you’re currently fixated on. Those moments felt like heaven on earth. “But honestly, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry ‘bout what, babygirl?” Derek curiously inserted himself into your conversation. He moved silently, none of you have noticed that he too arrived at work. Possibly because that morning Penelope wasn’t with him. He leaned on the surface of your dirty white desk. “More importantly, what the hell are you doing here?”

You quickly spun in your office chair and looked up at him with a bright smile. It was weird, how this place was able to lift your mood so quickly. But this was a lie, wasn’t it? The place itself had nothing to do with it, it was the precious people who filled it with an indescribable warmth.

“Don’t act like you weren’t back in the office literally a few days after your shoulder got put back where it belongs, Chocolate Thunder.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how you used one of the HR-alluring nicknames Garcia gave him.

“Touché.”

You three got so enthralled in a light-hearted conversation filled with the usual unharmful bickering that you failed to notice how the curly-haired doctor emerged from the breakroom, walked to his stuff and hustled with something in silence. He occasionally listened to what you were talking about but didn’t want to draw attention. Only when he walked into the briefing room you caught sight of something shiny hanging at the side of his satchel bag. The keychain.

The meeting about the newest, rather gruesome case neared its end. You couldn’t help but occasionally glance at the small accessory decorating the brown leather. It made you happy, relieved and a tiny bit proud too. You were readying yourself to the fact that he threw it out, so seeing it not only kept but worn was more than a pleasant surprise. While you were preoccupied with the gift, he was discreetly looking for your reaction. Was he simply curious, or was he hoping to see something specific? And more importantly, upon seeing a small but definitively present smile spread across your face, why did his heartbeat slightly quicken?

“Alright, wheels up in 30.” Hotchner concluded the briefing with his signature line and was the first to leave the room.

“Y/N, you coming with us?” JJ’s voice pulled both of you out of your headspaces, which was weirdly related to each other. Before you could answer – and probably tell a white lie, the man in front of you shook his head.

“She hasn’t been cleared to fly yet.” He said, leaning back in his chair, staring right into your eyes.

“How the fuck…?” you mumbled originally to yourself, but it was audible enough for everyone.

“You’re predictable.” Reid shrugged with an infuriating smile on his smug face. He enjoyed getting a reaction out of you way too much. To be completely transparent, he’s been enjoying it ever since you started working there. He always carefully noted all your micro-expressions and despite his eidetic memory, he took the energy to make sure he remembers how you react to everything.

You narrowed your eyes as you furiously kept eye contact, not willing to lose at least that particular battle. As you silently debated whether you should keep it classy or send him where the Sun doesn’t shy, he winked at you, grabbed his bag and left to catch the plane, leaving you fuming in your chair.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have fun!” Penelope walked next to you, placed her hand on your shoulder, and squeezed it excitedly. “He also tried to pull a similar stunt a few years ago when his leg got shot, but Hotch found out. He was my bitch for a few cases.”

“Yeah, I feel like bitch is an appropriate term for him.”

Not even half a day passed by, and you were already at each other’s throats through a video call. You temporarily moved into Garcia’s tech cave so you could still help the team out in the best way you could. Derek and Emily were at the latest crime scene where the victim was still there. Rossi and JJ were checking out the first and the second scene. Hotch was consulting with the local police station, and Reid worked on a rough profile based on the information he had. The unsub took meticulous forensic countermeasures, so setting up a geographical profile had little to no use.

“We could very much be looking at a female unsub who may hate her femininity.” theorised Spencer as he was looking at photos of the crime scenes.

“I highly doubt that.” This sentence was almost instinctive, the way you said it so quickly. You were sitting in an office chair with your legs pulled up and crossed over and were chewing at the end of your pen.

“Who could’ve guessed.” You didn’t have to look at the screen to know that he was rolling his eyes.

“Why would she poison the victims and then butcher their breasts and abdomen while they’re still alive? The poison would lose its intended purpose.”

“She could be sadistic on a psychotic break. If she feels like the poison isn’t quick enough, she loses control and finishes the job herself.”

“Yes, but it’s still not logical. If the victims were dead by the time she started stabbing them, I could see that destroying the biological female body parts is simply a message and nothing more. However, since they’re still alive, the stabbing becomes a sexual act. It’s textbook sadism and sexual assault, and you know that, Spencer.” You were explaining yourself so passionately that you didn’t even notice the way you called him. It wasn’t anything special, but you always kept your distance by calling him Reid, Dr Reid or Doctor. It didn’t bother him, but he didn’t like it either. He couldn’t figure out whether you were doing it to keep things professional even when you argued or if it had another meaning. You called everyone by their first names except him. And he didn’t get why. But if he asked for a reason, it’d mean he cared. Which he definitely did not.

Now, however, hearing the way you said it made him block down for a few seconds. His saviour was the team that arrived back from the field. This meant new evidence, possibly new perspectives and hours more discussions.

During the time when you had nothing to do since he fucked you over during the morning briefing, you were thinking about a way to get back at him.

“Would signing him up for Jehovah’s Witnesses violate any workplace protocol? Or signing him up for porn sites?”

“If he knew it was you, definitely.”

“Ah, he’d know for sure.” you sighed and pressed your forehead on the cold grey table while you let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know what to do, he is seriously pissing me off.”

“As someone who considers themselves a close friend of both of you, I’d say just finally do the dirty.” As this diabolical sentence left her mouth so carefreely while she filed her nails, you almost choked on your saliva.

“PENELOPE!” You nearly screamed between coughs.

“Listen, sugarplum. The sexual tension between you could be cut with a knife. It’s clearer than Derek’s delicious chocolate slabs in a wet t-shirt.”

“Damn, I kinda get the mandatory HR lectures now.” You groaned mostly to yourself since the woman next to you was basically head over heels for the image in her mind. “The only tension between us is borderline homicidal.”

“I can see both of you secretly kinky. I mean, you were with a teacher, so there’s definitely something there. But Boy Wonder can’t be vanilla either.”

“Pen, I’ll stab my throat with a pencil and bleed all over your stuff if you don’t stop.”

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 divider from @cafekitsune

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winsteria · 10 months ago

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i'm so obsessed with pre-established aaron x bau!reader mutual pining where both of you are closest friends that do what couples do. cuddles, being by each other side's so often, the soft and loving glances, holding hands, forehead or cheek kisses, hugs, going to each other's house and always feeling at home.

aaron is always soft when it comes to you. the entire team noticed that but you always shrugged it off. both of you know that what you're doing isn't really what friends do, but just too afraid to say something that might risk losing the special thing you have. so both of you keep it to yourself. for now.

#i have a whole universe inside my mind with aaron #and this is how our relationship started 🥰#mutual pining + friends to lovers + slow burn = perfection #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #winsteria talks

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andreafmn · 5 months ago

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Running in Circles | Chapter 12

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss, and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

A/N: I've done so horribly updating this story (and all the other ones) especially this year 🫣 but hope y'all enjoy

<- Previous

Christmas had come and gone, and winter was in full swing in Virginia. And before anyone could process the holiday, it was New Year’s Eve.

The bullpen at the BAU had slowly emptied after midday as they had been given the rest of the afternoon off to get ready for the FBI’s New Year’s Eve Celebration. They had been prompted to wear their best—from tuxes to long dresses. There were sure to be various eyecatchers regardless of the winter cold.

(Y/N) had been finishing up with a stack of reports when she noticed she was the last one in the office, at least in the bullpen. Two offices still had their lights on. One was her father, who had been waiting for her to finish her work to take her home. The other was the ever-overworking unit chief.

“Hey, I’ve got the last reports here,” (Y/N) said after knocking softly on Hotchner’s door. “Finished some of the ones de next week, too.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” he replied. “You keep doing all this paperwork, and the team will leave it all to you next time.”

“I wouldn’t really mind,” she chuckled. “Paperwork is relaxing.”

“Definitely don’t let them hear you say that,” he laughed as he stood from his chair and slipped his coat on. “Especially Morgan. He’d be more than happy to let you relax with his work.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. I think I’ve done over half of his reports since I’ve been here. But don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Hotch chuckled. “You heading out now?”

The man had crossed the room as he talked, stopping less than a foot away from (Y/N). He towered over her, staring intently into her eyes. His gaze never broke from hers, trying to speak something in a language she did not understand.

“Y-yeah,” she croaked. “Just had that to finish, but I’m all done now.”

“You need a ride? I’m leaving now, but I can wait for you.”

“Oh, uh, well…”

“Hey, kid, you ready?” David’s voice startled them apart, reminding them that not only were they not alone, but they were also at work. “Oh, Aaron. Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, just leaving now,” he said after clearing his throat. “I guess I’ll see you both tonight.”

“Of course you will!” Rossi smiled brightly. “Although I will miss out on a perfectly good Ardbeg Corryvreckan—this year’s world’s best single malt in the World Whiskies Awards. I guess it will have to wait until the year is new.”

“You know tonight is not mandatory,” (Y/N) chuckled as the three of them walked out of Hotch’s office and toward the elevator. “You could still stay home and enjoy that whiskey—as long as you save some for me.”

“And miss out on a chance to wear a tux? Absolutely not,” her father said. “And I can never pass out on a night of free food and drink. What better way to ring in the new year?”

“Right, I forget rich people love free things,” the girl teased. “Not like you could afford a thousand nights like this one.”

“It’s not about affording, kid,” he grinned. “It’s about opportunity. How do you think rich people stay rich?”

“Well, then,” Hotch chuckled softly as the elevator stopped on his floor, “I’ll see you both tonight.”

Father and daughter waited in silence for the doors to close, watching as their unit choked retreated through the parking lot. “I’ve been thinking of setting him up with someone,” David broke the silence, knocking the air out of (Y/N)’s lungs. “My friend Letty has a daughter just a few years younger than him. Her job is nowhere as exciting as ours, but he could use someone to ground him.”

She swallowed her jealousy, knowing her father was only looking out for his friend. She couldn’t let him know how bad of an idea that was without admitting her undisclosed feelings. Instead, she simply smiled and said, “Don’t know how open he’d be to dating just yet, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” he chuckled. “I think I will give her a call. And maybe I’ll see what's around for you, too.”

(Y/N) didn't care to be set up with anyone, but it couldn't hurt to keep her options open. Whatever game she was playing with Hotch could not survive the long run. At some point, he would either reciprocate her feelings or break her heart. Either choice would complicate things between them, but only one was the outcome she wanted. But it wasn't like she could tell her father about that. She couldn't confess just how in love she was with his old friend and their boss. Not only was it highly unprofessional but it would definitely raise a lot of eyebrows, not to mention that it would throw a wrench right in the middle of their team.

Much like she had done for years, she swallowed down her emotions and splattered on a bright smile for her father. It was a night of celebration--the coming of the new year. Instead of focusing on a love that might never come, she turned her attention to the festivities ahead. Like many years before, David had hired a stylist and a glam squad for her daughter, even if she had told him time and time again that she didn't really care for that. And just like every year before, he smiled and said, “Maybe this year will be different.” It never was, but it didn't hurt to say.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, (Y/N) didn’t recognize herself. Even though she had gotten her hair and makeup done before, it always surprised her that a few curls and a splash of paint could transform her entire face—hell, even her attitude. She looked herself over at the mirror in the giant groom she had in her father's house, and she couldn't quite tell who was looking back at her.

Dressed in a floor-length beaded dress, hair perfectly curled, and lips as red as blood is what her reflection wore. She looked elegant, perfectly primped, and polished, a stark contrast to the way she looked on an everyday basis. Granted, she couldn't hunt killers wearing a full-length gown without an enormous clothing budget—not that she couldn't do it, but she doubted the FBI would allow her to step out of uniform rules.

“Well, look at you,” her father’s voice echoed through the room. “I think this might be your best dress yet.”

“You say that because it’s mom’s dress,” (Y/N) muttered softly as she ran her hands softly against the beads. “It is beautiful, though.”

“I say it because it’s true, my little bird,” David smiled, placing his hands on her exposed shoulders. “You look absolutely radiant. It was made for you, my darling.”

“I wish she was here to see me in it,” she sighed. “Do you think she would have minded me wearing it?”

“Oh, little bird, she would have been absolutely thrilled. She told me to keep all of her gowns to make sure you could wear them one day. You were her absolute pride and joy.”

(Y/N) couldn’t quite imagine her mother in the same dress. She tried to visualize the way the fabric would hug her body, tried to imagine the way her hair would be styled, even how her makeup would have been done, but the image never came into focus. There was no definition to her edges, no clear distinction to who she was. All (Y/N) saw was herself.

“You look so much like her, mia bella,” David cooed. “An angel in every sense of the word, my beautiful daughter.”

“Stop, dad,” she grinned as her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red than the shade she wore. “You're making me blush.”

“Can a father not tell the truth?”

“Not right now,” (Y/N) smiled brightly, interlocking her arm with David's. “We don't wanna be late to the gala. Especially when I have the hottest date on my arm.”

“I can't disagree there,” the man smirked. “I will most definitely outshine everyone tonight.”

“Then, what are we waiting for? Let's head out already.”

Dressed in a couple of hundred dollars more than they had arrived at the Rossi mansion, (Y/N) and David started their drive to the Washington, D.C. Four Seasons. The patriarch had hired a car service, knowing neither of them would be sober enough to drive home safely, and if anyone asked his daughter, the streets were safer without his road rage on the streets. Somehow, an older Italian man with short patience, a holiday, and crowded roads did not mix well.

She was also grateful David was having a lively conversation with their driver rather than focusing on her well-manicured fidgeting fingers. (Y/N) wasn't sure what she was expecting at the venue. Hotchner would be there; there wasn't any way around that. But she didn't know what would happen once the night went on and the drinks were flowing.

Things had seemed to shift between them in the past year. They had begun to spend more time together, growing closer on a personal and seemingly emotional level. Maybe she was reading into things, but (Y/N) thought there was something happening between her and her years-long more-than-a-crush. It could have been her deepest desires clouding her mind, of course. The mind could play unkind tricks, feeding a person's ego and aiding in their delusions. That could very well be what was happening to her, but she didn't think so. At least, she hoped it wasn't that.

The entry to the hotel was already bustling by the time the Rossis arrived. Agents old and new dressed in their Sunday best crowded the entry of the Four Seasons, funneling into the building for their annual New Year's Gala. Men and women with their respective partners or dates for the night put aside hours of their night to bring in the new year with their units. Plus, good food and unlimited drinks were often a great incentive to pack the place.

“Emily told me the BAU was given the Seasons room on the lower lobby level,” (Y/N) whispered to her father as they snaked their way into the crowd, smiling and nodding toward agents they might have known in passing. “People have been moving in and out of all the event spaces and mingling amongst each other. But that's where they're waiting.”

“Let’s not keep them waiting then,” he smiled. “We all know the party doesn’t start until we arrive.”

“Oh, god, dad,” she chuckled. “Please don’t say that when we see them.”

“Why not? It’s not a lie.”

“You forget the part where it is not funny,” the woman said. “

“You laughed.”

“Because I don’t want my aging father to feel like he isn’t still funny,” (Y/N) teased. “Thought you’d appreciate the laugh.”

“I might be getting older, but I am not yet old, little bird,” he said, the same beaming smile he always wore splattered across his face. “Can’t have you wasting your pity laughter so early on. Although, I do know that was real laughter—it better be.”

“Whatever you say, dad. You’re the funniest man I know.”

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around each of the Rossis, a hearty laugh filling their ears as they reached the group of their friends and teammates. “Were you two talking about me?” Derek grinned as he exchanged glances between the two. “Because there can’t be anyone funnier than me.”

“Same suit from three years ago, Derek?” (Y/N) teased. “You’re losing your sense of style there, buddy. What happened to your ‘a suit a year brings new cheer’ saying?”

“Well, I may look great in a different tux every year, but my pocket doesn’t love it,” he responded. “And, honestly, I didn’t think anyone would notice. Although, I should have known you or Reid would.”

“Yeah, she’s the reason I rent my dresses now,” Emily added. “She remembered the dress I wore two years ago was the one I wore to an event in 2008, all because she remembered seeing a picture in my living room. There’s no sense in buying a new dress every year, but I’m definitely not showing up in one I’ve put on more than twice.”

“I don’t do it to embarrass you, guys. I just can’t help it when the thought pops into my head. Sometimes, I just have to say it, or else my mind will go crazy.”

“Exactly!” Spencer exclaimed. “It’s not our fault our brains work this way.”

“Guys, it doesn’t matter who’s wearing what,” David interjected with a smile. “All that matters is that in a few hours, the new year will come, and this whole year will be forgotten.”

“Actually...”

“If I have to listen to the story of New Year’s again,” the man interrupted Spencer, rubbing his temple, “I’m gonna need a stiff drink.”

“I’ll go get it,” (Y/N) offered. “Anyone else need a refill?”

A chuckle escaped the woman’s mouth as various hands shot up, all but the one she had been in search of since the moment she had arrived. The whole team sat around their designated table, all chattering and smiles, except their trusted unit chief. With a gentle sigh, she walked over to the crowded bar, trying her best to catch the bartender’s attention through the couple of heads ahead of her. To no avail.

Everyone else was louder, taller, more assertive while she stood in the background trying to break through. The second she tried to speak up, someone else talked over her. She believed she would stand there the rest of the night just to get a couple of drinks.

“I’m sorry,” a voice interjected. “But I believe she was next in line to order.”

Behind her, Hotchner towered over her stature, staring down the man who had cut her off just as she had managed to reach the front of the bar. He placed a protective hand on the low of her back, his eyes stuck on the man beside them. His gaze remained stoic until the agent felt embarrassed enough to move to the other side of the bar where the other bartender was, excusing himself with a quiet ‘sorry’ and his head hanging low.

“Go ahead, (Y/N),” Hotch smiled. “You can order now.”

The woman couldn’t help the way her heart hammered in her chest as his hand sent waves of warmth through her body. (Y/N) tried to keep her words steady, thankful for the makeup on her face that covered the blood pooling on her cheeks as her body shook with nerves. Hotch remained in the same position as she ordered drinks for the group, adding a whiskey on the rocks at the end for himself. Maybe he hadn’t paid the move any mind, but she could not stop focusing on it until both their hands were occupied with a few glasses each.

“Thanks for that,” (Y/N) managed to croak out as they walked back to the team. “I thought I was going to be stuck there all night.”

“I’m sure you would have been able to handle yourself fine,” he said. “But a little help never hurt anybody.”

“And it's very much appreciated,” she smiled. “Is Jack with Jessica tonight?”

“Yeah. We had our own New Year's celebration before I left,” he chuckled as he remembered what had occurred only an hour before. “He asked me why there were no fireworks outside, and we had to watch them on TV. I told him fireworks weren't a thing this year, but I'm not sure he believed me.”

“I don't think he did. That boy really loves the lights,” (Y/N) laughed. “But there's always Fourth of July for fireworks.”

“I just hope he doesn't keep his aunt up to see if it's true.”

Once they reached the table, the woman realized they were not the only two people in the world. For a minute, everything around them had vanished. It was just her in her mother's champagne beaded gown and Hotchner in a stunning black tux. For that minute, she could imagine there was something more between them than she thought there was.

For the next couple of hours, while they sat at the table and dinner was served, the only thing she could think of was Hotch's hand on her back. She remembered in vivid detail the way his fingers stretched and flexed against her exposed skin, his warmth sinking into her with a comforting and intoxicating touch. (Y/N) tried her best not to let it show just how much that simple move had affected her, but she could feel her eyes drifting toward him every couple of minutes.

What she didn't know was just how much it had stuck to Hotch's mind as well. That minute of having his hand flush against her back had made his heart skip a beat. His breath had hitched in his throat as he felt the softness of her skin against his. If it had been up to him, he would have kept it there the rest of the night. But the imminent threat of an overbearing man had been long gone, and he couldn't justify keeping the protective hold on her, especially with a couple of drinks occupying his hands. At the table, his eyes would drift to her when she wasn't looking. He couldn't help looking at her whenever she laughed or talked. Her magnetism was unavoidable, and he was susceptible to it.

Throughout the entirety of the dinner, and the few drinks that had come and gone from the table, Hotchner could only think of a way to get her alone. For what? He wasn't really sure. All he knew was he wanted as much time with her as he possibly could have. The rest, he had yet to plan for that.

As the night went on, the chances grew slimmer and slimmer. There had been awards and speeches, various presentations and slideshows shown, and midnight was quickly approaching. The formalities of the night had come and gone, and the fun had begun. The lights had gone down, music had been turned up, and people had left their tables to fill the dance floor and wait until the clock struck twelve.

In the commotion, Hotchner had lost (Y/N). One second, he'd been drinking in the image of her dressed in gold, and the next, she had disappeared in a sea of FBI agents. His eyes scoured the crowd, his mind focused on only one person. And when they finally fell on her, rage bubbled from deep inside him. Back at the bar, (Y/N) had taken a seat. She was nursing a drink while the same guy from the start of the night seemed to be pestering her. Hotch could read her body language from a mile away, and she needed a way out.

“Come on,” the man insisted. “Just tell me if you’re here as a guest or you’re an agent. It’s a simple question.”

“I don’t feel comfortable giving out that kind of information to someone I don’t know.”

“My name’s Pete, how about that?” he said, slurring his words. “Now you know who I am.”

“Just because I know a name doesn’t mean I know you, Pete,” (Y/N) stated as she swirled her drink around. She had come to the bar to escape the heat that had overtaken her being so close to Hotch. But instead of solace, she had found an even bigger hindrance than body heat. “Now, I’d like to enjoy my drink alone.”

“Definitely an agent. Wouldn’t be this closed off if you weren’t,” the man muttered, seemingly trying to do it under his breath but failing. “No one should be alone on a holiday, miss. And as bad of a start as we had, I make great company.”

“As much as I would love to find out if that’s true, I’m sure your own date would appreciate your company. Me? I’d rather down this old-fashioned in peace.”

“Come on. At least tell me your name.”

“Can’t do that, Pete,” she said. “Best you go back to who you came with.”

“Oh, Alyssa doesn’t mind,” he chuckled awkwardly. “She knows I need room to breathe. And you look like a breath of fresh air.”

“I’m more of a deadly gas, but thank you,” (Y/N) smiled sarcastically. “Now, like I said, I want to drink alone.”

“Come on, baby, you shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Pete pressed on. “Who else will you kiss at midnight?”

“It’s not gonna be you, man.” Hotch appeared seemingly out of nowhere for the second time that night. At least, that’s how it appeared to her. She had not witnessed the intense focus the man had held on to her for the past few hours and how long he had spent looking for her. “I believe she has told you already to leave her be.”

“Look, man, this has nothing to do with you,” Pete argued as he squared up to Hotchner, trying his best to match up to the man’s height. “We’re just talking here. Why don’t you get lost already?”

“I don’t think that’s what the lady here wants,” Hotch said sternly. “Now, your date might be okay with you venturing out, but I’m not. And as her date, I would heavily advise you to take two steps back and keep walking, Pete.”

The unit chief pronounced every syllable of the man’s name, his tone even but menacing. His eyes burned red with anger, and he had taken the empty space on her left side permanently. Just like he had done at the beginning of the night, Hotch held his gaze firmly on Pete. And it didn’t waver until the man finally cowered and left, a deep red hue painted across his face.

“My hero,” (Y/N) chuckled once Pete was finally far away. “Second time in a few hours, too. You just seem to be there when I need you.”

“What are friends for?” he smiled, his eyes softening as they fell on her. “Are you okay? Did he do anything?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “You arrived just in time, twice, and apparently as my date tonight.”

“I’m sorry. Was that too much?”

“It was perfect,” (Y/N) grinned, feeling emboldened enough to place her hand on his. “Although you know that means you owe me a kiss at midnight, right?”

“Well, it’s not like that would be torture.” The words took them both aback. In part because Hotch had said it and in part because it had not seemed like a joke. “You know, it’s almost 12.”

“Right. Just a few minutes until the New Year.”

“Why don’t we, uh, head somewhere a bit more quiet?”

“We can go up to the courtyard,” she offered. “The office separated the space, but there wasn’t really anyone there because of the cold.”

Hotchner held out his hand for her, helping her off the bar stool and leading her toward the only place everyone seemed to be avoiding. Just as she had said, only a floor up, the courtyard was empty, save for a few employees taking a quick smoke break, but a few space heaters had been scattered around the area—not that it helped in the cold of the middle of winter, but it made things a bit more bearable. Before closing the door behind them, he grabbed two champagne flutes and closed them away from the rest of the world.

“I didn’t notice how loud it was in there until now,” (Y/N) pointed out. “I’m glad we’re out here.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you be anywhere near Mr. Pete. Now, could I?”

“I’m sure Pete will remember you for the rest of the year,” she laughed. “And I don’t think he and Alyssa will be attending next year—at least not together.”

“I think he got enough air,” Hotchner joined in her laughter. “We’ll see just how much he gets when Alyssa catches wind of what he's been up to.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as commotion started inside the event hall. Everyone shuffled around inside to gather at the front of any screen that was playing the countdown. There was only a minute left on the clock, and it would officially be a new year. It was a chance for renewal, a chance for new beginnings, a chance for love, or maybe something more. The new year brought the semblance of choices, the hope that somehow something worthwhile would come to your life despite all the pain and heartache the past may have brought. It brought the chance of solidifying maybes.

“It's almost midnight,” Hotch whispered as he draped his suit jacket across her shoulders. (Y/N) hadn't noticed her body had started to shake until she felt the warmth of his body seep through her skin, melting away any ounce of cold that had been embedded in her bones. “Do you have your resolutions for the new year?”

“Something like that,” she smiled up at him, getting as close as she could without scaring him off. “Other rituals haven't seemed to work for me, so maybe some simple wishing will do the trick this time.”

Hotch didn't back down from her approach. Instead, he took a step closer. “And what will those wishes be?”

“If I tell you, they won't come true,” she said, finally closing the distance between them. Her chest was pressed against his, her eyes fluttering up to his as a smile stretched across her crimson lips. “Are you willing to risk yours?”

“Not so sure,” he whispered. “I'm kind of hoping they come true, and we're far too close to midnight to take chances. Only twenty seconds to go.”

“We don't have to do this, Hotch,” (Y/N) stated, feeling nerves bubbling deep in her chest. “It was just a silly joke.”

“I don't mind,” Hotchner said. “At the end of the day, it's just a kiss.”

But it wasn't. Not to either of them. Even if the other didn't know, that kiss meant more to them than they would ever want to admit. It would be the ellipsis to the question they had been too scared to ask, the cementing of the feelings they had harbored for years but were too terrified to admit, the beginning of a whirlwind of doubts they would carry in their hearts. Maybe it was a dumb decision. Maybe they should have walked away at that moment.

But when the crowd inside the hotel yelled out the last five seconds, their hearts were beating as one—fast and loud, thrilling anticipation coursing through their veins. That was it. The new year. Only one second away.

“On...” The words died in (Y/N)'s mouth as Hotch crashed his lips to her. One of his hands circled her waist, while the other cradled her cheek as he pulled her to her like she belonged to him—not that he knew that she always had. He savored her taste and reveled in her warmth, thanking whatever being was out there for allowing him that fleeting moment with her. The kiss was sudden and desperate. Hotchner believed it would be the first and the last, and he planned to take advantage of every second she allowed.

As soon as their lips had touched, fireworks erupted in the sky. They perfectly embodied the moment, creating a visual of what was going on in their insides at that very second. It was now the new year, and they were both spending it with the one person that had clouded their mind the entirety of the past year. Even if they thought the kiss meant nothing to the other person, it meant the world to them.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N),” Hotchner said as he was forced to break the kiss for air. His arms were still circled around her waist, keeping her close for as long as she let him.

“Happy New Year, Aaron,” she smiled brightly before noticing his lips. “You have red lipstick on you.”

“Oh, god.”

He went to wipe it, but all he did was smear it around. “Here,” she said as she reached her thumb to his lip. “Let me.”

Their eyes locked on the other, an inkling of something unspoken shining in them. So many feelings and confessions lingered between the two, waiting anxiously for the moment they were able to break free. They trembled under the surface, pushing against their lies and their silence. All they wanted was to be revealed.

But that would not be the moment.

“There you guys are,” David’s voice startled them apart. His back was turned to them as he motioned to the team from behind the door, shielding their closeness from them until they were a safe distance apart. “Wow, what a view you guys got here.”

“Uh, yeah,” (Y/N) said. “Hotch wanted to record the fireworks for Jack since he couldn’t see them.”

“You guys should have told us you were here,” Penelope exclaimed. “It’s gorgeous! Look at those lights!”

“Yeah, we just sort of ended up here,” Hotch interjected. “Thought I would get a better view of the fireworks from here than the patio downstairs.”

“Well, you were right, friend,” David said as he clapped Hotchner’s back. “Perfect place to say goodbye to the old year.”

“It really is,” he said, fighting the urge to let his eyes drift toward (Y/N). “Happy New Year, David.”

As everyone hugged and wished each other a happy new year, Hotch and (Y/N) remained next to each other, their arms by their sides. Each of them felt the overwhelming urge to reach their hands toward the other, their need for closeness itching deep in their veins. But there, in front of their team and her father, they could not give in. Especially while they each thought the other did not feel the same.

By the time they had finished saying their well wishes, a flurry of stark white snowflakes had begun descending from the sky.

“It’s snowing,” (Y/N) smiled, looking at the sky alongside the rest of the team. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Hotch said, taking advantage of the team’s distraction to stare directly at the woman beside him. “It is.”

Winter was never kind, but that one seemed to be a chilly one. At that time, as she hugged Hotch’s jacket tighter to her body, (Y/N) didn’t think it to be a premonition of the year that awaited them. All she could think of was the kiss that she had just shared with Hotch, not knowing he was thinking of the same thing.

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 2 years ago

Text

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4867 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

~~~

In the bedroom of his apartment, Spencer fiddled with his tie as he looked in the mirror. He didn't know why he bothered though, it was always perpetually crooked. Something you always tease him about.

Teased.

He clenched his jaw at your memory. It had been eleven months since you'd left. Eleven. Months. You just... up and disappeared without a call or a note. Heck, he would've taken a text despite his adversity to how it was inevitably devolving people's interpersonal communication skills.

When he'd shown up to the office on Monday, he expected to see your dazzling figure with two coffees in hand - one for yourself and one for him - and that infamous bright smile on your lips. He hated to admit it, but he'd become reliant on you to always be there. You had only joined three years after he had, around a similar to time to Emily (who had been like a big sister to you), but even after others came and went, you had always stayed.

You had stayed with him. By him. He selfishly thought sometimes it was for him.

So when Hotch had informed him and the rest of the team that you had been offered another position with a different unit across the country, he shouldn't have been all that surprised that you had jumped at the chance to do something more than what you were doing at the BAU.

Again, selfishly, he thought that what you both did would be enough for you. It was for him.

He should've been happy for you despite how shocking the news came. But instead he was struck with an odd sense of open-endedness - no closure. If you were leaving, you would've said something... right? He wasn't the best at recognising social cues or reading people's emotions, but he couldn't have mistaken the smile you'd given him when he'd asked you out that night. It was joyous, it was relief, it was overwhelming excitement for the future. There could've been no faking that you felt what he felt and wanted what he wanted.

His fingers dropped from his tie, seeing no point in trying to fix it any further. Instead, his gaze drifted to his hair. It was long again, unruly curls caressing the top of his neck and tucked as neatly as possible behind his ears. You would always play with those curls as you gave him head massages when he was having his migraines, and kept the habit up whenever Spencer was stressed or tired. It helped him relax, it soothed him.

The image of you pouting whenever he got his hair cut short and close-cropped tugged his lips slightly upwards. He smoothed back the curls on his forehead. He had a random thought to just shave them all off. They were just another reminder of how much time had passed since you'd left.

He raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror.

He wondered if he could rock the bald egg look.

He grimaced at the thought and shook his head. What the hell am I doing? He rubbed at his tired eyes before looking at his wrist watch briefly. He had to be in the office in just over an hour. So he quickly grabbed a suit jacket from his closet, but decided halfway to the kitchen that he would need extra warmth today and so turned around to grab a cardigan from his messy chest of draws.

He winced at the chaos of colours and material he found waiting for him. For a highly organised, intelligent man, he really could be a complete mess.

He wasn't looking for any particular one, but he absentmindedly sought out the regal navy blue one you'd gifted to him on one birthday. It was the most worn in his collection by far, having worn it multiple times a week (sometimes even consecutively) in the past eleven months. He fiddled with the soft material for a moment, and he swore he could still smell your perfume on it.

Vanilla Caramel and Peonies. An odd combination, but just the right balance of sweetness and freshness.

It was the right balance of you.

She's not coming back, he told himself, and his broken heart yearned for what could've been once more. He'd called you - well, tried calling you - for days, weeks, months even after you'd left. But he'd just go straight to voice mail, and you had never tried to call him back. It was like six years of working together had never happened, like they had never mattered.

Like he had never mattered.

He shook his head and dropped the cardigan in favour of an emerald green one that his mother had just sent him from one of her travels. It was oddly cold compared to yours, but at least he knew where his mother was and that he was on her mind, no mattered how disorganised it had become.

He wondered if he was still on your mind, wherever you were.

It didn't take him long to put on the green cardigan, grab his lunch from the fridge - it was just leftover Chinese from the takeout place down the street - and lock his apartment up before making his way to work. The drive to the FBI Head Quarters in Quantico was its usual, monotonous route, making it to the highly secured facility in under an hour. He entered the bullpen and went straight for his desk first, placing his satchel bag on it before heading for his safe haven - the break room.

They'd just closed a case yesterday and so he expected to be filling out a lot of reports today. Thus the reason for the copious amounts of sugar in his coffee he was currently making.

'Whoa! Talk about having a sweet tooth. Save some for the rest of us, Reid.'

Spencer looked over his shoulder to see Kate Callahan walking through the door into the break room, an amused and slightly baffled expression morphing her gentle features as she eyed Spencer's coffee making. She walked over beside him to grab a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee from the freshly brewed pot beside Spencer.

Spencer spared her a tight-lipped smile. Not long after you had left, so did Alex. It was like a double blow to Spencer's trust system, with two pillars of reliance being taken away so quickly and without warning. Kate had joined the team soon after that, and Spencer was glad to see the past few months that Kate had slotted in with the team just as nicely.

But she sadly couldn't fill the you-shaped hole in his heart.

'Sorry,' he said, putting the sugar container down finally and began to mix what he could in with the hot coffee. 'Our days started earlier when I first started, and normal coffee just never did the trick for me. Now I can't have it any other way but tooth-rottingly sweet.'

She chuckled as she placed the pot down and drank it straight - no creamer or sugar or milk at all. 'Doesn't worry me. I'm a true espresso gal, but I think Morgan may have some issues if all the sugar somehow disappears.'

'I won't tell if you won't,' Spencer offered, tapping the spoon on the cup's edge before placing it in the sink. He took a tentative sip from the hot drink, and relished at the sweetness that warmed his throat.

Kate winked as she took a sip from her own coffee. 'It'll be our little secret.'

Before either could make a move to return to their desks - where no doubt towers of paperwork were waiting for them - the bright, colourful figure that was Penelope Garcia stopped by the doorway. 'Good morning, my beautiful people,' she said by way of greeting, although her smile didn't reach her eyes like usual. 'I know you all just got back but we've got another case. Roundtable when you're ready.'

Kate sighed with exhaustion but Spencer nodded his understanding. Paperwork soothed him, but he didn't necessarily want to be soothed right now. He wanted action, a distraction, something to physically do. Anything to take his mind off you.

'Looks like paperwork will have to wait,' he said, bounding after Penelope with Kate in tow.

'Don't sound so happy about a dead body, Reid,' Kate suggested.

'You don't know it's dead body,' he argued as he swung by his desk to grab his bag and rejoin Kate to walk towards the Roundtable Room, all the while not spilling his coffee. 'Statistically, it is more likely that there are multiple dead bodies involved considering we don't get called in for singular homicide events very often unless it's a high profile victim, in which case the unsub could be a highly trained assassin or of military background. But those statistics are another collection of data unrelated to serial killing, so it's more likely the case involves a serial killer, and therefore multiple dead bodies.'

The two of them entered the Roundtable Room to find the rest of the team already seated and Penelope standing in front of the screen, ready to present.

'What are we talking about?' JJ asked.

Before Spencer could answer, Kate cut in with, 'You don't want to go down that rabbit hole.'

'Okay, my pretties,' Penelope started, clicking a button to start the presentation. Three pictures of women appeared on the screen, alongside birth certificates and a picture of their dead body. 'We have three dead women: Anna Carswell, Petrina Summers, and Larissa Pembroke; and as you can tell from the pictures, their deaths were very messy. There are signs of sexual violence from what remains of their... um... mutilated nether regions.'

'They were stabbed?' Kate asked, her face pinching with disgust and sadness for the women. Spencer didn't blame her. There was blood everywhere including the walls of the dumpsters they were found in. It was enough to make him squeamish; he couldn't imagine what Kate, JJ and Penelope were possibly feeling.

Penelope nodded grimly. 'Yeah. Anna Carswell was the first victim and was only stabbed five times, but the others both have twelve stab wounds each.'

'So much rage...' JJ mused softly as she examined the pictures.

'That,' Derek started, 'or twelve is a significant number for the unsub.'

'Or he's trying to send a message to someone,' Hotch added. 'Look at her clothes, her shoes, makeup and hair.'

Spencer narrowed his eyes to inspect each area individually, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what Hotch was talking about. 'Styled or big hair; tight-fitting tops, skirts and dresses that leave little to the imagination; significantly high heels; and bold jewellery and makeup,' Spencer listed his observations pragmatically before looking away from the screen to address the others properly. 'I don't want to stereotype, but my guess is that they're prostitutes.'

'And boy wonder wins this round of Guess Who,' Penelope announced. 'All of them worked as prostitutes at popular establishments around Manhattan, but they were so far strung that local police didn't put the killings together until Larissa's body was found last night. The first victim was killed six months ago, but Petrina and Larissa make two in the last month.

'That's a bit of an escalation for the unsub,' Rossi finally said, having been quietly contemplating since Spencer walked in. 'Why the sudden increase in kill time, do you think?'

'Maybe he's impotent,' JJ offered. 'Maybe Anna Carswell was just an accident - see, look at the jagged and varied placement of the stab wounds. And for the past few months he's been trying to repress the urge to kill again, and some recent event has been his stressor.'

'JJ's right, Petrina and Larissa's stab wounds are cleaner, intentional. He's perfecting his craft,' Kate stated.

'Who called it in?' Derek asked.

'The first two victims were found by dumpster guys picking up the trash, but Larissa was found by a homeless man trying to find some food,' Penelope said. 'Local authorities have all callers in at their main office and are expecting you within the next two hours.'

'We'll keep debriefing on the plane,' Hotch said as he stood up, tablet in hand. 'Wheels up in twenty.'

Suddenly his phone pinged, and he took a quick glance at it, his face turning grim.

'What is it, Aaron?' Rossi asked.

Hotch pocketed his phone as he said, 'That was the New York FBI office. They've found another body. Wheels up in ten.'

~~~

Spencer stood across from the coroner with the latest victim's body laying between them.

Roxy Vega. Sounded fake, but that's who her brothel manager identified her as. She was the one to call Roxy in, but said that one of her girls was the one to find her. Spencer and Morgan were to go talk to her and the manager after looking at the body.

'She's the same as the others, poor thing,' the coroner said, her brow scrunching with displeasure. 'Stabbed to death. Twelve, to be exact.'

'Anything from the toxicology report?' Derek asked.

She shook her head. 'Hasn't come back yet, but I can guess she'll be like the others too and be clean. People think prostitutes would be similar to junkies, but the truth is it's usually whoever they're serving that put something in their system to... elevate the experience.'

Spencer and Derek must've been pulling shocked expressions, because she chuckled, putting her clipboard down on a table beside her. 'I used to do some escorting myself to help pay off medical school before I got this job. Nothing extreme like these girls, but the same principles applied.'

Spencer gave her a tight-lipped smile before pointing at the sheet. 'If you don't mind, can I look at the wounds myself?'

'Sure,' the coroner said, and delicately manoeuvred the white sheet covering Roxy so that it covered her upper body still. Even the dead deserved some modesty.

But Spencer wasn't perturbed by her female genitalia. He was more interested in the twelve stab wounds that scarred her lower abdomen and pelvic area. Six side by side in each area.

'That's odd,' he murmured to himself.

But Derek heard him. 'What is?'

Spencer hovered his pointer finger over each wound. 'Look at these,' he said. 'They're almost exactly parallel to one another, all in a row. And the cuts are all the same length, too.'

'Well that rules out our unsub being rageful,' Derek added. 'If he was angry when he killed them, the wounds would no doubt be all over the place, and varied in length if he did it in a frenzy.'

'So our unsub is cool, calm and collected,' Spencer mused, but something still didn't add up. 'There is almost something ritualistic about the placement. Like it's a symbol.'

'Well, he's definitely trying to send a message then,' Derek said, eyes drifting back to Roxy laying on the table. 'But who is it for?'

'And has it been heard yet?' Spencer added. The buzz of his phone prompted him to pull it out of his coat pocket and answer the call.

'Hotch,' he answered. 'Morgan and I have just finished at the morgue. The lines on the latest victim suggests that these could be ritualistic killings or a message to someone or even a group. The stabs were clean so the girls, well Roxy at least, would've been restrained or knocked unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'That changes the profile from a raging serial killer to someone who had these killings premeditated,' Hotch concluded. 'Good work, you two. Head down to the brothel to see the manager and the co-worker who found her. Local authorities took their statements but maybe they know more than they think or are letting on.'

'Okay,' Spencer agreed. 'What are you guys doing?'

'JJ and Kate are talking with the victim's families one at a time and Dave and I are at the headquarters talking with the officers and detectives who started this case. I'll ask them if they noticed the stab wound patterns, see if it means anything to them.'

'We'll call JJ and tell her the same,' Spencer said. 'Maybe the unsub is taunting the parents somehow and the key is in the stab wounds.'

'Okay. Call back when you're done.'

'Got it.'

Spencer hung up and turned to the coroner. 'Thanks so much for your help. If you could send that M.E. report to our unit chief, that'd be most helpful.'

'Of course,' she said, offering a kind smile. 'I'll keep looking for other anomalies, particularly if you think they were somehow restrained or unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'The mass blood spillage was just for show,' Derek said. 'I have a bad feeling these girls weren't stumbled upon by accident. There's more to this, and whoever these stab wounds were meant to warn is the key to solving who is behind all of this.'

Spencer quickly thanked the coroner for her time before he and Derek were out the door and in an SUV driving to downtown Manhattan to the brothel.

The Chateau, despite its name, was just a small sign hanging above a door that needed a fresh coat of paint about ten years prior. No doubt the sign would light up neon at night to draw in the locusts that were cheating husbands or deadbeat wannabes. But it was located on a busy street, and daylight made it look unassuming compared to the big billboards and towering office buildings around it. Just a hole in the wall, really.

'This place looks like a dump already,' Derek said as they examined the outside. Posters advertising all kinds of entertainment from the establishment were pinned to billboards either side of the door and down the wall where people stood in line to get in perhaps. But they were torn, like flyers from a travelling circus long ago.

'That's probably a strategic method,' Spencer said. 'It's what many opium dens in Shanghai used to do back in the 1920s to avoid law enforcement suspicion. Of course, brothels and even opium dens are legal today, but they now act as the fronts for more illicit dealings.'

'Right,' Derek said, reaching out for the door handle tentatively. 'Let's just hope that isn't the case today. We've got enough to worry about with four dead girls let alone some underground, black market bullshit.'

Derek wasted no more time in opening the door and stepping inside, Spencer right on his heels. But as soon as the daylight faded and their eyes readjusted, they both gaped at what met them inside.

Lavish gold and black velvet carpet lined the floors, swirling in intricate, flowery designs that made Spencer feel dizzy for a second. A settee sat to their left in a small alcove where gold curtains were pulled back, but Spencer took a guess as to why they would be closed at certain points. All the furniture were beautifully crafted pieces with a black gloss layer and gold lining certain edges that sparkled in the low light from the victorian style lamps hanging on the walls.

It scared Spencer how accurate he had sort of been. It felt like he was in a 1920s film noir club where gangsters met up to make and complete deals. Where they smoked cigars, and the showgirls wore sparkly, frilly, feathery dresses and patterned pantyhose. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew it was a brothel, that the gold and sparkles were just a front, but he couldn't help but be impressed by the attention to detail. Right down to the artwork that hung on the walls, all of which were from famous painters from the time period.

'They're amazing, aren't they?'

Spencer spun alongside Derek at the new, commanding voice that entered the room, and found a woman in her late forties to early fifties standing by a podium where the registry would no doubt sit each night for customers to sign in and out of. He had to give it to the establishment, it was committed to the act.

'Y-Yes,' he stuttered an answer, looking back at the painting in front of him. 'It looks like- I'm sorry, but are these the real thing?'

She laughed heartily as she sashayed over to them, the bellowing arms of her white, silk sleeves flowing gracefully with her movements. 'Goodness, no. The real ones are more than likely in a museum somewhere or hanging above the bed of some rich bimbo who doesn't understand what it is or who even painted it.' Despite the malice in her words, her red lips parted in a sultry grin. 'But alas, these do just fine. As do you, might I say.'

Spencer didn't like how her eyes raked over him and Derek ever so slowly, like she was some predator contemplating what part of her prey she should consume first. This is what JJ, Kate and Penelope must feel most of the time, he thought, averting his eyes as best as possible from the woman's snake-like ones.

He decidedly did not like the feeling it gave him.

Sensing his partner's discomfort, Derek reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his badge. 'Thank you, but we're here on official business only today.'

Those snake-eyes latched onto the badge, and it only took her half a second for her sultry smile to drop and to cross her arms. But not out of embarrassment, more like how a child did when they didn't get what they want. 'So you're the FBI agents I was told was visiting me today. How charming.' She held out hand to Derek, and Spencer couldn't help but notice how bare it was compared to rest of her. Long dangling emeralds hung from her ears, matching the beautiful emerald necklace around her neck. But no rings, or bracelets.

Odd.

'I'm Madame Lacroix,' she said, Derek finally taking her hand. 'I am the manager of The Chateau.'

She held her hand out to Spencer, to which he awkwardly splayed his hands up by his chest in a mock surrender. 'I, uh, actually don't do handshakes, sorry. Just a personal thing.'

Madame Lacroix looked him up and down from over her nose, which was an impressive act as she stood a good head shorter than him. After a moment, she dropped her hand and the matter, turning back to Derek once more.

'Madame,' Derek started. 'We just want to ask a few questions about Roxy Vega. We understand she was... one of your own for a while now. Is that correct?'

'Yes,' she answered, her painted face taking on a contemplative, even fond expression at the mention of Roxy. 'She'd been with us around eleven months. Some of the girls were supposed to take her out this coming weekend to celebrate. Geez, did those girls love partying.'

'How so?' Spencer inquired.

That snake-like gaze whipped back to him in an instant. 'They would have weekends away once every couple of months. Fancy yachts, expensive clothes, gourmet restaurants. One time, they went to the Greek Isles for a week.' She shrugged nonchalantly. 'But they could always pay for it. My girls are the best at what they do. So much so they are able to pay me and keep a good amount of earnings for themselves. And before you ask, everything is perfectly legal here, I have papers.'

'We're not really interested in that, Madame Lacroix,' Derek continued. 'You say Roxy was part of a, shall we say, an exclusive group in your establishment.'

'If you're implying that I play favourites, I don't, agent,' Madame Lacroix said, her tone dancing with silent threat. 'All my girls work the same hours, and relatively earn the same amount. It's completely on them if they decide to form friendships or alliances wth one another.'

'Was the girl who found her in that group too?' Spencer asked for Derek.

She nodded. 'Usually, Roxy and her girls don't let newcomers into their group. And if they do, it's not until they're a few months into working here. But yeah, Serena was pulled into that group from the moment she got here only three months ago.'

'Do you know where she was before The Chateau?' Derek asked.

'Yeah, she was uptown at a strip club, Guilty Pleasure. I know the guy who runs the place, and I don't blame her for leaving.'

Guilty Pleasure. The name rung familiar with Spencer, and so he pulled Derek away a little to whisper in his ear. 'That's the club Larissa used to work at.'

'And what are the odds that Larissa is now dead?' Derek added, eyes lighting with recognition. He quickly turned back to Madame Lacroix, urgency written on his face. 'Madame, there have been three other girls found in similar fashions to Roxy.'

For the first time since she entered the room, she didn't appear in control of everything happening. Her face dropped and a look of confusion and shock reflected in her eyes. 'Three other girls? Oh my goodness...'

'If you'd like, we can continue this talk in your office?' Derek offered, to which she nodded and began walking towards the podium, which Spencer now realised was in front of twin staircases heading downwards either side.

'I usually conduct private business at night, so my office is down in the Pit where I can make sure my girls are okay,' she explained as they descended into the a dimly lit bar reminiscent of the roaring 20s.

A giant glass chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, providing enough light to see the retro bar to the left, the cabaret setup of chairs and tables that faced the small stage at the far end of the room, and the empty booths where more settees and lounges sat with curtains drawn back for now. Again, Spencer was struck by how much it felt like stepping back in time. It was truly impressive.

Spencer halted, however, when Madame Lacroix stopped and turned back to face them, genuine concern furrowing her perfectly plucked brows. 'You don't think Serena has anything to do with this. Do you?' she asked.

'We don't know that for certain,' Derek answered. 'But we would like to have a talk with her so we can start clearing up this mess. Do you know where we can find her?'

She nodded, then pointed to a door over their shoulders. 'She's here doing stocktake for me today, actually. She does so on occasion when my workmen are busy with other jobs. A load just came in this morning. You can found her sorting through it out back in the loading bay.'

'Thank you,' Spencer said before turning to speak with Derek. 'I'll go talk with her while you finish here.'

'Shout if something goes wrong, okay?' Derek warned, to which Spencer agreed and made his way to the back door.

He couldn't stop his nose from scrunching as the scent of rotten food and heavy alcohol wafted up it. Giant bins were pressed against the far corner of the loading bay, but it wasn't a very big room, so the smell was easily detected.

Looks like the stocktake room doubles as the bin room, he thought as he stepped further into the bay, where crates were stacked taller than him with food, glassware, alcohol. Amongst the stacks was a shuffling of feet, then a hard thud that resulted in a harsh cry and an 'Ouch!'

'Hello?' Spencer called out while searching his way through the stacks. What did a brothel need with so much stuff anyways? 'Serena?'

'Over here!' a heavy Brooklyn accent replied. Spencer followed the voice, finding a hunched over woman cradling her exposed toe. She wore burnt orange platform wedges with jeans and a white tank top that left little to the imagination of a one Dr. Spencer Reid. Her hair was a puffy mess of curls like the blowouts back in the 80s, and it was so big he couldn't see her face.

'Are you okay,' he said, rushing over to help, but she just held up a hand, her face still covered.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, doll,' she replied hastily, shakily. 'Just hit my toe, is all.'

'Well, here, let me get you some ice-'

'That's not necessary, hun. Really.'

'Well, at least let me have a look at it. You might've gotten a splinter in it or-'

'Stop.'

He was already bending down when the word hit him. But not just the word, but the voice that came with it. It was different to the Brooklyn accent now. It was... familiar.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as familiarity turned into recognition; and when he looked up from his half-squat position, he froze where he was and stared. Because the woman he saw wasn't an unrecognisable face of some girl called Serena.

His mouth had gone dry at the shock, and so he gulped a few times, trying to find the words he'd been holding back for months. But instead, only one word came to the surface.

'Y/N?'

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dixieprentiss · 7 months ago

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Both Sides Now;

The BAU is where Emily Prentiss and JJ met. When Emily joined the team she struggled to make bonds with any of the team and chose to latch onto JJ as she had shown her kindness. JJ simply welcomes Emily to the team. Both are unaware of the other's views on their bond. Their different lives offer different perspectives on what they view their relationship as and what they mean to each other. Their thoughts and feelings overlap at times and they often seem like they're chasing their tails rather than seeing eye to eye on what they are together. Each chapter switches points of view between the two, showing a new light on the same storyline each time.

New Chapters EVERY SUNDAY

Chapter playlist

#criminal minds #fanfic #fanfiction #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #slow burn #wlw #wlw yearning #wlw post #wlw love #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jason gideon #wattpad #Spotify

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ambers-archive · 1 year ago

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who am i, darling to you?

༺ ✤ ༻⠀

chapter I. chapter ii. chapter iii. chapter iv. chapter v

you never believed in fate, you thought the idea was only a luxury to very few. but, there are moments when you find yourself reading some of your grandmother's stories. because you miss her cooking and the way she would braid your hair. and clinging to the words she used to tell you. "An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance."

Your grandmother always read folktales to you, and you vividly remember her oiling your hair as she recited stories which are now etched into your heart.

She was a big believer in fate and destiny.

Oftentimes you found yourselves late at night reading old Chinese folktales. They were nice stories, but you don't believe in such things you had told her.

Only in the quiet moments though, nestled in your shared room, you rediscovered the stories.

Hunched between her dresser, re-reading some of the stories.

You don't believe in fate, the idea was only a luxury to very few. But, there are moments when you find yourself reading some of your grandmother's stories because you miss her cooking and the way she would braid your hair. And clinging to the words she used to tell you.

"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance."

You don’t know why this phrase surfaced now, amidst the memories of your grandmother's stories, as you absentmindedly played with the red strings of your bracelet in the room.

The conference room in the backdrop suddenly came to life, halting your memories to a stop.

“Carmichaels, Parkers, and Bennetts—all madly in love, all mercilessly taken from each other." Garcia’s voice took you out of your trance, “they were all found, dead inside their hotel rooms just weeks into their honeymoon.”

Images of crime scenes and the couples getaway flickered on the screens. Once people and smiles behind the pictures are now just empty vessels.

"Our unsub has a perverted romanticism. He goes through a careful selection process rather than just picking victims at random. These couples stand for something he wants but is unable to obtain. it's mainly honeymooners, but the Parkers were on their second honeymoon after five years of marriage.” Garcia explained.

They were all beautiful women, and you felt a shudder run down your spine.

Eyes boring back into yours, it wasn’t anything super obvious only visible when you stared too long. The dusted freckles, asymmetrical lips, and the similar almond eyes peering back into yours.

A disconcerting mirror

"Are you okay?” Hotch whispered next to you. His steady voice breaks the whispered noise in your head. Nodding you turn to face him, your eyes tracing the lines of his face—the sharp angles, the subtle furrow of his brow, and his beautiful eyes. And as quickly as those feelings came up, you pushed them down, burying them.

He’s your boss.

"I'm fine. It's just…”

"We'll catch this unsub, and we'll keep everyone safe.” He said, reaching over to shut your case file, and just for a minute you can feel his band brush against yours.

Just a ghost of affection but you feel it in your heart, hands, stomach, everywhere.

"Statistically, honeymoon periods are marked by increased serotonin levels, lower stress, and overall happiness. It's an emotionally charged time for couples. Maybe our unsub wanted to disrupt this happiness." Reid added.

"Garcia, what do we know about the killer's MO? Any specific weapons? Did he keep the victims hostage?" Hotch's voice louder cut through the unspoken tension between you two.

"Our unsub is methodical, almost surgical. No signs of struggle at the crime scenes, which suggests he's either catching them off guard or he has a significant physical advantage. As for weapons, no firearms used. It's more personal—strangulation in some cases, others show signs of asphyxiation, drowning perhaps." She offered.

"The absence of firearms indicates a desire for close contact, personal involvement in the act. It could be an attempt to exert dominance or control over the victims." Reid emphasized.

"Any signs of sexual assault? A crime of passion or something more sinister?" JJ, pondered.

The room fell silent, the images on the screen reflecting the collective gravity of the situation. Reid turned to you, "You specialize in this area. Were the women assaulted? Is there a signature type of killing here?"

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before responding, “We need to look for patterns—specific methods, post-mortem mutilation, or any consistent elements that could indicate a signature. One more thing I noticed. Take a closer look here," you directed, your finger tracing over the intricate marks etched into the victims' lower abdomen.

The marks were a series of precise cuts, forming patterns and odd shapes. "Each one of these victims has that mark.” Morgan added

"These symbols," you continued voice steady, "are strategically placed. They're not random, but deliberate. The lower abdomen is a vulnerable area, and the unsub is exploiting that vulnerability, asserting dominance in the most invasive way possible."

"What can we learn from this language?” Hotch asked

"It's a power play," you replied. "The unsub wants these women to know they're at his mercy, that he holds the reins of their fate. It's not just about the act of killing; it's about asserting dominance, ensuring his victims suffer every step of the way."

Hotch's expression hardened, cloud taking over his eyes. "We need to catch this guy before he can leave more marks. Continue the briefing on the plane. I want everyone fully informed. Wheels up in 30.” He finished, gathering his case files, but not without a glance at you.

Normally hidden, his eyes now had vulnerability.

The power he had over you, a fleeting glance made you shiver.

And even though it lasted only a split second, it felt endless.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #reader fic #my writing #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x you #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

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watermelongirl01 · 5 months ago

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In Between Kisses

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: What you and Aaron did back in Colorado follows you to Virginia.

Content Warning: Violence, fluff, not a lot of supernatural on this one though. It contains pieces of S6:E4, but with my fixes.

Hotch watched you from across the room, sitting at Prentiss's desk, laughing and chatting with her. Your skirt had ridden up just enough to catch his eye, but it was your smile, radiant, effortless, that held his attention. If this were a beauty contest, Hotch was certain you'd win. But it wasn't just your smile that captivated him. It was the way your pink lips seemed to draw him in, pulling his attention every time, as they had ever since Colorado. The kiss you'd shared for good luck was still vivid in his mind, and ever since, he found himself unable to look at you without thinking about it.

He knew it was wrong, so wrong. You were much younger, with a promising career ahead of you, full of life and potential. And yet, the only thing that had consumed his thoughts since that moment was kissing you again. And he was determined to make it happen, before leaving for the next case.

——

“We need to help them.”

“They haven’t requested our assistance, Pen.”

“They never will, but they need it.” She took your hands between hers while looking at you hopefully. “Please, please.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” You sighed in surrender.

Ever since the kiss in Colorado, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Hotch had been avoiding you. Maybe, just maybe, you’d crossed a line. You hadn’t expected it to happen, at least not yet, but at that moment, with your life on the line, you’d wanted, no, needed, to kiss him before the chance was gone. And, if you were honest with yourself, you loved every second of it. But that didn’t mean you wanted to force yourself into his space or disrupt his cases, especially if he was actively trying to avoid you.

You grabbed your bags, previously packed, and followed Penelope as she led the way to Hotch’s office.

And there he was, his trademark frown firmly in place. He looked up at you both, his stern look and a hint of intrigue in his eyes. You let Penelope speak first, stepping back, well, more like hiding slightly behind her. You didn’t want to suffer Hotch’s intense stare, the one that made you feel as if he could see straight through you.

“What's that?” He asked looking at the bags on your hands

“Our go bags.”

“Where are you going?”

“With you, hopefully.” Penelope quickly replied. “Sir, I think we’re all still reeling since JJ is on vacation, and you need a communication liaison.”

“Garcia…”

“Sir, please hear us out, our jobs overlap with JJ’s the most.” She looked at him, voice steady. “Every time you are out in cases, she coordinates your needs with me. It makes sense.”

“Garcia, there are aspects of the job for which you have no training.”

“But I do.” You stepped away from Penelope, moving right in front of Hotch. You swallowed hard. “I know how to interact with families and local law enforcement, and the media.” Hotch’s eyes flicked to yours, and you met his gaze

“You hate to deal with the media.” He said flatly. You rolled your eyes at his read of you, of course, he knows everything about you, but nodded. It was true; you hated it.

“Sir, I’m willing to tone down my wardrobe choices, we are ready to make sacrifices if you please give us the chance.”

"Wait, you’ll actually use neutral colors?" You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then you looked back at Hotch. "That’s how you know it’s serious," You added with a smirk.

Hotch's gaze lingered a bit longer on you, before shifting back to Garcia. but he finally nodded.

“Alright. We could explore this on a trial basis until JJ returns. We’ll see how things go.”

“Are you two up to speed on the case?” He asked.

“Yes.” You both answered in unison.

“Can you be ready in three hours?”

“We are ready now.”

He nodded. "See you on the plane." He turned to Garcia but then looked back at you. "I’ll need to speak with you first."

"Oh, shit." You mouthed under your breath but quickly nodded. "Yes, Sir."

You watched in confusion as Hotch closed every single blind in his office. When he noticed you standing far from him, he gestured for you to come closer.

“Closer,” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed. "Sir, if this is about the kiss... look, I’m really sorry." Before you could say more, he raised his palm, silencing you.

“It is about the kiss,” He said, his voice low. You swallowed hard. “But I figured, before you leave today to act as our communication liaison, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as you tried to make sense of his words. But then, his breath brushed against your face, shutting down all your thoughts. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him. Your knees trembled when his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip.

“You want me to wish you good luck?” He asked. You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

Your heart raced as his lips pressed against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, but Hotch wasn’t satisfied with just a peck. He deepened the kiss, his lips capturing yours with an intensity that left you breathless. It only lasted a few seconds, but when he pulled away, you felt a sudden emptiness. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

“See you on the plane,” he said, his voice colder now, as he turned and left the office. You stood there for a moment, stunned, before you slowly opened your eyes, unsure of what had just happened.

What the fuck just happened?

——

“Swingers?” you asked, clearly confused. “How does that go wrong?”

Everyone in the room, except for Emily and Derek—who hadn’t arrived yet—looked at you with surprise.

“I mean, I’m not into that, obviously.” You raised your hand defensively. “I’m just curious.”

“Apparently his partner left or cheated, so now he comes back to revisit old patterns to see if they still work.” Spencer explained to you.

“And when he finds that they don’t, he’ll be compelled to destroy them.” Hotchner added and you nodded in understanding. “And anyone engaging in them.”

“And yes, we know you’re not into that, you’re too possessive for it.” And with that Spencer left the room, leaving in shock.

Am I?” you asked, looking around the room at the remaining team. “Am I possessive?”

They exchanged looks and decided not to comment on it.

“Cowards.” You said under your breath, but before you could concentrate back into work, your gaze landed on Hotch.“So Hotch.” You began. “This means it’ll be an undercover operation, right?”

He glanced up at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “No.”

“Oh, come on. This case screams undercover.” you pressed, leaning forward.

For a split second, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

“No.” he repeated, his voice firm.

You grinned. “I’m just saying, keep it in mind. Right, Pen?”

Penelope barely acknowledged you, too engrossed in her work to care.

“Busy,” she muttered, almost annoyed, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

You nodded and turned back to your laptop, but after just a few seconds, you couldn’t help it. You looked over at her again.

“Pen, do you think I’m too possessive?”

Oh, if only looks could kill.

——

“I knew it, undercover operation.” You grinned at Penelope, who seemed to be in a better mood today, her outfit bright and colorful again.

Morgan had just barged into the office that had been lent to you at the precinct to inform you and Penelope about the mission. As usual, you could tell exactly what he meant when he said "low profile operation to get the Unsub"—undercover, no doubt.

“Don’t get too excited,” Derek warned, his eyes locked on you as he took a seat at your desk. His smile was smug, a little too confident. “You’re coming.”

A laugh bubbled up as he tossed a set of clothes into your lap. “What? No, no, no,” you said, shoving them back at him. “I didn’t sign up for this, and I’m acting as a communication liaison right now.”

“You aren’t anymore, besides, you wanted in.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But now you are,” he insisted, unbothered.

You sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. But no offense, bros before hoes.”

You placed a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, giving her a pointed look. Derek crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at your choice of words.

“Really?” he asked, amused.

“Yep. Sisters before misters.” You mirrored his stance, crossing your arms too.

Derek chuckled, but you weren’t done yet.

“Walls before balls,” you added with a wink.

“Are you done?”

“Sis before dicks.”

Derek's amusement only grew, but then he raised a hand, cutting you off. “I’m gonna stop you right there. The operation isn’t with me.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Spencer?” you guessed.

He shook his head.

“Nope. You’re going with Hotch.”

You blinked, surprised but... well, pleasantly surprised. You hadn’t expected that. “Wait, Hotch?”

“Yep,” Derek said, standing and heading for the door with a final grin. “Get ready, and don’t keep him waiting.”

——

“Ready?” Rossi asked, looking at you in your new outfit.

The whole team was about to get into the bar, Derek had already spotted the Unsub and now it was on you and Hotch to get him.

You nodded, your gaze falling on Hotch. “Does he know?”

“He knows.” Rossi assured you.

“Oh okay, I mean it is hard to say if he is okay with it, he’s kinda hard to read.”

“He's okay with it, don’t worry about it”

“But, did he want me to do this with him?” You asked. “Emily is here, she’s better with undercover assignments.”

He leaned his head a bit. “You being there it’s my idea.”

“Well, that makes sense.” You said looking down at your black high heels.

“But he didn’t resist it, not one bit,” Rossi said with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at you. “Besides, with all the undercover work you’ve been doing with the supernatural stuff, it’s practically in your job description.”

You nodded. “You’re right.”

“Alright.” You heard Derek’s firm voice, cut through the moment. “He’s there in the middle of the bar, he will shoot up the place, and you guys will act as a distraction.”

You and Hotch nodded.

“We will keep his focus off the crowd long enough for you to take him down.” Hotch said and then leaned forward closer to you. “Keep your gun in your purse.”

You gave him a small nod.

“Remember, you two need to act all lovey-dovey like you’re into each other. Make it believable.” Emily reminded you.

“Like it’s hard.” Rossi snorted under his breath but quickly tried to disguise it with a fake cough. But you heard him. And so did Hotch

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone cold but amused. “What was that?”

Rossi gave an exaggerated pout and shook his head. “I said, good luck,” he said quickly, trying to play it off.

But you could see the smirk tugging at the corners of Hotch’s mouth, the briefest flicker of amusement before his usual stoic mask returned.

“Let’s go, then.”

You, Hotch, and a few members of the team made your way into the bar. Hotch guided you to a corner, giving you a clear view of the Unsub. You studied the man, noting how he stood casually with his hands in his jacket pockets, likely concealing a gun.

Hotch leaned against the bar, and you positioned yourself in front of him. Without warning, his arm slipped around your waist in a bold but necessary move, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively draped over his shoulders, and your fingers locked together behind his neck. The proximity sent a wave of awareness through you. You were too close.

“Is he looking?” you whispered to Hotch, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Hotch shifted, leaning back just enough to check on the Unsub before looking at you again. “Yeah, he is.”

You had the unsub's full attention.

“I should go and talk to him.” You said pulling apart a little but Hotch didn’t lose his grip on you.

“Careful.” His voice tone was firm and serious, you nodded in understanding.

You walked and stood beside the Unsub.

“James, hey! I thought that was you.” You greeted him. “How's Mary Ann?

He looked at you, puzzled.

“Oh!” You giggled. “You don’t remember me, do you?” You grimaced. “We met at a party.”

“We did?”

“Yeah. That was a crazy night.”

He smirked, nodding with his head. “I bet it was”

You tried to make a conversation with him based on what you figured out of him, for a while he seemed to follow the conversation but in the end, he caught your lies.

“You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He said, he was clearly pissed.

Everyone could see how the conversation got heated, how the tension started to build up, and how he reached to grab something from his jacket.

You froze, but you got to hear a distant.

“Move, move.”

From Hotch.

And then you heard a gunshot, and you felt like everything stopped for a moment, you couldn’t breathe and your chest felt heavy. You looked at his eyes, they were still looking at you but then he dropped to the ground. Right on your feet.

Your eyes slowly lifted, and there she was Emily, standing in front of you with a gun in her hand. She had just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, barely able to believe the moment.

She gave you a reassuring smile, then reached out, pulling you away from the chaos. Her arm slipped around your shoulders in a comforting embrace.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Let’s just get on that plane and head home. We deserve a girls’ night after all this.”

“The Lord knows we do,” you replied, your smile finally reaching your eyes.

——

After a flight back home where you slept most of the time, it was time to get off the plane. Hotch saw your sleepy form trying to get a cab on the cold night.

“Need a ride?” You jumped a little.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother.” He shook his head

“It’s not, your house is on my way.”

You looked at him with a smile, softly shaking your head. “No it’s not, and I’m sure Jack is waiting for you.”

He looked at you. “Let me get you home.”

“Alright, Sir. Lead the way.”

The car ride was quiet, the soft music in the background, the steady rhythm of the engine, and Hotch’s presence beside you relaxed you. Your head rested against the cool glass of the window, your gaze drifting between the road ahead and the focused expression on his face as he drove. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him multiple times until you arrived at your house.

Hotch insisted on helping you with your bags, walking inside to make sure everything was in order. He still wondered why you hadn’t moved out of your apartment after the Gordon incident, but he didn’t bring it up. Not tonight.

“Thanks for going out of your way to give me a ride home,” you said as you both stood on the porch.

“My pleasure,” he replied, stepping a little closer. “I should go.”

You nodded, moving a fraction closer as well. “Say hi to Jack for me.”

Both of you lingered there, the space between you growing smaller, tension hanging in the air.

“And good luck, on the road.” Being so close to Hotch stirred something within you, emotions that had been lingering after what happened in his office a few days ago.

Hotch’s gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

Without another word, Hotch drew you even closer, your lips brushing for a moment before he took the final step. He kissed you like he knew exactly what his kiss was doing to you. You had been kissed before, yes, but never like this, not with this raw intensity, this urgency. His free hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your skin, and the hunger between you both became palpable.

Your tongue gently traced his bottom lip, and without hesitation, he parted his lips to welcome you in. The kiss was slow but fierce, a dance of desire that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long. You knew you needed to stop, you had to, his kid was waiting for him. But once again when he finally pulled away breathless, you couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of him, desperate for more.

He looked at you, your lips slightly parted and red from the swollen. “See you tomorrow?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Tags: @adrienneleclerc @hayleym1234

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