#david rossi x gn!reader

[teddy06writes]

Thanksgiving Special Day Two - BAU (Unit)

Platonic!BAU (Unit) x gn!reader

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: You spend your first friendsgiving with your colleagues from the BAU

You stood awkwardly on Rossi's front step, struggling to balance the pie dishes in your hands. When footsteps began crunching up the driveway behind you, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

"Oh good! We're not the only ones who are early!" Emily laughed.

"Is that pie?!" Penelope squealed, bounding up the steps and pulling you into a hug, plucking one of the dishes from your hands.

"Uh yeah- I made apple and pumpkin both, because I wasn't sure what all everyone would want."

"Smells delish!"

Finally, the front door swung open and Rossi appeared, ushering you all in, "Welcome, welcome! I was just about to start getting the table set- what do we have here... (y/l/n) is that pie?"

"Apple, and Garcia has the pumpkin." You grinned.

"You can set that right on the island," He motioned to the granite countertop before turning to Emily, "And what's this?"

Emily held up the bottles in her hands, "Merlot, and that Cab we tried last month."

Rossi grinned, patting her shoulder, "Good kid."

"Oh my god that turkey smells incredible!" Penelope gushed.

"I just checked it, it should be done in twenty minutes or so."

Emily chuckled, "Well you better put us to work until then."

Rossi began to direct the three of you in laying out sets of plates and silverware, and before you knew it Spencer, Morgan and JJ were crowding into the house, carrying various dishes full of sides. Hotch appeared last, toting a basket of dinner rolls that were quickly added to the nearly over flowing table.

Wine was being poured, and someone had found Rossi's stereo and put on some jazzy album as you all crowded around the table.

At the head of the table, Rossi raised his glass, "Alright, before we dig in, I just want to say, I'm so grateful that you all could come and spend this Thanksgiving with me once again. And, I'd like to toast to our newcomer, (y/l/n), it's been a pleasure to have you join the team."

You grinned, "I'm very grateful to be here. And that your all not nearly as scary as you seemed that first day when I walked into the bullpen."

That earned you a round of laughter, choursed by the sound of clinking glasses.

~~~~

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[supercriminalbean]

Nightmares

David Rossi x GN!Reader.

Words. 1.4K

Summary: Your boyfriend waking you up from a nightmare.

Warnings: Murder, swearing, blood, crying, fluff, dead bodies. (If ive forgotten something let me know)

The fear kept building up as you ran down the corridor, your breathing becoming heavy as you sprint for your life. He was gaining on you slowly, the impending doom kept approaching and the corridor just seems to be getting longer. The place is freezing cold and bodies seem to be spread out across the hallway, having to jump over the familiar bodies of your team members. 

Their blood covering the walls, the man you have been running from for years getting closer and closer. Your mind is running with fear of the past and logic, you know this isn’t real, you remember going to bed last night then suddenly waking up running down this place. You were stuck once more in this unending nightmare, yet none of you seems to be waking up. 

SLAM! Your body is suddenly being tackled into the wall, the man you hate with every fibre of your body grins down at you keeping your shivering body pinned easily against the wall, a bloody knife firmly in his hand.

“I finally got you my little lamb” His soft chuckles make your skin crawl as he brings the knife up to your neck, slowly tracing down your body. Before he firmly pushes it into your chest, his laugh fills the room as he lets you drop to the floor, the torture finally ending. 

Glancing down at the knife that's firmly in your chest, blood dripping down as you slide on to the ground, losing the energy. 

“(Y/n)?” A soft voice calls for you, one that is unusually full of pain. Your eyes dart to your side. Your heart breaks into a million pieces when you spot Dave laying on the ground, his neck sliced open, a pile of blood pooling. 

“D Dave…”

“Why.. Why did you drag us into this” The anger and hate is all you can see in his eyes.

“I I’m sorry” You cry out as you watch the life drain out of him.

“You should be”

“We all died for you”

“You killed us all”

Your team all stand above you, all of them looking like ghosts, blood covering each and everyone of them, hatred and anger radiating off of them. You can’t help but let the tears spill over as you stare at them, the guilt catching up to you. 

“I'm sorry I’m so sorry” You keep repeating it, as Rossi brings his hand up to cup your cheek, leaving behind his bloody handprint.

~~~

Dave lays there for a few seconds, trying to figure out what the noises he could hear are. That's when they get louder and he has no doubts as to what it is. He quickly turns over, pulling himself closer to you, pulling himself into a sitting position, before rubbing your arm gently. 

“(Y/n), Sweetie, wake up” He speaks softly, hoping you're not too far in dream land, hoping you're close to waking up already. But he gets no response.

“(Y/n), come on sweetie, wake up” Dave calls again with more urgency, a sharper shake to your arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” You cry out, your eyes still firmly shut, still dead asleep. The fear of your dream has a tight hold on you.

“(Y/n), It's Dave I need you to open your eyes for me!” He speaks more sharply, scared about what's going on inside your mind tonight.

“I’m sorry, sorry Dave, please sorry” Your words mumble together as your crying gets harder, shaking as you try to get out of his grip.

“Darling, shh it's okay, I’m right here just wake up” Dave takes a deep breath, as he gives you one final sharp shake. Your eyes fling open with a small scream, your body launching up into a sitting position. Dave’s arms are quick to wrap around your waist, stopping you from falling off.

“Hey.. deep breaths I’m right here you're safe” Dave’s voice is soft, full of love and compassion. A tone that is completely different that the Dave from your dream, he rubs your arm gently as you take deep calming breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“D Dave..” The words get stuck in your throat. Turning to look at him with a terrified look plastered over your face, tears still spilling down your face.

“It's okay darling, I’m right here” He smiles softly, wrapping his arms around your properly before pulling you into his chest, pressing his lips against your forehead, which automatically helps calm you down.

~~~

You two sit there in silence for a moment. Your head resting against his chest, listening peacefully to his heart, taking deep breaths to try and match him. Your mind is still racing from the nightmare, but the longer you sit there listening to Dave’s heartbeat and breathing, feeling his body wrapped around yours, is enough to ground you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dave whispers softly, his hand running through your hair. 

“It was the corridor again” Your voice shakes, your mind flashing back to what your nightmare is based off of.

“Oh darling” Dave sighs softly. He had already figured that, it's not the first time you’ve woken up due to that place.

“It was worse this time.. He had k ki” The tears swell in your eyes again as you get flash back the jumping over the teams bodies, to Dave dying in your lap. “He killed the team.. I couldn't stop him.. He killed you” You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing again, that man has already taken so much from you, you can’t allow him to take your lover from you either.

“I'm right here.. The team is safe, everyone is safe” He whispers those words softly, knowing you're holding something back. Placing his hand under your chin so he can gently direct your face upwards to look at him. Catching a glimpse of your tears, he softly wipes them away, feeling his heart break as he sees the broken look on your face.

“Do you want to tell me what's really bothering you?” His stare is enough to make you break open about anything. The soft but protective, caring but stubborn look he has mastered, is enough to make you feel warm and safe inside.

“What if we never find him Dave?” Your words are barely a whisper, the fear of never finding him is one you don’t like to express.

“We will find him” Dave gives you a small smile, he doesn’t truly believe it but he knows he has to.

“It's been four years Dave.. It's not looking hopefully” Sighing softly, as you lean even further into him.

“I know, but you and I both know that the moment we have something, we have the best team and the best hope to bring him down, for good this time” Dave reassures you, kissing your cheek softly, which brings a small smile out of you.

“I know, but I never wanted anyone to have to deal with my dramas” Closing your eyes as your body starts to relax.

“We know, but the team is like a family, like hell are you dealing with any of this by yourself Amore” Dave pulls you down with him, into a more comfortable lying position.

“I know”

~~~

“Do you want to try and get more sleep, It’s not like we have work for a couple days” Dave smiles down at you, watching as you reposition yourself on his chest. Just a couple years ago he would never imagine you would be here with him. 

“No more sleep, but I do not want to get up yet” Smiling softly as his hand goes and replays with your hair. “Seeing as we don’t have work for a couple more days, do you think we can go up to your cabin then, we haven’t been up there in months, an I think getting away for awhile is good”

“That sounds like a great idea Sweetie, we can do that” Dave smiles, seeing as your eyes flicker close. “Maybe we can do some shopping at the town on the way up there first” Dave starts speaking, knowing his voice helps settle you down to sleep after a nightmare. 

“And the weather should be good so we can go swimming while we are up there as well” Dave keeps talking as he watches you fall asleep on his chest.

[zvdvdlvr]

Eyes of a Stranger + Aaron Hotchner

synopsis //The man who you loved had been the one to withhold information to hurt you the most

warnings // Emily’s death. Betrayal. Allusions to sex. Possible vulgar language.

author’s notes //Are we wanting a part two? I’m lowkey wanting a part two. Could do with some more angst if I do say so myself.

When Emily died, you were… shellshocked. To say the least, your heart was shattered.

     You had just made it to Derek’s side when the paramedics started rushing Prentiss onto a stretcher. His hands were stained crimson and his eyebrows were knitted impossibly tight. His eyes darted to you and you could see it in his eyes. Pure fear.

     Aaron reached your side. His hand shook as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His warm eyes had the same terror inthem that everyone else’s had. Aaron’s ghostly faint touch faded as he ordered everyone to the hospital. You let Aaron lace your fingers together as he pulled you to the SUV.

     “Y/n.” Your eyes found Aaron’s as he started the car. “Are you okay?”

     You said yes without even giving yourself a once-over. The pain in your chest was just from your anxiety. Probably. “I’m fine, Hotch. We need to go.”

     Your fiancé nodded. He didn’t comment on the harshness of your voice. Instead, he put the car in gear and beelined to the hospital.

     Just as you had started to pick harshly at your cuticles, Aaron’s large hand clasped yours wordlessly. You let out a ragged sigh and watched cars as Aaron drove.

     It was as much of a blur at the hospital as it was when you heard “Prentiss is down” over your headpiece. Penelope had swarmed you with a stifling hug when you pushed open the doors to the hospital. You didn’t even think to ask how she had gotten there before you. In fact, you hadn’t said anything.

     Aaron kept a hold of your hand. Rossi flagged the two of you down and immediately pulled you in for a hug. You found yourself falling apart with each embrace.

     Derek hadn’t looked up. His heel tapped anxiously on the waxy white floor. His hands were now blood-free and pressing harshly to his face.

    Aaron sat beside you in a torturous hospital chair, grasping your hand as tightly as before. He rested his head against the wall and you copied his actions.

     You didn’t know how long you sat there: silently replaying the sight over and over again. The gunshot, the ‘agent down’, the sprinting, the disbelief. Over and over again. Over. And over. And over. Again and again. And you couldn’t do anything. Again and-

     “I need water,” Aaron all but croaked. Those beautiful brown eyes that had taken your breath away peered into your face as he gauged your face for any tell that you didn’t hear him. “I love you, y/n,” he whispered into your ear after pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

     You shuddered out a sigh and fell back into silence. Thoughts of Emily filled your mind again. This time, happier ones. Like the time you, JJ, Emily, and Penelope went to the bar and encountered a man that claimed to be in the FBI. A feeble smile pulled at the corner of your lip at the sight of a red-faced Brad as you all whipped out your badges. And then the time you surprised Emily, JJ, and Penelope with your engagement. JJ’s mouth had dropped open comically wide, Penny started screaming so loudly that you worried your neighbors would call the cops, and Emily had jumped out of her seat and started doing laps in your living room before practically pulling your hand from your body to see the rock on your finger.

     You had no doubt that Emily would pull through. She had worked so hard with the girls to plan the wedding that you’d be pissed if she missed it. But you knew she wouldn’t miss it. You knew she’d make it.

    Aaron appeared again and handed you your own water bottle and a protein bar. You cracked open the water bottle and took a sip. You pocketed the food for later. While twisting the lid closed, you watched JJ step forward.

     “How is she?” Spencer asks first. You hear the tremble in his voice.

     You see it on JJ’s face before she says anything. And for a moment, you don’t want her to say anything. But of course she answers. “She… The doctors say she didn’t even make it off the table.”

     JJ keeps talking. Words keep spilling out of her mouth. Her hands keep moving and her eyes move from Derek’s to Penelope’s to Rossi’s to Spencer’s to yours and then to Aaron’s. But you hear nothing.

     Your mouth parts but nothing comes out. All the words are gone. Your mind blanks. The world seems to darken as you falter. You sink into your chair and feel tears prick in your eyes. There’s no way. No way that the girl you used to go get coffee with on the weekends was dead. The girl that asked you to pick out a cat with her. The girl that you had movie nights with every month (including Jack) because she was your family. And now… that girl is gone.

     You buried her in March. It was a beautiful service. You held most of your tears, though, because Jack wanted you to hold him for the entire thing. Aaron’s presence never left you and you were lucky he was there for everything. You knew he was grieving in his own way, and you realized that he was doing it by busying himself with taking care of you and Jack.

     It was one month later when you were at your lowest. You weren’t mean, you didn’t lash out, and you were just numb to everything. You focused on three things: Jack, Aaron, and work. You knew that if you took too much time to think about everything that had been taken from you, you may not be able to function.

     Two months later and Aaron was a godsend. He hadn’t questioned you about your methods at work (although you could feel his concern radiating off of him) or at home. Aaron had involved you in everything he could, even offering to wake up a little later in the morning so you could sleep in a little bit and go for a run with him (Jack was at Jessica’s for the week). You didn’t go running, but you did get your cardio done.

     Five months after the funeral, you started to feel like yourself again. Cases had been pretty smooth sailing, not taking more than a week to catch murdering bastards. Strauss had miraculously given you a Thursday and Friday off so you and Aaron spent two days at home with Jack watching movies, going to the park, and making blanket forts. The other two days were spent doing adult activities while Jack had a sleepover with some his school friends.

     Six months later and you feel good. The gap in your heart hasn’t healed, but you’re starting to live with the fact that your not quite blood sister is dead. Aaron had planned a date night for you near the end of the month consisting of your favorite Italian, a movie, and a late night drive with you on the AUX.  Aaron had kept a hand on you the whole night: holding your hand in the car, keeping a hand in the small of your back as he led you to the restaurant, a hand on your thigh through the movie, and holding your hand during the entire drive. It was the moments like this that made you treasure your love the most.

     It was the seventh month after Emily’s funeral did your entire world halt on it’s axis.

     “We’re going into work early, babe,” Aaron says after gently waking you up. “We have a lead on Doyle.”

     You were sat at the round table talking with Spencer about random bits of information- you were keen on listening to what he had to say, despite his tendency to ramble. He was just telling you statistics about the moon that started with you saying ‘Did you know Australia is wider than the moon?’ when your fiancé walked in with a grim expression.

     Conversation halted. Rossi straightened at his seat, and Penelope’s happy expression sobered. “What’s going on?” Derek asked skeptically, eyes narrowed.

     Hotch’s eyes flitted over everyone in the room before starting. “Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected the team.” He paised before continuing, “As you all know, Emily lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle… But the Doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda.”

     Your heart dropped. The room was so quiet, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. The oxygen was completely sucked out of the room as the gravity of Aaron’s statement finally sank in.

     His lips were stretched thing over his face as his eyes finally fell on you. Instead of seeing love in his eyes, you saw a stranger. 

     He had lied- kept you in the dark for seven months. Aaron held you in his arms as you wept for your best friend. He had carried you back to your bed when you wandered out to the couch to fall asleep where Emily used to crash when you had sleepovers. Aaron had known she was alive and watched you mourn. Your fiancé had watched you mourn when he knew she was alive.

     The betrayal you felt had rubbed salt in the wound you had been healing from. But you tore your eyes away from Aar- Hotch’s to see that everyone’s attention was at the door. You looked and your heart dropped impossibly further in your chest when you saw… Emily.

[superpowereddonut]

Spencer's Star (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Hi! I was just re-watching Criminal Minds and had to write this short little drabble! Also, this is my first time experimenting with the use of 2nd person (ie. using 'you'), but I still didn't use Y/N. Please let me know what you think!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader / Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Episode: 5x13 'Risky Business' (end scene on the jet)

Warnings: Slight (canon) Spencer-targeted bullying by the team (but not from reader!)

Word count: 907

*****

It had been a good case. Well… good by BAU standards. 

Since the team had arrived in the small rural county in Wyoming, there had been no further deaths and within only 48-hours they had caught the unsub - an EMT who goaded teenages into choking themselves to death through an online ‘game’. Still, despite the quick solve, the whole case had been disturbing. You wondered whether anyone else was still dwelling on the twisted man who had repeatedly choked his own son. Or if anyone but Hotch had noticed JJ’s seemingly personal stake in this case. Move on, you reminded yourself, tomorrow there will be another case, and then another, and another. You can’t afford to dwell on each one. 

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to focus on the present, just as Emily took out a wooden shape and placed it on the table between you. “What is that?” Spencer asked from the seat to your left.

"It’s called a star puzzle.” Emily replied, “It’s basically impossible to figure out.” 

You watched with interest as she began to take it apart, and noted Spencer’s quick eyes tracking each of her movements. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star,” she explained, “but the origin of it is kind of a romantic tale.” 

Emily began recounting the story, her voice soft and lilting. “There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land. So, he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and he caught a falling star for her.” 

The whole plane seemed to be listening to Emily now - Rossi was watching from where he leant against the plane window next to her, and Penelope was hanging off her words as she carefully knitted what looked like a bright blue tea cosy. Even Derek, lounging on the seats behind you and Spencer, had taken off his headphones to hear better. But - as it so often did - your attention had moved to Spencer, who now had a slight crease in his brows. 

“Unfortunately he was so excited that he dropped it and it smashed into all of these pieces…” Spencer reached out to pick up the now-separated pieces of the puzzle, his arm gently brushing yours as he moved. “...so, he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love for her,” Emily was saying, “and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.” You caught Penelope’s soft sigh from the back of the plane before Spencer spoke up, “That doesn’t make any sense.” He said, and you had to hide your smile at his adorably confused tone. “What do you mean?” Emily replied, now frowning as well.

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” It was becoming difficult to hide your fond amusement, and you almost had to physically sit on your hands to keep from reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.

“Yeah but it’s not literal, Reid, it’s a fable.” 

Spencer didn’t seem satisfied, “But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.”

“Okay, so it’s just a romantic little story,” Emily rebutted, growing exasperated, “The point is, it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly…” 

You watched, transfixed, as Spencer’s long, nimble fingers worked quickly, slotting each piece together with precision before he gently set it down in front of you, once again in its complete shape.

“There’s a lot to hate about you Dr. Reid.” Emily said, sarcasm softening her harsh words. You heard Derek chuckle from behind you.

“Play poker with him sometime.” Rossi said with a quiet smile.

“Try playin chess with him.” Derek chimed in.

“Or Go” came Penelope’s voice from the back.

You rolled your eyes at the familiar teasing jabs, but your smile fell when you saw Spencer’s face. You knew that look. He was feeling insecure, running back over the entire interaction to see where he had missed a social cue, or messed up in his contribution to the conversation. He didn’t seem to have picked up on Emily’s sarcasm, instead taking her comment to heart.

“Don’t be fooled,” you spoke up, “he watched you take apart the star and memorised the movements. He just had to repeat the pattern in reverse.” 

Emily’s eyebrows shot up before she turned to Spencer. “Did you really?” She asked, and her tone now held unmistakable awe. He just shrugged, though you noticed the set of his shoulders relax slightly and his cheeks flush pink at her admiration.

The rest of the team gradually turned their attention elsewhere, and you were about to go fishing in your bag for a book when Spencer’s arm brushed yours again. You looked up to see his dark eyes fixed on yours. Oh, those eyes. They had always reminded you of old, cosy libraries and soft caramels that melt on your tongue. It was an effort not to lean into his warmth.

“How did you know I memorised the pattern?” He asked, his voice a soft whisper as though not to draw the attention of the others.

You allowed yourself a small smirk. “I know you too well Doctor Reid,” you said, equally quiet, “you’re going to have to try harder than that to impress me.”

His answering grin made your heart skip a beat. 

“Challenge accepted.”

[cumulo-stratus]

BAU autism headcannons

(GIF NOT MINE)

(male reader)

CW: possible swearing, mentions of meltdowns and overstimulation, lemme know if theres anything else!

A/N: sry i havent rly posted in a while, i started a school recently and its been a rly big change for me so ive just been emotionally/mentally exhausted like all the time, but i dont wanna abandon u guys so i decided i would get something up, even if its not super good, thanks for y’all’s understanding <3

i think both JJ and Emily would become sort of mothers to reader

(not that they werent already mothers to the rest of the team but reader especially)

like JJ would totally have a motherly instinct for readers needs (like a sort of spider sense)

like if your ever nervous about something being too much or being overwhelming, jj would kinds know this and either make arrangements for accommodations or make sure you know you dont have to go if you want to.

and like she definitely wold put herself in charge of keeping your safe foods stashed on the jet and at the office

emily is more of a mother in a protective way than jj is

like this girl will not hesitate at all to go off on someone for maybe being disrespected to about stimming your chair while thinking

or like if you dont want to shake a police officers hand when your being introduced, and you get dirty/weird looks for it, or anyone comments on it? BOOM this girl will stare at them with so much animosity they’ll be scared of her shes so hot oml

anyways i thinks he team would be super accepting of you, especially if you joined after reid like they would already have some experience with autism

and like if you weren’t ent comfortable telling anyone other than hotch(i feel like it would be like a in ur file thing idk how the government works tho) spencer would defo be able to tell and confront u privately abt it (our respectful king <3)

and if you are comfortable telling the team, everyone would be respectful

i think like rossi/gideon would be a little clueless but like trying their hardest

like rossi would have no idea what stimming is but understands that like you move in certain ways or make certain noises when ur excited

and like with all his money he wouldnt hesitate to spoil u with any fidget toy u need/want or like a rly nice weighted blanket (its insane how expensive those things are)

and like gideon despite his profound understanding of others (hope yall got that ;)) he wouldn’ t get why sometimes you dont feel like/cant talk but totally respects it

omg garcia is our autism ally QUEEN im telling you

always has a big basket of fidgets/stim toys sitting on her desk and when your having a rough day shell leave you a little goodie in a brightly colored and decorated bag

i firmly believe that she is the queen at finding brands with clothes that not only fits your style perfectly but is also sensory friendly

i think she would definitely say that if she never ended up working in the FBI she wouldve started a clothing shop for sensory friendly clothing/accessories

spencer would totallllyyyy be your best friend when it comes to being under-stimulated

he will totally info dump on you and vice-versa

spencer (like penlope) would totally recommend clothing brands that are sensory friendly, but sock brands in particular

and everyone makes fun of you for nerding out over everything

also spencer would definitely get in the habit of grabbing your hands in his when you start to pick a t your nails and cuticles

like he didnt even realize what he was doing the first time but now he does it without thinking about it and for the team its normal

“hey,” and he would gently grab your hands to stop you from picking at them

“sorry..”

”youve nothing to be sorry for” (with that little reid smile oml rf[osifjgturhv)

and i also firmly believe that morgan is the best people to go to if your having a meltdown

he would stop you from harmfully stimming

“hey sugar, unclench those pretty little hands for me. there we go… good job kid.” he would have the softest smile and voice

and when he takes your hands to stop you from hitting yourself his grip is rly firm but gentle

but hotch is the best to go to for when your overstimulated

like he would make sure you know his office is always a quiet place you can go to with out questions

and he would secretly have a stash of like stimm toys in his office that he stole from garcia

his couch is always open to you, especially like late at night if you are really tired his fatherly instincts will kick in and force you to come to his office for a break

he would would hand you and blanket and a stim toy

”sit. sleep”

thats all he would say in his cute little stern but actually caring voice <3

[fuckingstrange]

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[the-guilty-writer]

Criminal Minds PRIDE Fic Challenge!

Here we go! First writing challenge ever and I'm even more excited about the theme. During June I ask fic writers to challenge themselves a little bit by writing a piece that is LGBTQ+ inclusive!!! Don't let the topic intimidate you; If you want to participate, but don't know where to start, there are prompts to help. All the fics will be collected in a Masterlist that will be avalible by July 1st.

Note: if you have accessibility issues with this post (or any of my posts!) let me know and I can send you the information in an accessible format.

Prompts and rules are under the cut!

------

These prompts are only ideas to help get you started! You can write any LGBTQ+ centered fic you want! Feel free to modify any of the more specific prompts to your liking.

Prompts:

Character coming out to their friends/family/the team.

Character's found family is more supportive than biological family when they come out.

Characters go to a pride parade/festival/event!

Characters discuss queer coding in media.

Character(s) explains their new, queer relationship to a child.

Character 1's child comes out to them. They go to Character 2 to ask what they wish their parents would have done.

Character 1 is having an identity crisis (gender or sexuality). They go to Character 2 for help.

Character 1 is confident about their identity. Character 2 isn't, so they ask for some advice.

Character 1 takes Character 2 to a gay bar for the first time to act as their wingman/wingwoman/wingperson.

Character 1 is unsure if they're attracted to or envious of Character 2's confidence in their identity.

Character has been dating Morgan, but realizes they're not attracted to men. He isn't sure how he ended up in this situation twice, but it's the perfect opportunity for him to play matchmaker for his ex girlfriends.

Character comes out to the team (or it's just pride month) and Penelope goes a bit overboard with decorations.

For the writers who are intimidated by this topic or unsure if they can write it: write something with GN!reader. It's less intimidating than you think, and it can make someone's day to be able to read a fic they might otherwise not relate to!

Bi and Pan Prompts:

Character 1 has always thought they were straight, but they realize their feelings for their best friend, Character 2, are more than platonic.

Character 1 is in a straight passing relationship and worries about the visibility of their queer identity. Their partner is incredibly supportive in helping them express themselves.

(NSFW) What does Emily really do during a sin to win weekend?

Trans and Nonbinary Prompts:

Character 1 gives Character 2 a gender affirming haircut.

Hotch teaches Character how to shave.

JJ teaches Character how to do make up.

Character finds themselves needing gender affirming clothes. Rossi makes sure they have the best of the best.

(NSFW) Character 1 gifts Character 2 gender affirming lingerie and it gives them quite the confidence boost.

Aro and Ace Prompts:

Character 1 keeps trying to set up Character 2 with people/telling them to find someone to help ease their stress. Character 2 has had enough of it.

Character has a monthly spike in libido and it makes them question their identity. Spencer tries to help with a ramble about science (NSFW add on: and a few other ways).

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Rules:

The fic can reader insert, OC, character x character, general fic, etc. as long as the character(s) is from Criminal Minds (yes, even the ones I don't write for).

Fics can be any genre and can be platonic or romantic in nature... and yes, this includes smut (I know, I know my brand is ruined. Oh well). You must be 18+ if you are going to submit smut. You all know I love platonic fics very much if not more!

You can write something new or dig up something you've already written! I'm also happy to add on fics that are sent to me after the masterlist is posted.

Tag me in your fic or message me the link. Please list the ship, content warnings, and have a 1-2 sentence summary of your piece! If you have multiple pieces, you can submit a mini masterlist.

Be kind and respectful! Reach out to me if you have any concerns. This blog is a safe space!

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Thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins for the support and for sending some of the prompts from discord! (and telling me it's safe to tag @foxy-eva for this too)

[grayox27]

Dating SOME of the Men in Criminal Minds (and how the team finds out) gn!reader🍎🍬

Reader works in the BAU. ⚠️WARNING⚠️ for angst and implied sexual situations MINORS SHOO 18+

I know there’s no Luke or Matt, but I don’t know them well enough to write for them (still watching the show lol), once I feel confident enough, I’ll make a separate post for them. Might be ooc sorry 😭

Aaron Hotchner

- he’s a very private person

- at work it’s like you guys aren’t even dating

- at home, he’s all over you though

- whether if it’s a hand on your shoulder, around your waist, or a simple kiss to the cheek, he’s always touching you

- his love language is physical touch despite his hard exterior

- when it’s you two alone, he always has a smile on his face. He’s very goofy around you

- dude constantly brings you flowers for ANY occasion

- caught the unsub? Congrats flowers.

- the unsub got away? Feel better flowers.

- literally any scenario you could come up with, you would come home to flowers

- might as well start a small flower business on the side (why did I go on this long about flowers??)

- anyway here’s a scenario with how the rest of the team found out:

You narrowly escaped the burning building, your lungs struggling to constrict around the sudden burst of air, although all you could think about that Aaron hadn’t made it out yet.

When you looked around and noticed his absence, Morgan had to hold you back from running back in the building.

Suddenly, the building had collapsed on itself. “NO!” You screamed out, stepping hard on Morgan’s foot and freed from his hold, ignoring his pained yelp.

You fell to your knees in front of the building, letting choked sobs flow from your mouth. You felt a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, we shouldn’t stick around” Morgan said, fighting tears himself, though he would never admit that.

You heard a familiar voice call out your name, and your neck almost snapped with how fast you turned. You let out another sob, standing up so quickly that your knees buckled, but a pair of arms kept you upright.

You buried your face into Aaron’s shirt, soaking it with your tears. “You’re okay, you’re okay” You mumbled over and over, gripping his back as if you were afraid he would disappear.

“I’m okay” He whispered back, burying his face into your neck. You suddenly pulled back and crashed your lips against his, trying to get impossibly closer to him.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, kissing you back like a man starved. The rest of the team stood there shocked, before flocking over to make sure that Aaron was okay.

You caught Garcias excited smile and Morgan’s arched brow, and even Spencer was surprised. You both knew you would hear an earful from them later.

Spencer Reid

- you two agreed to keep it a secret only because you agreed that it was more fun that way

- the team already suspected that the two of you were together, since you two always sat together on the plane, and even shared music when there was no talk of a case.

- one time Spencer even fell asleep on your shoulder. Your earbuds kept you from hearing Garcias gloating about how she is going to win the bet she placed on the two of you

- he practically looks at you with heart eyes all the time

- he shares his love through quality time and info sharing

- when he comes over to your apartment, sometimes all you will do is sit in silence near each other

- like when he reads a book while you mindlessly scroll through the tv

- he’s also a big fan of physical touch when the others aren’t around. He’s always holding onto your hand

- he often finds himself tracing the lines on your palms. You’re very sensitive there but you hold out for him

- after this, Garcia definitely won the bet:

You and Spencer were alone in the conference room. You both were always really early, and Garcia had went on a coffee run.

Spencer had slowly been scooting his chair closer to you. You had pretended not to notice, but your smile grew bigger every time he not so secretly got closer. Your legs were touching but it still wasn’t close enough.

“Yes Spencer?” You suddenly say, stopping him in his tracks. “Is there something you want to say?”. He groaned at that, grabbing your hand. He had trouble expressing what he wants, so you didn’t tease him further.

When you pressed a kiss to his cheek, you heard a collective number of gasps. In horror, you both turned to see quite literally the whole team in the doorway.

“I KNEW IT! Cough up 20, Morgan!” Garcia demanded, causing him to roll his eyes as he handed her the money.

“You guys placed bets?” You asked, your face slowly turning red. “Why of course” Garcia giggled, handing you your coffee. Both you and Spencer had matching smiles, enduring the rest of the teams teasing.

David Rossi

- the two of you often went over cases together, silently reviewing it

- his love language is quality time and acts of service

- he LOVES to cook for you

- to celebrate catching the unsub, the two of you often go out to dinner and drink expensive wine

- the two of you are often so absorbed in work that you don’t spend much time together at work

- how the team found out:

You startled awake at the alarm, groaning and hitting it before you peeled your eyes open and saw the time.

“Oh my god. David, get up!” You shouted, shaking him awake. “What?” He groans, trying to bury his face into the pillow.

“We’re late” You urge, and he shot out of bed. You quickly sprayed some cologne on yourself, and the two of you practically ran out the door. You allowed him to go in first, and waited a few minutes before entering.

“Sorry, my tire gave out on the way here” You lied, sitting down and listening intently to Garcias debriefing.

“The unsub has been breaking into families home, and-“ she was cut off when Spencer suddenly piped up. “You’re wearing Rossi’s cologne” He said.

“What?” You ask. “You’re wearing his cologne, he wore that yesterday” He points at you with an offending finger and a shit eating grin. Fuck.

You froze, and gave David a sheepish smile. “Well, the cats out of the bag now” He says.

“How long has this been going on?” JJ asks with a laugh. “It’s been a couple months” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck. The rest of the day you received slaps on your back and comments from the team.

Derek Morgan

- you guys recently started dating

- the two of you never intended to keep it a secret, in fact, Morgan would flirt with you all the time, though since he did it with Garcia so often it was overlooked.

- his love language is words of affirmation and physical touch

- he often calls you nicknames

- he even dared to slap your ass when Hotch was turned

- no one even questioned the fact that the two of you always leave together

- he’s very protective of you

- how the team found out:

You fiddled with your hands as the rest of the team slowly filtered into the conference room, practically downing the coffee you had. It was too early for this shit.

You were chatting with JJ when Derek finally wondered in, sitting down with a grunt, coffee in hand. “Woah, you must have had a fun night” She commented with a smirk.

He was confused at first, but then remembered that he was supporting a pretty huge hickey at the moment. He laughed along with her.

“Come on, who’s the lucky person?” She teases him, nudging his arm. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell” He says with a smile.

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to hide your growing smirk. “Wait” Spencer speaks up, pointing at you. “You just had a smirk”.

You froze in place, heat crawling up your neck, but Morgan bursts out laughing. “I’m not ashamed to admit it” He holds his hands up. “I thought you said that gentleman never kiss and tell?” Rossi teased with a smirk.

You laughed at that and elbowed Derek in the ribs. “He’s a liar”. He gasped at that, pretending to be offended. “As heartwarming as this is, we have a case to start” Hotch speaks up, gesturing for Garcia to start as she walked in. “What did I miss?” She asks.

[hotchs-big-hands]

Ada my love you know that boyfriend ‘test’ of handing them your purse/handbag/bag when you go to the bathroom to see how they hold it? Yeah I need your take on our BAU men x that trend pls. Would they hold your purse?

AAAAAAAAA HELLO MY LOVE ROME ITS SO NICE TO SEE YOU IN THE ASKBOX 🥰🥰🥰🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖🥨💖

gosh I LOVE this trend thing, it's cute. I'll ummmm do smth I've never done before and do some hcs for more than just ayayron, as requested 😳😳😳😳😳 gahdayum

What the different BAU men would do if asked to hold your bag/purse for you when you go the bathroom.

GN!reader|sfw

Aaron Hotchner

Okay so this man is like. The biggest gentleman ever of course. So when you approach him during a team night out with your bag he takes it without hesitation to your question.

"Of course, it's safe with me."

He is very protective of it, gripping onto it to his chest with one arm and hand whilst the other holds onto his drink as he sips periodically. He doesn't pay any mind when the others eye him curiously, and when you return he smiles slightly and holds out your bag to you.

"Here you go. Don't hesitate to ask me again as well, sweetheart."

He has to admit, he adores the delighted grin you offer in return when you thank him for holding your bag. And he's able to drown out the chuckles of the other members of the team because he's certain he probably looks like a lovesick puppy.

Derek Morgan

Derek raises his brow with a teasing grin as you ask him to hold your bag for you.

"Mind if I take a lil peek?" He jokes, chuckling when you babble at him not to look, panic flashing in your eyes. "Relax, sweets. I'm not gonna look."

Holds it under his muscular arm and stares down anyone who gives him a funny look. He's shameless, plus he's happy you trust him to take care of your stuff.

You return momentarily and look relieved to see him holding it protectively. He smiles and holds it out to you when you're close enough.

"There you go, sweets. Don't worry, I didn't look inside." He winks at you and you lightly shove him, pouting playfully. He loves teasing you.

Spencer Reid

Man's shook when you ask him of all people to hold your bag for a moment.

"Me? I-I mean of course I'll hold it!" He hates that his voice cracked but you don't seem to mind though, smiling sweetly and thanking him before you turn away and disappear to find the restroom.

He is holding onto the bag straps so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. No-one is getting hold of this bag, if it's the last thing he'll ever be sure of. Derek saunters over with a grin and chuckles as he points out how tight his grip is. But even as he feels heat rush to his cheeks, he dutifully holds on tight to your bag.

Your return makes him smile with relief, but he holds on tight to the bag even as you now come to stand face-to-face with him. You hold your hand out and ask for your bag back and he flushes. "R-right yeah, here!" He said quickly and holds the bag out, grip still strong until you take hold of it.

You giggle softly and thank him, and he grins awkwardly as he watches you turn away and head off elsewhere. It's only when he feels Derek's hand lightly land on his shoulder that he refocuses and embarrassment floods his senses. Hopefully, he'll be more confident in himself next time you ask him to hold your bag.

David Rossi

When you timidly approach Dave at the table he's seated at with Aaron and hold out your bag to him, he raises a brow at you when you ask him to hold your bag for you for a moment.

"Hm? You want me to take care of it for you? Of course, tesoro."

He places it on the table in front of him, not without smoothing his hands over the surface slightly because well, he is fond of you after all. Aaron huffs out a quiet snort, raising his brow with a grin at him. Dave shakes his head and waves him off.

You're quick to return with a shy smile, thanking him sweetly for keeping an eye on your bag. He picks up the bag and holds it out to you, making sure you've secured it before he drops his arm. "Anytime, tesoro. I'll look after it for you."

He winks at you and delights in your flustered movements, meeting his eye and as Aaron stands and gives him a pointed look, Dave pulls out a chair next to him and invites you to join him for the evening.

Lmao this was probably shit but I'm not too confident writing for other characters 😭😭 I hope people enjoyed tho regardless KSSKSK

[pkg4mumtown]

Scream (‘Til There’s Silence)

Pairing: Ghostface!Hotch x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit / R

Summary: A serial killer comes to your small town. Will the FBI finally catch him?

Content Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, murder, stabbing/knives, manipulation, stalking, sexual content, strong violence, choking, GN!reader (no Y/N, usage of ‘mouse’ as a nickname), strong language, first person POV, Ghostface is his own warning

A/N: HEED ALL WARNINGS!! Keep yourself safe, seriously. Just because I wrote this does not mean I condone any of these actions in real life. This is a work of fiction. Also, if I missed any warnings, please let me know.

Now, POSTING TWO FICS IN ONE WEEKEND?? Who the hell am I? I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Also, enjoy the art and custom Ghostface costume that Hotchy-boy wears. Also, do not talk to me about plot holes lolll

I made an unsub playlist inspired by some of the Criminal Minds unsubs. I’ve embedded it below. A few in that playlist that gave me vibes for this fic were: Change (in the house of flies), Scream, Possum Kingdom, and Tear You Apart.

Also available on AO3

Aaron POV

Thump.

Thump.

…

Thump.

…

…

Thump.

…

A satisfied hum left Aaron’s throat as the young woman's heart finally stopped beating underneath his hand.

It was his favorite part, feeling the life drain out of their bodies. Choosing who and how each innocent person met their end. It felt different from killing an unsub on the job, which didn’t satisfy him whatsoever. In those cases, he usually preferred the satisfaction of outsmarting them through the legal system. He had only killed a handful of unsubs as Ghostface, ones that were legally elusive to the BAU and needed something more permanent. Still—it wasn’t the same. Sure, he still felt them die but they never fulfilled his prey drive. The terrified screams, the vulnerable situations…no. People like him didn’t do that. They fought back with anger, stoicism, and a little glee. They watched their back, paranoid of the government. They were armed more often than not.

Not satisfying at all.

Only once did he have to kill an unsub as Ghostface to protect his identity, the unsub having profiled him right back with terrifying accuracy. Foyet was able to clock that monster inside of him and despite the expressionless façade he gave the older man, it was jarring. Dare he say he was actually scared for once in his adult life. So, Foyet had to go, simple as that. But he let the older man die with his suspicions confirmed about Aaron. Let him watch the grin that pulled across Aaron's teeth as the knife slid into Foyet's heart with a satisfying grunt. It was poetic, and okay, maybe a little satisfying.

Ghostface had become such a problem that he was made a priority case for the BAU, the file having permanent residence on their desks since the killer—since Aaron—drove Jason Gideon to leave the FBI. Since Ghostface was directly responsible for David Rossi's reinstatement with the FBI. Since SSA Aaron Hotchner was made the golden boy to spearhead the Ghostface investigation. Oh, how giddy it made Aaron to see the rest of the BAU's frustration every time a new case popped up.

Yanking the long hunting knife out of his current victim's body, Aaron squinted underneath his mask for anything he might have missed—a rarity, but he liked to take precautions anyway. He had designed a mask that provided very little in the way of field of view, so he always took extra care with his surroundings. It was entirely his fault for the poor design but he wouldn't be caught dead in that cheap, plastic costume mask. Plus, he enjoyed the design process and threw in a little flair for the dramatic with sharp angles and pointed teeth.

He checked his watch, clasped neatly over a black, stretchy base layer he wore to keep his body hair at bay. It made him sweat like hell underneath the ribbed, long sleeve thermal, tactical pants, and cowl he wore but this was how he lived his life.

The plan was relatively simple each time. Aaron picked a city when they had a stretch of time off, drove there—because planes were obviously out of the question—paid cash for everything, found an easy victim, and terrorized the town for a few days. Usually racking up two to four bodies to get the police on high alert. His team unwound with vacations and family. Aaron? He preferred a different kind of alone time to unwind.

When the BAU was inevitably called in he would terrorize the town a little more in between working the case and find an easy scumbag to pin it on.

It was stupid how easy it all was when citizens and police were desperate to find a killer in a small town. They were willing overlook discrepancies and blame just about any bad guy in the town if they remotely fit the bill. They usually chalked it up to Ghostface copycats and despite the profile saying otherwise—Aaron didn’t mind a damn bit that the murders were blamed on a copycat. Anyone but him was good enough.

They didn’t even have a definitive profile on him, too many theories about whether he worked alone or if these “copycats"—copycats that didn’t exist—were a network of unsubs posing as Ghostface killers. Theories on if the continued murders were because they were catching the wrong people and the real Ghostface wanted recognition. In reality, it was easier for people to believe that one person couldn’t be this demented and bloodthirsty.

This was his last one for this stretch, having terrorized East Liverpool, Ohio enough for the moment. He had to report to work in oh…twenty-seven hours anyway. Roughly six hours to drive back to Virginia with no toll roads—cameras equal bad—time to stash his spare car, clean his equipment, etcetera. It was a full day ordeal.

Checking his secondary phone, one he set up to receive voice-mail from his work phone—which sat lonely in his apartment—showed a lack of incoming messages. He was grateful because it was a pain to locate public Wi-Fi or spoof a location on short notice, especially at 3:00 AM.

Humming to himself, he exited the house. He made sure that the neighbors security system caught a blur of movement as he arranged some staged, bloody equipment as a false disposal site and took off.

Aaron’s actual bloody equipment was wrapped neatly in plastic and stored in an aftermarket storage he created in the car—just in case he was pulled over. When he was safely in his spare car, Aaron still didn’t take his face covering—the one he wore underneath the Ghostface mask—off right away. He was too cautious of cameras despite the small city. He would wait until he was on a dark stretch of highway where he could quickly put some normal clothes on and change his license plate.

It's not until he does just that, that he feels wet, slick mud transfer onto his hands as he takes his boots off. It’s not the texture that makes him curse. It’s not even getting his hand dirty that makes him stop. It’s how high the mud was on his boot and how clear of a print he might have left that makes him overthink and wonder. Wonder where he left it, specifically, and if it would even get noticed.

Aaron quickly shook it off. He’s on a highway and doesn’t need to draw attention to himself.

People were dumb.

He was smart.

It would all work out.

-

It took all of two days for the small town of East Liverpool to get overwhelmed. The East Liverpool Police Department had a whopping twenty patrol officers to cover the nearly ten thousand citizens. Their station was lacking in equipment, forcing them to call in the Columbiana County Sheriff's Department for assistance with the three murders Aaron left behind. CCSD was barely any better in the personnel department.

The BAU was called in by the ELPD Chief, something Aaron expected, though he gave them much less credit and had estimated a day at most. The flight was quicker than the twelve-hour round-trip Aaron subjected himself to.

As soon as they arrived, Aaron was splitting his team up amongst the different crime scenes. He sent Rossi and JJ to the first murder to see if they could get a handle on victimology and patterns. Reid and Morgan went to the second to see what else they could get for their profile and set up a timeline.

Aaron needed to be at the most recent one to see if he really did fuck up. The evidence there was the freshest, so if he needed to fix anything, he would do it here without alerting Prentiss.

Aaron and Emily arrived to the modest, single-story house with police tape blocking off the front lawn. A few citizens were gathered, worried expressions as they murmured amongst each other and stared down the federal agents. Their glares felt like they blamed the agents for the massacre.

Well, that was sort of true.

The scene was quiet, eerily so, except for the murmur of officers and the clicking of cameras. As many Ghostface crime scenes as they’d been do, Emily couldn’t help the breath that left her throat at seeing the blood all over the walls as the victim was chased—hunted—in their own home. The interior was disturbingly pristine with no overturned furniture, no forced entry, nothing impulsive. Just controlled violence.

The body was in no better condition.

Cuts were strewn over the young woman's body, a common torture seen in these murders, with deeper stab wounds, and ending with a final deadly stab to the heart.

One thing that had always helped Aaron was his lack of preference in victimology. Well, maybe “vulnerable" was a preference but he could make just about anyone feel that way with a little bit of effort. The ones that spiraled into madness were extra special to him.

A detective—Hotch presumed—stepped out of a hallway to greet them, accompanied by a crime scene investigator with a camera hanging around their neck.

“Detective Miller,” she introduced herself. “We were both brought in from Columbiana County,” she gestured to the tech.

County or city didn’t matter. In an area like this? Aaron was confident wherever he left his boot print wouldn’t matter.

“Run us through it?” Emily asked.

The detective looked at the forensic investigator, who comically pointed at themselves in question. Another urgent nod from the detective and the nervous investigator finally started speaking.

After introducing themselves, they stuttered before speaking under the heavy gaze of the federal agents. It was irking Aaron that they couldn't get a word out but also gave him more confidence that these departments were not equipped to handle this.

“R-uh-right, so the killer entered here through the side window. We have a couple boot prints on the floor, but they’re too smudged to see much. Looks like the killer ambushed her here in the living room and started slashing. The sprays here and here indicate they were running toward the hallway where the victim fell. They didn’t move from there and the pooling suggests this is where the victim died. No prints or hair here but we did find camera footage from a neighbor across the street showing the killer disposing of evidence in the foliage. I did bag some traces of hair from those clothes that we’re testing now back at the county lab.”

Aaron was surprised. Not necessarily at any of the information because it was pretty spot on but surprised at the accuracy and detail as the forensic investigator continued explaining. The hairs were also not surprising. He planted those himself on the false evidence with short, red hair he snatched from someone in town.

He liked his chances, so far.

“Anything else?”

“Yea, well,” the investigator started and stopped. “Yes, actually. But a thing about the hair we found with those disposed clothes...it felt…I don’t know. Out of place?”

“I told you not to speculate like this,” The detective interrupted sternly.

Aaron cocked his head, intrigued at what the investigator had to say but would wait patiently.

“Sorry, Miller,” they shifted awkwardly.

Hotch nodded along, feigning impartial analysis. Internally, he scrutinized the investigator, watching for any sign that they picked up on anything else that was crucial.

Emily chimed in, “This level of organization is consistent with the other two. It’s almost surgical how controlled the scenes are.”

The investigator’s eyes brightened despite the glare of the detective warning them to back off.

“T-that's what I thought, too,” the investigator blurted out. “I’ve read up on the past cases you worked and I know there’s stuff left behind often but it doesn’t feel…right. The murders are so meticulously planned, with no evidence, and the killer throws stuff in a bush or makes rookie mistakes? We found a boot print on the side of the house and I know some of the ones you’ve caught haven’t even done that. I’ll show you. Follow me and—er—watch your step.”

As everyone stepped outside, two more SUVs rolled up to the house, the rest of the team getting out and walking toward the house. None of them looked like they had anything important to share which pleased Aaron.

“We found a boot print back here in the mud. It was raining early last week, so the ground has been pretty soft,” the investigator guided everyone around to the side the killer entered from.

Aaron suddenly remembered feeling like he had lost his footing climbing in through the window. It was the mud. He hung back in the group following behind Reid.

“Just watch your step he—”

The forensic investigator was cut off as the front of Hotch’s shoe met the instep of Reid's foot as the group turned the corner. Reid stumbled and Hotch did his “best" to grab the back of the younger man's collar to yank him back but wasn’t fast enough. Reid's foot stepped in the mud next to the print, distorting the print near the heel.

“—re…” the investigator sucked their lips in, an awkward smile pulling across their features. “And I thought the city guys were bad.”

Morgan snorted as Reid pulled his foot out of the mud. The rest of the team consisted of varying levels of cringing and head shaking while Aaron did his best to hold in the devious laugh threatening to bubble up.

“Sorry…” Reid mumbled.

“It’s alright, we took the cast yesterday and they’re analyzing the print now. We’re estimating size eleven boots and one-eighty to two hundred pounds.”

Aaron’s elation promptly died. He kept his hands in his pockets, fingers digging into his palm.

Derek stepped forward, frowning. “So, we’re looking at someone fit, strong, tall? Especially if he can get into this window. It’s a bit of a pull up.”

Emily nods. “Clearly trained if we're running with the idea that planting those clothes are forensic counter measures?”

The investigator turned back to the group, “I’m guessing you’ve seen that before?”

The forensic investigator’s eyes fixed mostly on Hotch, who looked calculating but conflicted.

“We have,” Rossi murmured.

Hotch's mouth formed a grim line but not because that theory is absolutely in one of their profiles of Ghostface. No. For the first time, Hotch studied the investigator not just as another mediocre forensic scientist, but as a genuine threat.

-

MC POV

Doing all I could at the underfunded and understaffed ELPD station, I made my way back to the Columbiana County Sheriff’s Station. About half of the BAU joined the twenty-minute drive to the station for a closer look at the findings our lab eventually called about.

The hair didn’t match DNA from any known criminal investigations, bringing us to a dead end right away. All we knew was that the color was a natural red, fairly thin, and that the hair was forcibly yanked versus falling out naturally.

The BAU theorized to no end.

“The hair could have gotten stuck to the mask when he ripped it off?”

“Could have ripped the hair off someone, too.”

I wasn’t satisfied with the dead end and left their conversation in the conference room Sheriff Tanner let them convene in, a step up from the dinky broom closet Chief Banks set up for them at ELPD. I retreated to the lab, moving on to the boot print. The forensics lab was cold, humming with fluorescent lights, the kind that made everything feel clinical and impersonal but I was too focused on my work. It was also empty, many of the other investigators having left for the night with no other evidence to examine in these murders.

That boot print shouldn't have been there.

Everything else was methodically cleaned up—no DNA, no fibers, no obvious traces. But the print was deep in the mud near the side of the house and was hidden enough in the bushes that most would have overlooked it.

I only noticed it by accident, seeing the bushes dented unnaturally as I examined the outside of the house.

We ran the tread pattern through several databases, cross-referencing it against law enforcement, military, and civilian models. Unfortunately, it was a common brand, nothing special or expensive.

But something about it stuck with me. A gut feeling I couldn’t seem to shake despite there being nothing helpful to go off.

This was a mistake.

An actual one. Not whatever cover ups were passing for mistakes in the other cases the FBI worked. The Ghostface murders rarely, if ever, had actual mistakes in the hunt itself. The killer took far too much pride in it to leave mistakes like that.

Then, my phone buzzed and interrupted the eerie silence. I clenched my jaw, worry building up in my throat despite knowing there were officers and agents just outside the doors.

Unknown Number.

I hesitated before answering, not usually one to answer unknown numbers, but something told me it was important.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then a distorted voice crackled over the line.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

I rolled my eyes, how had someone gotten ahold of my number for prank calls?

“I’m hanging up. It’s a crime to prank call police departments,” I sighed, hoping to scare whatever idiot was on the other line.

My thumb hovered over the red circle to end the call, when the voice spoke again.

“You like playing detective, don’t you?” His voice sounding harsher but still robotic like a modulator. “You should be careful. It’s not good to be too smart.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine as his voice vibrated unnaturally.

“Who is this?” I asked dumbly. At this point, I knew full well who it was.

A soft chuckle passed through the receiver.

“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to dumb it down that much,” he just about giggled. “I’ve been watching you work. It’s impressive, really.”

The seriousness of the interaction finally dawned on me and I frantically tried to get my desk phone working to have Detective Miller run a trace.

“Ah, ah, none of that.”

“None of what?” I mentally cursed as I typed the wrong extension.

“Trying. To trace. The call,” he growled. “Maybe I was giving you too much credit. You’re playing dumb a little too well to be acting.”

I stopped pressing buttons, clenching my fist closed.

“We don’t want you getting hurt, do we?”

“Okay,” my throat tightened in fear, my breathing increasing.

I had hoped that the more he talked, the more I might recognize the rhythm of his voice. Unfortunately, it wasn’t recognizable, not to anyone I knew at least. But, the way it spoke—calm, assured, with a hint of humor—it made my stomach turn.

“What do you want?” I finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“I just wanted to say how much I admire your work,” he cooed, voice shifting to another ragged growl in an instant. “But you’re getting a little too…interested…for my taste. Not that I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm, really. It makes me wonder how enthusiastic you are for cock,” he snickered over the line.

All I could do was clench my teeth. Any threat I wanted to throw at him was meaningless, not when he could easily do to me what he did to those innocent people. I made a mental note to keep my gun out and ready at home until this case was solved.

“I’ll see you soon, little mouse.”

Click.

The line went dead.

-

Hours later, I had changed gears again, going over crime scene photos and camera footage from residences. I was waiting on the FBI’s analyst to look over the footage for height estimates. Most of the footage was unusable, but the blurred mask in the corner of the screen was haunting me.  It was like he did it on purpose, got just enough of himself in frame to guide us where to look.

And we were falling for it.

I was startled out of my trance by a hand on my shoulder. Reaching for the wrist quickly, I grabbed ahold and turned my chair in one motion.

Oh.

“Agent Hotchner,” I sighed, gulping and putting a hand over my rapidly beating heart.

“Reflexes are good but you should probably not have both of those in,” he gestured to my earbuds.

“Yeah, um,” I cleared my throat. “Was there something I could help with?”

“Oh, no. We’re going to get some shut eye and come back with fresh eyes,” he leaned his hip against my desk, glancing briefly over the files on my desk. “Long night?”

“Long couple of days actually. Just one murder scene is rough enough on us. But three? Most of the techs that went home today hadn't slept in a couple days.”

“I imagine it would be hard to considering...,” he added.

“Yea,” I glanced at my screen again. “It’s freaky. How do you guys manage?”

“We usually partner up and sleep in shifts,” he sighed. “You shouldn't be here this late, though. Finish it at home.”

“I was probably going to sleep here. Feels safer.”

His head cocked slowly to the side, looking at my expression where I was focused on the screen and not on him, “Did...something happen?” His gaze flickered to the entrance of the lab before looking back at me.

“I just—no—I, uhm,” I stumbled over my words, lying poorly through my teeth.

His gaze was so heavy. Why was it so heavy? Why wouldn’t he look away?

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

I hesitated, but the pinched look on his forehead softened and he let himself smile just the slightest.

Was it stupid considering my thoughts on the killer?

Yes.

Would it be stupid to leave alone?

Also, yes.

Would I hate myself if I fell asleep under my desk?

Most definitely.

I nodded, and picked up the file to look over at home, stuffing my notes underneath all of the official paperwork in the file. I gathered my other belongings and shutdown my computer for the night.

The air outside was crisp and cold. I felt myself looking around wildly at each pitch-black space created by the old street lights and dim glow of the moon. The streets were mostly deserted, the only cars left in the parking lot being the night shift deputies. Even Agent Hotchner’s team was gone.

“Where do they have you holed up?” I asked as I climbed into the SUV.

“Uh, some motel back in East Liverpool.”

I knew the one. There weren’t even many options anyway. One motel there and one bed & breakfast. One hotel across the river (and state lines) and one a half an hour north.

I directed Agent Hotchner where to go, my house being just on the outskirts of East Liverpool. You could say I was a little invested to catch the serial killer based on that fact alone. The leather seats had barely warmed up to my body heat when he spoke again.

“Your talents are wasted here,” he spoke.

If I had a nickel for every time someone complimented my work today...well, I’d have two. And one of those was from a serial killer, so I didn't know if I even wanted the nickel.

“Thank you?”

“Just saying. You’ve caught a lot of details that many small departments miss in cases like this. A lot of them are so eager to see it go away that they don't make conclusions based on the evidence.”

“It’s my job,” I stated simply.

“It is,” he agreed. “But you’re better than your average forensic investigator. Have you ever thought about bigger departments? The Bureau, even? I can pull some strings if you ever wanted to apply.”

“I like helping the communities I grew up in,” I shrugged.

“Shame,” he hummed.

He soon pulled up to my house, following my directions to a T. Agent Hotchner put the car in park but I didn't immediately move to get out. Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he looked over at me as I stared out through the windshield.

“I lied earlier,” I finally murmured, glancing at my dark house with only the porch light on.

“About?”

“I think Ghostface called me.”

“What did he say?”

“That he’d ‘see me soon’,” I punctuated with finger quotes and scoffed. “Can you believe that bullshit?” I shook my head, feeling the fear rising like bile.

“He has an obsessive personality. There's been evidence of victims being stalked and called repeatedly. You’ve seen the phone records,” Agent Hotchner shrugged. “So, yea I can believe it.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced at the house once more. I was being ridiculous.

“Let me walk you up and clear the house,” he nodded his head toward my house.

“It’s fine, that’s not necessary—,” I shook my head and moved to open the door.

“Humor me,” he smirked and shut the car off.

I finally relented and jumped out of the SUV, leading the tall agent to my front door. I hadn’t led a man to my door in ages, but that was beside the point. I unlocked the door and stepped aside, following him into the house and shutting the door behind me. His gun was drawn and his steps made virtually no sound—besides the old wood creaking beneath his weight—as he cleared every inch of my house. Every movement was practiced and deliberate from years of training, each lock, window, and room checked with efficiency.

It was kind of hot.

Which was a big deal for me as I tended to ignore the advances of the cops at the station.

I poured a glass of water as he finished up in my living room, setting the file I brought with me on the counter and my bags on the floor. I heard the back door open, as he presumably checked outside, then closed and locked again.

“You live alone?” his voice was casual, as he came into the kitchen, but the realization of it made me uneasy. “Not even a dog?”

I shrugged.

He stared at me again, a little too long, just like before.

“That’s dangerous.”

I nearly choked on the water I was drinking. Clearly, he thought just about everything I did was dangerous.

The way his voice deepened when his voice lowered in volume and the way he smiled, small and almost imperceptible made my skin tingle. I couldn't tell if it was a bad feeling or a good one and I was just out of practice.

“Well, this area doesn’t normally have trouble like this.”

Silence hung heavy between us as he made no move to announce his exit.

“I’ll stay,” he offered.  “You’ll be safe and you can get some rest.”

“That’s not necessary,” I protested weakly.

“Well, I think it is. He’s threatened all of us at least once.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, finally nodding, “Okay.”

Agent Hotchner nodded, “Be right back.” He opened the front door quickly and jogged outside and I was compelled to watch is back as he opened the back of the SUV to get his go-bag.

I let out a breath as he came back in safe and sound.

He ditched his bag near the door, finding his way back to me in the kitchen and leaning on the counter.

“Hungry?” he asked.

I shook my head, “Not really.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He looked down in thought, then took a step closer. His eyes darted all over my face, looking for any sign that I would push him away. He stepped closer still, hand reaching out and brushing the wrist of my hand that was propped on the counter while the other held my water. If I had been any weaker, the glass would have probably slipped out of my hand. His touch lingered longer than necessary, the tension growing in the room. His half-lidded expression casted the slightest of shadows over his eyes with his eyelashes.

 Wow, they were pretty.

As if he expected me to drop the glass, he gently took it from my hand with his free hand. His stature, demeanor, presence...it was all overwhelming—commanding, like he could see right through me. The logical part of me screamed that he had no business standing this close and looking at me like that.

This was exactly what you didn't do in a scary movie.

And yet, when he leaned in, my breath hitched.

“You should trust me,” he murmured.

I didn't have the bandwidth to analyze the choice of words.

‘Should.��

Not ‘can’.

‘You should...?’

‘You can...?’

Against my better judgement, when I felt his mouth on mine, I responded by immediately grabbing his lapels and pulling him closer.

-

Aaron POV

Aaron didn’t normally do this: sleep with the object of his obsession. He killed them. That was the whole point.

But, they were so scared.

So alone.

So brilliant.

So willing.

From the second he walked into the lab and to their desk, he fantasized about how easy it would have been to drive his knife into their back. Over. And over. And over.

He saw that spark. The one he saw when his victims were fighting that fear, trying to keep from spiraling out of control. And, oh, how he wanted to make them crack.

With how guarded they were, Aaron was surprised they even told him about the call.  As they did, though, he had to dig his thumbnail into his finger when they called his carefully crafted praise, ‘bullshit’. He would address that later.

He could see the fear in the way they shifted in his car, staring at the dark, empty house. Oh, it made him so excited. So, he played the action hero: clearing the house and making sure there were no cameras, animals, or lovers to get in his way.

No cameras? Check.

No animals? Check.

They tore into his dress shirt, belt, pants, boxers. Oh, that was warm, oh. His fingers gripped the counter tightly, his head thrown back in pleasure.

No lovers? Check. Double—no—triple check, even.

Aaron wasn’t averse to sex by any means. It was the people, the feelings, the time, and the effort that all made him grimace at it. Luckily, it was easy to ignore with his day job.

Pulling their mouth off his cock—why were they so good at that—he practically dragged them over to the bedroom he located earlier and pushed them not-so-gently onto the bed and stripped whatever garments were left.

It was almost cute how they fumbled in their drawer for a condom. Aaron was actually grateful for the precaution, not wanting to leave more DNA here than he needed to and waited impatiently for them to grab everything they needed.

His patience was short-lived.

He was a busy man, after all.

Clenching his jaw, he took the items and unceremoniously dropped them on the bed. Wrapping a large hand around their ankle, he dragged them back down into a laying position and covered their body with his. As calculated and methodical as Aaron was, he was rushing. He had a limited amount of time to put them to sleep, dig through their shit, drop another body, and get back in their bed before it was time to get back to work. If he was lucky, he might get to enjoy another round in the morning.

Pressing into their warm, welcoming body was a struggle of control. He wanted nothing more than to take and take, but he was Aaron Hotchner right now—a simple, sex deprived, busy, stoic, charming government agent. He had to check in, be attentive, and obviously make them cum, too.

Ugh.

So, he slowed down, mindful of his fingers digging bruises into their body. The last thing he needed was them looking at their arm and realizing the prints were the same size as the prints on the victims. It was a long shot, but Aaron had already fucked up with the boot.

He stared at them amidst the thrusting, no longer looking like a staring idiot since they were otherwise preoccupied. The way they moaned his last name, reaching for him and the weight he provided, the way they gripped his hair...it was all so needy. He hated to love it. He'd much prefer to hear them scream. Actually—he could do that part. But he’d enjoy their screams of terror so much more.

Hotchner

Hotchner

Hotch

Hot--

Oh, there was the scream. And it was pretty damn close.

Their neck was tense and long as they came. It was so inviting. It would be so easy to tear into and make a mess. He didn't even let himself bite down and have a taste of their skin, knowing he’d get too carried away. Kissing them was much safer.

He came shortly after with a series of grunts, sighing against their lips. Pressing one last kiss there, he retreated. Aaron was careful to not make a mess as he tied off the condom, wondering how to get this wrapped up and into his bag without suspicion.

“Water?” he asked and they nodded gratefully.

It was a little brave to bring his bag into their house but a little thrill never hurt. Plus, he was prepared. Digging through his bag, he pulled out some over the counter sleeping pills that he’d crushed ages ago.

It should be relatively tasteless, though, tasting the water...

He grimaced.

The chalky pills might actually be an improvement.

Ensuring they dissolved and his DNA was safely stashed away, he drank an untampered glass of water, washed the cup, and brought the other back to the bedroom with a damp paper towel for any messes they might have made together. When he did, they were staring out their bedroom windows through the cracks in the blinds.

“Are you okay?” he asked, snapping them out of their thoughts.

Aaron handed over the glass, eyes widening as they gulped down the entire thing.

That was easy.

“Yea, just thought I saw...something...outside.”

Aaron fought back a snort. The paranoia was setting in, goodie.

“I can do a sweep outside really quickly?” he offered.

“No, no. I think I’m just tired and imagining things,” they settled deeper into the covers.

Wordlessly, he slipped in behind them, wrapping an arm over their waist and brushing his lips over their shoulder, “Just let me know if you need me to make you more tired,” he hummed, smiling as he pressed himself against their back.

They laughed. An honest to God laugh.

Aaron didn't get those much. It was...weird.

The pills set in quickly, but Aaron gave it a good hour to make sure they were in a deeper sleep. The way the front door had creaked loudly when the two of them came in meant he was definitely using the back door he checked.

First, though, he needed to look through their notes. Untangling himself from the bed carefully, he placed a pillow in his place. He started changing, wanting to be ready to dash if he needed to. Dressed, except for his Ghostface mask and cowl, he flipped open the file. He had watched them throw the notes into the file earlier—where were they?

Tucked behind all of the documentation were handwritten notes. He was a little excited to see what they thought. The first thing there made him freeze.

“Possible law enforcement?

·      BAU suggests he understands police procedure.

·      No DNA, no prints, no physical evidence in kill area – knows what we look for.

·      Different states (if the copycats are frames) but consistent method.

·      Aware of local jurisdictions not cooperating but continues with FBI involved? Travels on purpose in car,  ‘05 Honda Accord.

‘05 Honda Accord

·      Located car on residence footage, plates not visible.

·      Tracked to cameras on US-30 E, Pennsylvania State Police combing footage.

Forensic countermeasures

·      Footprints – too careless, actual mistake?

·      Red hair and stashed evidence – too convenient? No matches

·      Why bother misdirecting if no one saw? Panic? Copycats? Framing?”

Finally, Aaron got to the last part of their notes in all caps, circled and underlined.

“Is he inserting himself into investigation??”

Aaron had to resist the urge to crumple the notes and throw the file across the room.

Fucking.

Nosy.

Ass.

Shit.

He had warned them and one chance was all he afforded people; his next phase was set in motion. But first? He had some anger to let out. Shoving the notes back in the folder, he grabbed his mask and cowl and headed to the back door, silently opening it and stepping outside. He fitted the cowl over first, keeping the cold away from his body, then fixed the mask over his balaclava.

Committing the murders when the team was in town was trickier. One, he didn't have his car and would have to hoof it. Two, it was much harder to hide his clothes and make sure no blood was on him when he went back to work in the morning. It was a challenge, but he liked that.

Luckily, he’d done some recon while they were in town and the trek to his next victim wasn't going to be as rough as he expected. His sleeping little mouse’s house wasn’t a far hike from the next victim.

Aaron was extra careful around the mud this time around. He really needed to rethink how narrow the eye slits were in this mask.

 His next victim lived alone, spending his evenings getting shit on in first person shooter video game lobbies. Aaron had briefly watched from the window, wondering how any of that could be appealing when the real thing was so much more fun. Slipping his lock pick set from his pant pocket, he made quick work of the backdoor and slipped side. The light in the office where the resident was playing video games had been on as he was casing around the house, so Aaron was safe for now in the opposite corner of the house.

Aaron’s steps were silent as he swooped around the house, figuring out where to begin his hunt.

Screw it.

He leaned against the counter, feeling over confident in his post-coital haze. He pulled out a burner and dialed the man’s number, which he acquired earlier in the day during interviews.

Aaron could barely hear the phone ring over the man’s shouting at the game. He sighed as the call rang out and called again.

“What the fuck!?” Aaron heard from the room, followed by a clatter.

The bastard threw the fucking phone.

Aaron’s head hung in discontent.

Unbelievable.

No one answered their phones these days.

He was still too pissed at the notes he read to be patient and try something else. This one was going to be bloody.

Making his way over to the room, he leaned against the threshold, arms folded as the man was hyper focused on the screen. He hadn’t seen a webcam through the window, so nothing would be live streamed—he wasn’t a monster. With the shouting clearer now, he was talking to someone, though, Aaron couldn’t be sure how many people as he squinted through the mask at the screen.

At least the headphones had a visible microphone and were hardwired to the computer. That made his job a little easier.

Not bothering to take out his knife yet, Aaron stalked toward his victim, standing behind them and watching the screen flash. Did this guy have zero self-awareness?

Reaching forward and grabbing low on the wire, Aaron gave it a hard pull. The wire gave way, whether it ripped out of the ports or broke the wires itself didn’t matter to Aaron. The chair spun; his victim startled with hands ready to fly.

The fight left his body immediately. Flight wasn’t even an option as the man stared at the menacing figure in front of him. No, freeze took hold.

“It’s rude not to answer someone’s phone call,” Aaron sneered through the modulator in his mask.

He grabbed the man by the throat, pushing him back on the chair so roughly that both man and chair flipped back onto the floor. That seemed to knock some evolution into the man and—surprise, surprise—flight kicked in.

The whimpering man scrambled to get up to his feet while Aaron watched the pathetic attempt but the arms of the chair slowed his escape down.

Sighing, Aaron stepped forward, pressing the front half of his boot onto the man's trachea and kneeling down to the ground.

“You’re not making this fun for me.”

He only received gurgling in response.

“Does it help if I show you this?” Aaron unsheathed the knife strapped to his chest under the cowl that draped across his body.

The man’s movements became more frantic form both the pressure on his throat and the sight of the sharp knife.

“Then get to running,” he growled, taking his boot off the man’s neck and watching him scramble to his feet.

The man was halfway to standing, ready to take off into a run with his weight poised on his front leg. Aaron might like the hunt but it wasn’t supposed to be fair. He kicked in the side of the man’s knee, hearing a sickening crack and pop followed by screaming.

“Fuck you! You sick fuck!” he screamed.

“Aww,” Aaron cooed. “You’re making me blush.”

The man hobbled out of the room, propping himself up on the hallway walls as Aaron strolled after him. He made a beeline for the front door, making Aaron chuckle through the modulator. Aaron hopped over the sofa that the man had to hobble around, making it to the door first and stalking toward him head on.

“Wrong way, peanut. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Aaron was enjoying the moment of hopelessness on his face. Doing his best to turn and run, the man made a very slow break for the back door.

Aaron checked his watch.

He hummed sadly, not having enough time to play anymore. He grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt, shoving him roughly to the floor.

“Sorry I can’t play longer,” Aaron sighed sadly, stepping over and straddling the man’s ribcage as he groaned on the floor.

To prevent the man from grabbing Aaron's weapons, he slid up to his upper chest, stapling the man’s biceps to the floor with his knees. Between the pathetic sobbing, screaming, and effort, the man was struggling to breathe even more now.

Aaron trailed the tip of his knife down the man’s forehead, to his nose.

“I want you to pick a number between one and...twenty.”

“W-wh-y?” came a strangled sob.

“Because I fucking ask you to,” he snapped. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

That little sliver of hope glimmered in his eyes for a second, quieting his sobs briefly.

“Uh-uhm.”

“I don’t have all night,” he pressed the tip harder into the sensitive flesh of his nose.

“Twelve! Twelve…please,” the man wailed again. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Wow,” Aaron breathed. He pinched the man’s cheek with a gloved hand, “You’re so brave. You won twelve stab wounds…are you ready?”

“N-no-no—" his screams filled the living room as the knife slid into the muscle of the man’s shoulder.

“Count with me,” Aaron requested. “One, two, three, four, five, six—look, we’re half way done—seven, eight—no, no, no nine not ten—mhm good boy, now ten, eleven…”

The blood was pooling rapidly and as excited as it made him, Aaron took precautions to be covered in as little of it as possible. He had his knee and shin across the man’s stomach with his other leg planted out far for stability, just beyond the edge of the pooled blood.

Aaron pressed the tip of the knife where he knew the man’s heart to be underneath the shirt. Slowly but surely, Aaron put pressure down, “Twelve.”

The life finally faded from the man’s eyes. Aaron stayed there, staring at the widening pool of blood. He was still angry. If he bothered to profile himself right now it would be the irritability and anger that made him play with his food a little more than usual. He felt the need to take control again after feeling derailed by those notes—how, when did they find so much and would they even be able to scrounge up evidence for some of those claims? Either way, making the hunt more fun reinforced his need to dominate every situation blah, blah, BLAH.

Aaron continued staring.

The blood was inviting.

He wasn’t stupid enough to write with it, though he’d love to write that cute little investigator a letter in blood. Describe how good they felt on his cock. He was right about them being enthusiastic after all, he laughed to himself.

It was tempting but no.

He grunted as he heaved himself up, careful to not step in blood. As far as blood went—he looked down at himself—he didn’t do too badly.

Pleased with himself, he gingerly exited the house, careful of what blood he did have on him and stripped the outer layers off, mainly his heavy cowl, mask, and gloves which he doubled up with rubber gloves underneath. He stuffed them into a clean plastic bag he’d brought with him and took off into the dark.

Entering his little mouse's surprisingly quiet back door, he carefully stripped the rest of his clothing, leaving the door unlocked. It was all intentional, aiming to imply Ghostface broke in—because he did.  Once his balaclava came off, he could breathe clearly again.

He’d memorized some of the squeaky floorboards on his clearing of the house and used that knowledge to make his way over to his bag and stashed his gear. Peeking in to make sure they were still asleep, Aaron checked himself in the bathroom for any blood and was happy to find none.

The body odor?

Well, a little hand soap would have to do.

Coming back out of the bathroom, he spotted their gun on the nightstand.

Naughty little mouse.

He grabbed a couple tissues and picked it up, ejecting the magazine, clearing the chamber, and unloading all of the bullets. He snapped the magazine back in with a sharp click and placed it back. They weren’t a cop; they didn't carry the gun out with them but he didn't need any surprises the next time he paid them a little visit.

Aaron gingerly climbed back into bed, feeling the steady rise and fall of the breathing next to him.

-

MC POV

The morning light filtered through the blinds in thin, slanted lines, cutting across the disheveled sheets. My body ached—not entirely unpleasantly—but there was a strange heaviness to my movements and an unease that gnawed at the edges of my mind and woke me up.

I didn’t actually want to open my eyes. Not because of what might lie beyond my eyelids, but because they felt so damn heavy. My head and arms did, too.

For a few moments, I let myself exist in that haze, the warmth of another body beside me was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Then, reality began to settle in. It wasn’t just a body.

SSA Aaron Hotchner was in my bed.

I slept with the lead agent working this case. With a literal serial killer on the loose. Was I stupid?

For the millionth time, this was how people died in scary movies.

Finally opening my eyes, I was startled at how close his face was. His breathing was slow and even, his bare chest rising and falling rhythmically. In the dim light, he looked almost peaceful—normal, even—from the robotic stoicism he held in the field. But something in my gut screamed that something was wrong.

I shifted to sit up, nearly jumping out of my skin when his eyes shot open. He stared at me, almost as equally confused as I had been from the looks of it.

Fragments of last night flickered in my mind: the ride home, the way he insisted on checking the house, the way his gaze lingered too long. The way his touch had burned—slow and deliberate.

“You’re up early,” he commented, looking at the clock over my shoulder.

It was barely 6:00 AM.

“Yea, I don’t know. I just felt weird,” I furrowed my brows. “I just feel so heavy.”

He stared at me for a beat before his features grew mirthful, “Last night took a lot out of you?”

My face heated up, “Shut up.”

I turned over, facing away from him. He hummed behind me, shuffling closer. His hand drew a wide path over my hip, rising higher until he could pinch my nipple. My hips involuntarily pressed back against him.

He laughed softly, pressing his nose against my ear, “We have some time to kill.”

I ignored the poor choice of words and chewed my lip, finally nodding, “Yea, okay.”

“Stay there,” he rolled away to find the drawer I’d rifled in the night before.  

I shivered as the cool air made its way under the blankets, but I didn’t have to wait long before his warm skin was pressed up against me again.

The slicked-up condom was as cold as the air above the covers, making me jump as he prodded around.

Stars, he hit the lottery when they were handing out dicks.

My mouth dropped open as he fully seated himself, the fullness forcing out a gasp from my throat. He controlled the pace with a firm grasp on my hip and used his other arm to wind under my head, grasp my jaw and force my face to look at him. My mouth was all too willing to open for him and the way his hand engulfed my jaw made my brain buzz with excitement. He was just so large.

The hand on my hip slipped low, working its way between my legs until it landed on my heated, sensitive flesh. I could feel his mouth spread into a satisfied smile as I practically moaned into his mouth. He moved his hand in time with his hips, stroking faster until I was shaking in his arms.

“Sh-fuck,” I felt the pleasure building.

I was so close.

“Ho-otch-chn…” I moaned.

“Aaron,” he corrected.

“Aaron, please.”

That seemed to shift another gear for him, his movements rougher, his teeth scraping my skin.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Come on my cock. Need to feel you.”

Holy hell, the mouth on this man when he wasn’t buttoned up tight.

And just like that, my orgasm hit me hard. My loud moans breaking the silence of the early morning. His hand didn’t let up, making me grasp at his forearm to get him to stop as overstimulation set in.

He didn’t stop.

His teeth scraped my neck this time and I wondered if he’d finally do it—sink his teeth into my neck as he came. I could feel him holding it back, not wanting to ask and not wanting to just spring it on me. He didn’t, and I was only mildly disappointed. He buried his face into my neck, moaning loudly as he finally came.

We lay there, not moving except for our heavy breathing making our chests expand rapidly. Aaron’s tongue laved over my sweaty skin, pressing a kiss, and then another.

Do it.

Do it.

With one more kiss there, he pulled away with a soft groan.

“Mind if I use your shower?” he asked, groaning as he stretched.

“Go ahead, I’ll get some coffee started.”

Aaron smiled gratefully and went to grab his bag, bringing it into the bathroom with him and closing the door.

I pushed myself up to sit upright on my bed—which was a total mess that I wasn't looking forward to cleaning. My limbs still felt heavy and yeah, maybe he was right and I was just out of practice. I stood and stretched, pulling on underwear and a t-shirt from the floor while I waited for my turn.

I padded over to the kitchen, my feet softly scraping the old wood. I doubled my usual coffee routine and looked out into the living room from the kitchen as I leaned back against the counter. My eyes drifted over the counters, seeing the glass he washed last night—very considerate—before landing on the file I brought with me. Some of the pages were sticking out. I didn’t think I threw it there so casually that papers fell out—well I did end up in bed with a federal agent so anything was game at this point.

It was my notes that made me freeze when I opened the folder. I distinctly remember putting them in the back before leaving the station with Aaron. The paper was haphazardly shoved back in, crinkled deeply in some parts where it looked like someone was holding it tightly.

What the fuck?

I hadn't realized how long I stood there looking at it when Aaron emerged from my bedroom in a black polo and dark jeans. It was a far cry from the suit he showed up in but I’m sure suits weren't exactly space savers. I wasn't complaining either, the way the sleeves clung to his biceps and contrasted with his pale skin made my mind race. His hair was still damp, flopping innocently onto his forehead.

“What?” he stared at me with a half-smile.

Ripping my eyes off the way the polo stretched across his chest, I shook my head, “Uh, did you go through the file last night?”

“No, why?”

“Because I know where I put these when we left the station,” I gestured to the notes. “And now they’re in a different spot.”

His smile was gone, replaced by a pinched expression. His eyes darted around the room, hand automatically flying to his hip.  Silently holding out a hand to me to tell me to stay put, he made his way to the living room taking overly cautious steps. It was unlikely that Ghostface would be out in broad daylight but everyone was on edge already.

“I locked this before...well, you know,” he was stopped at the back door, both locks undone.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Ghostface been in my house.

I was frozen. I hadn’t heard a thing. How could I be so stupid?

“I-uh,” I wrung my fingers together, suddenly terrified. “I’m gonna get ready, coffee’s almost ready.”

The shock settling in was distracting. Ghostface knew my suspicions now and if they were anywhere near true, I was in deep, deep shit.

I made my shower quick and was putting on my shoes when our phones rang at the same time.

Damn. That can’t be good.

“Hotchner. Okay, be there in a bit.”

My conversation went mostly the same. The coffee was packed in to-go cups and only upon stepping through my front door did I realize I didn't have my car or my spare kit.

“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned.

Aaron made a noise of amusement from his throat.

“Not a word,” I grumbled. “My car with my spare kit is at the station. Those fucking oafs are going to ruin my crime scene.”

“It’s okay, we have lights,” Aaron grinned as we got in the SUV and flipped the lights and sirens on, letting us speed up the road to retrieve my kit, then back down into the residential area for the crime scene.

We arrived at the same time as the rest of the BAU. I had a one-track mind to catch this fucker and ditched Aaron, grabbing my kit and racing to the house. Detective Miller was already inside, along with a few other officers which made my eye twitch.

“Can you get them out?” I asked her, gesturing to the cops who were standing around. “Who found him?”

“His online friends called the station, I guess he was playing some video game with them and his microphone got disconnected. He wasn't answering his phone and he never logged off the game. I guess he’d told them there was a serial killer so they were worried. Rightfully so, too. ELPD did a welfare check and saw him through the window. Back door was unlocked so, looks like he came in through there.”

Marking what I immediately saw, I squinted at the body. I snapped pictures of the deep stab wounds, the way his knee was caved in at the wrong angle, and zooming in on his neck.

“Look at this,” I tilted his head up. “He was stepping on his neck. That’s not just playing with his food. He’s mad.”

Fuck. I had to tell her.

“I think I know why, too,” I continued.

Detective Miller looked at me quizzically.

“My back door was unlocked, too. We—I had locked everything before I went to bed.”

“We?”

“I.”

She looked at me pointedly, “We?” Her body leaned to look around me at where the BAU was talking outside, “Which one was it? The old one? I know you prefer salt over pepper.”

“Oh, fuck off, Miller.”

She laughed, making eye contact with Aaron by chance as he glanced inside through the open front door.

“No...” she gasped. “The Neo looking, mother fucker? Come on. He’s weird.”

“He’s not weird. The kid is weird.”

“No, he’s cute.”

I stared at her, gesturing to the body on the floor to remind her of why we were here.

“Did he at least have a big—”

“Yes.”

“You do know this means your place is a crime scene now,” she scribbled notes on her notepad.

“There was nothing of use, I looked. He went through my notes and left. I’ll document it.”

“Deal,” she sighed. “Struggle started over here,” she cocked her head toward the hallway.

Walking into the small office, I got an overview of the scene, moving to the desk first. The computer was still on, the game having disconnected from the servers for inactivity. The entire computer tower was skewed from the headphones being ripped out so violently, that one of the wires had ripped off of the jack. Pictures of the computer and chair were snapped, then Miller directed me to the phone across the room.

“Dent in the wall here and the phone over here,” she commented.

Once I took the pictures, I clicked open the phone. It was locked but I could see the recent notifications. Several Discord notifications from the guy’s gaming friends and two missed calls from an Unknown Number.

“Maybe he tried to call 911 and Ghostface chucked the phone?” Miller suggested.

“One sec,” I grabbed the phone and unlocked it with the body on the floor of the living room. “Sorry, buddy.”

The phone immediately opened to Discord, not the phone keypad. I scrolled through the recent calls and only saw the two missed calls from the unknown number, nothing outgoing or incoming after that. Making my way back to Detective Miller, I sighed.

“But, we know he calls his victims to taunt them. What if the guy didn’t answer and it made him mad? That coupled with the notes? Guy is sitting here, playing. The phone keeps going off and he throws it because, I don’t know he's frustrated with the game?”

“It’s a theory. Got everything? I’ll call them inside.”

“Yea, let me check the back really quick.���

I went out through the back door, photographing scratches where the lock was picked and looking around for anything out of place. Anymore boot prints, blood, anything.  Looking out into the lawn I saw one of the ELPD officers reaching for a plastic bag.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” I shouted but he had already grabbed it and stood.

I heard a commotion behind me, several footsteps hurriedly rushing out the back door.

The officer looked at me cluelessly, “What?”

“Are you being serious right now? You’re not wearing gloves!”

“Just trash, I mean...” he shrugged, thrusting the bag toward me.

I need a vacation.

“It’s an active crime scene, Christ.” I pulled an evidence bag out, shoving the plastic bag inside and grumbling to myself.

“Everything okay?” Aaron and a few of the agents had rushed out of the house with guns drawn.

“Sorry,” I sealed the evidence bag, writing on the outside. “Going to have to eliminate his prints now,” I commented, annoyed.

“You found that here?” he questioned.

“He did, yea. Then, grabbed it without gloves,” I shook my head. “Might take you up on that FBI offer.”

I heard him laugh softly next to me.

“Want me to—” Aaron offered his hand to hold the bag as I couched down.

“I got it,” I cut him off clutching the evidence bag like a lifeline, I photographed the area around where I saw the officer pick it up but nothing stood out.

“I want to hear your thoughts on this come on,” he indicated his head back inside.

“So, I know he likes to taunt people, but I thought the phone was strange,” I said as they followed me to the office, stepping carefully around the mess.  “He called the guy twice, neither call was answered, and the phone ends up thrown over here.”

“So, maybe he was trying to call the cops when he saw him?” the blonde one, JJ, I think answered.

“Maybe, but he had headphones on and was playing this video game. I find it hard to believe he heard much of anything. He was playing with other people, who said he just cut off—and look, the cords were yanked out of the computer. I don’t think he had time to call.”

“So, the unsub gets mad that he's not answering, then,” the older agent, Rossi, chimes in.

“Video games, particularly first-person shooters like this one, have been shown to increase aggression, especially when players experience frustration or failure. Studies suggest that competitive gaming can elevate cortisol and adrenaline levels, leading to heightened emotional responses. If the victim was fully immersed in the game, already experiencing stress, and then received repeated phone calls, it’s plausible that he reacted impulsively—throwing the phone out of frustration rather than fear.”

I blinked at the information that fell out of Dr. Reid’s mouth but eventually nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"And that would explain why he didn’t bother to check who was calling. He wasn’t worried about being watched—he was just annoyed,” Emily agreed.

“Which pissed off the killer,” Morgan ran a thumb along his facial hair.

The only one who hadn’t spoken at this point was Aaron.

“It’s possible. Repeated interruptions, especially in the middle of a game, could have made him dismissive of the calls instead of suspicious. The unsub might have expected a different reaction—fear or immediate compliance—but instead, they were ignored. That could have triggered an escalation,” Reid continued.

“Which lines up with the scene. The killer physically yanked the cords out—cut him off from the game entirely. If he was already feeling slighted by being ignored it could have been a way to force the victim’s attention back on him,” I turned around, pointing back to the living room. “I have more for you.”

I led them out of the office and to the body.

“This guy was mad, like he was being mean...” I started, stopping and cringing at myself. “...okay murder is mean but he was meaner than the other three.” I crouched, mindful of the blood, “This here looks ante-mortem, he was stepping on the victim’s throat for an extended period causing this bruising. And then this bruising here is also ante-mortem,” I pushed up the sleeves of the victim’s t-shirt. “I was going to say he held the victim’s arms down with his hands but he has one on each arm and it's not tactically sound to have both hands occupied. I’m thinking he was kneeling on the guy's arms and he was sitting on his chest. I don’t know if the twelve stab wounds has any significance to you guys but each murder had a different count, so I don’t have anything there. But, his knee is shredded, look at the angle. No wonder he didn't get very far.”

“Didn’t we interview him yesterday?” JJ tilted her head to get a better look at his face.

“Mm,” Detective Miller located his wallet, “Tommy Crites?”

“We did,” Prentiss nodded. “Maybe he knew something?”

“Why do you say he was being “mean”?” Rossi asked curiously.

“Well, ripping the cords out and making the guy pay attention was easy, right? He could have killed him there in the chair. The guy has to get out of the chair or off the floor and the killer is just standing there watching him struggle? He was taunting him, playing with him.”

“He wanted to be in control,” Aaron finally spoke up.

“Yea. So, he takes back control,” I paused taking a breath. “And I think it was because he saw some of my notes. I think he broke into my house last night and didn't like what he saw.”

“What did you write?” Rossi asked.

I paused, surrounded by the very people I was accusing.

“That he might be law enforcement and inserting himself into the investigation.”

The BAU looked at each other grimly.

“So, he sees your notes, gets pissed off that you’re getting too close, and comes here to blow off steam,” Morgan murmured.

“We’ve all been threatened by him, welcome to the club,” Reid smiled sadly.

We leave the body to the county coroner and begin to leave, immediately met with several media vans outside. The reporters are being held back by a few deputies but could easily overwhelm them if given the chance.

“Who called the media?” I looked over at Detective Miller.

“Don’t look at me,” she glared, looking pissed at their presence.

Questions were immediately bombarding us as we tried to leave:

“Is the BAU any closer to identifying the suspect?”

“Is it true that the killer has been targeting people at random, or is there a pattern to the victims?”

“Some sources claim the killer has made direct contact with law enforcement. Are you in communication with him?”

"Do you believe he’s local to the area? Could he be someone within the police force?”

I almost stopped walking at that. Aaron shifted next to me, looking for who asked that question, his expression cold and unreadable.

“We can’t comment on that,” he answered.

“Then, should we be looking for a 6-foot, red-haired male, 180 pounds, with size 11 feet?”

Everything stopped there.

The words slammed into me like a physical blow. That information hadn’t been released to the public. I hadn't even mentioned the height that the BAU’s analyst had managed to figure out from the video footage in the notes.

My stomach twisted as I finally located the reporter in the crowd and snapped toward him, my voice sharp, “Who told you that?”

The reporter just laughed, shrugging. “Can’t reveal sources, you know how it is.”

Before I could stop myself, my hand shot out, grabbing the front of the reporter’s shirt and yanking him closer.

I was furious and practically shaking, “Who. Told. You?”

The cameras flashed more frequently at the scene. The reporter looked startled, but also amused.

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

A firm hand clamped down on my shoulder. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that it was Aaron’s hand.

“Let him go.”

For a beat, I didn’t move and my grip tightened. Then, I realized how bad it had to look and shoved the reporter back, storming off toward the SUV.

From then, the station was a madhouse.

The tip lines were ringing off the charts. The town had gone feral in a matter of hours after learning about the description.

Someone—an anonymous “inside source”—had leaked that the partial evidence suggested a red-haired suspect, male, with an approximate height and shoe size matching a partial tread found at the scene.

The result was pure, unfiltered chaos.

Every red-haired man within a thirty-mile radius was getting side-eyed. People were calling in tips over neighbors they’d known for years. People called to tell on their male friends who recently changed hair colors from red to something else. The worst one was a young man who worked at a family-owned auto shop in East Liverpool getting the shit beaten out of him by some overzealous vigilantes because his hair was lightened by chlorine and the sun from his time on the high school swim team.

The kicker was that it was all bullshit.

I knew it and the FBI knew it, but there was nothing we could do to calm the panic. The shoe print had been a lucky find, but something about the way the case was unfolding reeked of misdirection and I couldn’t help but think that the killer released the information, further supporting my theory that he was working on the inside. The evidence was just too convenient—just enough to keep people focused on the wrong thing.

The plastic bag at the scene was a dead end, too, forensically. The only prints we managed to pull were the cop’s and he was far too stupid to be our killer. The killer must have had several bags and dropped one in his haste to protect the evidence from us.

I was hesitant to start picking out who it could be. One, it could piss Ghostface off even more. Two, accusing the wrong law enforcement officer is a surefire way for me to get fired. Three, based on just this case alone, I was absolutely certain it was the real killer and not some knock off. Which, four, meant that he wouldn’t be from here with all the traveling he did and the fact that neither the East Liverpool Police Department nor Columbiana County Sheriff’s Department had any recent transfers. He couldn’t insert himself through local channels—so that only left federal.

And ‘federal’ was a scary word. Connections were everything and I had zero, except maybe Aaron but he could very well be on the suspect list, too.

My own weakness for dick was apparently shooting me in the foot.

If I had to make a list, Prentiss and JJ were not on it. Not because they were women—I'm an equal opportunity accuser—but because of the height and weight. Rossi was on the shorter, older, and therefore potentially weaker end, still possible but not in my top three. No, my top three would be Morgan, Reid, and, unfortunately, Aaron. All three fit the height requirements though Reid was maybe on the lighter side of the three. All three men were also highly intelligent with in depth knowledge of law enforcement tactics and forensics.

All that to say: I really should not have slept with Aaron.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when Sheriff Tanner barged in to the lab, which was a rare occurrence when he had several detectives to do that for him.

“I need all the reports you have on the evidence from these Ghostface murders,” he barked, ‘Ghostface’ leaving his lips with a scowl.

“Yes, sir, but the hair—”

“I asked you for the reports, not your opinion.”

“But, Sheriff, it’s not--"

“ELPD has ten thousand frightened citizens blowing up their god damn phones and ours. I’m done with Miller entertaining your conspiracies. If you still want a job after all of this, shut up and give me the reports.”

I begrudgingly handed him the reports, following him as he stormed back out into the main bullpen. The BAU was lined up in front of the press just finishing up their interview, trying to ease the public about what had been fed to them.

The Sheriff was on his way to tell them to go to hell and follow the evidence.

I stormed into the media briefing behind the Sheriff, cutting through the sea of reporters.  The consequences of my actions were the least of my worries when compared to a serial killer.

“Sheriff, this entire investigation is a cover-up!”

The bullpen went dead silent, the only sounds being the rapid clicking of cameras. Video cameras snapped toward me, away from the federal agents they had been focused on.

Aaron, stood among the BAU and other law enforcement officials. He barely twitched at my exclamation but his eyes locked onto me with an unreadable expression.

I was already putting my foot in my mouth, so I kept going.

“You’re looking for the wrong person. The real killer is someone in law enforcement, and you all are wasting time hunting some imaginary suspect instead of looking deeper!”

At that, the reporters started whispering, murmuring. Sheriff Tanner’s face turned an ugly shade of red.

Aaron, though, Aaron didn’t look angry.

He looked amused.

Like he was enjoying this.

-

Aaron POV

Oh, his brilliant, little mouse. His brilliant, stupid, little mouse.

It wasn’t enough that they read his beautiful kills like a book, dissecting every piece and fucking up every ounce of his enjoyment. Then, they had to go and do it in public when he had specifically told them not to.

He was lucky that the plastic bag didn’t have any forensics on it. That was mistake number two of East Liverpool, Ohio and he wondered if he wasn’t as sharp as he used to be or if his infatuation with this smart, insignificant, funny, irritating, fool was messing up his game.

They were gone by the time the team had decided to call it a night—Sheriff Tanner having told them to pack their shit and get out—which worked out in his favor. Aaron snuck out of his motel room late that night, when he was sure the rest of the team was asleep. He’d slipped Rossi some of the same sleeping pills, ensuring he’d be asleep for the rest of the night. Not like he needed to worry about Ghostface trying to kill him, Aaron laughed to himself.

Aaron stepped out into the dark, melting into the shadows of the barely lit town. It would have taken him close to an hour to walk to their house, which he cut down to about twenty-five minutes by running the couple of miles. He took off his cowl to be a little more aerodynamic so he wasn't weighed down by the wind resistance, and shoved it in his backpack. The backpack he carried made the feat a little more challenging, but it was all for a good cause.

His cause.

As he approached, he slowed down, blending into the bushes that separated the investigator’s house from the one next to it. He pulled out his burner, seeing them through the blinds just enough to see that they were distraught. Their knees were pulled up to their chest, head heavy in their hands. Smiling to himself, he found their number, double checked his modulator, and made the call.

At first, he was sure they wouldn't answer. But then they lifted their head up a little, peering down next to them on the bed.

Stupid blinds, he cursed to himself.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Aaron asked with a disappointed edge to his voice. “That was a cute stunt.”

“Not when some asshole is threatening my town, no, I really don’t.”

“I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Doesn’t mean I had to listen. Why don’t you come shut it yourself?” they responded, irritated and coarse.

Oh, his mouse. His brave, little mouse.

“Answer me this,” they spoke again. “Why haven’t you killed the feds following you? Surely, they pose a bigger threat?”

“I’m not bulletproof, baby. And I’m not stupid enough to poke a hornet’s nest.”

“Hmm,” they hummed over the phone. “See you soon?”

“See you soon,” he practically giggled.

He watched the bedroom light flick off.

His mouse wanted to play?

Oh, he would play.

Aaron hugged as close to the house as possible, already at a disadvantage since the outside was now illuminated by the moon while the inside of the house was pitch black. Was it too obvious to use the back door again? Yes, but he would have a more silent entrance that way.

Unlocking the door with his lock pick set, he let the door swing open, waiting—listening—before making his first step over the threshold. He dropped the backpack near the back door to be more mobile.

Where, oh, where could they be?

They wouldn't hide or cower, no, his mouse was pissed, so Aaron needed to be ready for a fight. He tip-toed gently around the house, mostly remembering where the creaks were except for a couple. With his hand gripping the handle of his knife—where it sat strapped to his chest—he started passing the kitchen, free arm reaching out to push open the bedroom door.

Before he could step toward the bedroom, two arms wrapped around his leg from behind, emanating from the kitchen floor.

Like an actual little mouse, oh, sweetheart.

One arm wrapped around the outside of his ankle, the other wrapping through his legs and on his quad. Feeling a strong push on the back of his hamstring and a yank on his ankle, he was soon careening down to the ground face first. Aaron had to let go of the knife handle to brace his fall with both hands, stuck in a sprinter’s stance. They still kept a hold of his leg, trying to drive him onto his hip, but his foot was able to twist free. It took him two tries to yank his foot back to him enough to donkey kick back, landing directly into their chest if the resulting wheeze was anything to go by.

“Not bad,” Aaron consolidated his limbs, standing back up and trying to anticipate their next move in the dark.

A punch barely grazed the edge of his mask. Reaching out, he grabbed the forearm of that arm, pushing it away from him so they were turned around—back against his chest. From there, it was easy to entrap both of their arms with his and lift them, dragging them to the bedroom.

“Oopsie,” he laughed in their ear. He flicked the light on with his elbow, glancing around and spotting their cellphone set up suspiciously. “Sweetheart—tsk—filming me? Really? I didn’t consent to that...”

“Fuck you,” they spat back.

Aaron laughed, the modulator making it all the more terrifying. Been there, done that.

Throwing them on the bed, he straddled their hips and reached over on the nightstand for their phone.

Pause.

Delete.

To add insult to injury, he snapped the phone in half and tossed it across the room.

“You won't be needing that.”

He was so preoccupied with the phone that he missed their hand travelling under their pillow until a pistol was pointed in his face.

“Oh,” he taunted. “And what are you going to do with that?”

“You said it yourself. You’re not bulletproof.”

“You’re right,” he wiggled, making himself comfortable in their lap. “Come on, then,” he urged, pressing the forehead of the mask against the end of the gun. “You feel that power? It feels good, doesn't it?”

Their hands shook from the adrenaline and fear.

“Are you like me?” he grinned under the mask. “Are you going to get off after you pull that trigger?”

They readjusted their grip on the gun, their sweaty hands making it slippery.

“Do it, Mouse,” he pressed harder. “Do it, don’t be a little bit—”

Squeeze.

Click.

The shock on their face was priceless.

“Performance anxiety is super common, baby, don't worry,” Aaron teased, prying the empty gun from their hands and tossing it to the floor. “You should always check your chamber before starting a fight.”

To avoid any more surprises, Aaron turned them on their side and zip tied their hands behind their back, laying them back down on top of their hands. He enjoyed the way they struggled as he shimmied his way up their chest.

“Just kill me, you coward,” they spat, still struggling. “Hiding behind a mask,” they scoffed.

He leaned down, keeping his weight balanced by framing their head with his hands on each side as he brought the mask to their cheek, “Oh, I’m not here to kill you. You’re far too smart, I need you.”

“I’m not helping you.”

“Frankly, I don’t need your permission for that.”

He gripped a fistful of their t-shirt, hooking his fingers into the collar and pulling the fabric across the centerline of their neck so it pulled taught against their carotid artery. With his free hand, he made a fist and pressed it slowly into the other artery. He kept his face close, hovering just above theirs as they worked to loosen their hands to no avail.

There was silence between them, just the sound of struggling.

“Which one of you is it, huh?” they laughed, smiling through it all. Their consciousness was struggling to hold on as the blood was slowly cut off from their brain. “Is that you, Aaron? Gained my trust by being a knight in shining armor and fucking me?”

Aaron just stared, clenching his jaw tightly.

He hated them.

“Or sweet little Dr. Reid? Pretending to fumble and mess up the crime scene?”

He cocked his head to the side, pressing harder with his fist.

He loved their brain.

“Or Morgan? So, charming, strong, and witty.”

He was stronger. He was better. He was smarter.

He could see them fading away. It was relaxing, watching them fight it. If the shirt had been any thicker, they would likely be asleep already but he had to hold this one a little longer.

Aaron got sloppy, leaning too far into them to see their teeth scrape the edge of the mask and bite down. He felt a tug and yanked back, the mask staying and his head exposed. This was why he wore the balaclava. But it didn't matter.

Recognition gleamed in their eyes as they met his rich, honey, brown eyes, darkened from the shadow he was casting over them.

They opened their mouth to say something but it was too late. Their eyes shut and their body went limp.

-

MC POV

My eyes blinked open slowly, the blinds drawn tight in my room. My head and body felt heavy and I wondered how long I’d been out. Waking up after being choked was usually fairly quick, unless it's so long that brain damage or death happens. But, I was very alive.

Aaron.

Fucking. Aaron.

Then, I remembered how I felt after waking up the other morning after we slept together. I felt just like this.

Had he drugged me?

Feeling around for my phone, I realized it had been destroyed last night but my alarm clock blinked at me.

 10:42 AM.

Brief panic set in before I realized I didn't have anywhere to go. No words needed to be said as Sheriff Tanner basically fired me yesterday—’pack your shit’ was explicit enough.

I needed to go, I needed to explain to the Sheriff—to Miller—about yesterday. Trying to sit up was a feat as my body protested. My chest and neck throbbed and I was sure I had a fist sized bruise on one side of my neck. I had to catch myself several times as I looked for clothes, barely managing to get pants on when my front door was kicked open with such force that pieces of the threshold went flying.

Fight? Flight? Freeze? I couldn't do any of it. The room was still spinning, making me feel nauseous as I finally successfully buttoned my pants after attempting for the fourth time.  When I was able to focus on the commotion around me, I couldn’t process much of the screamed orders at me, but I focused in on several guns pointed my way.

Morgan. Prentiss. Aaron.

They were all in the front, sights trained on me with unwavering focus.

My eyes locked onto Aaron’s.

“Oh, this is rich,” I laughed, not able to do much besides stumble and barely catch myself.

Aaron holstered his gun, giving the everyone a command to search the house as he pressed me up against a wall and cuffed me.

“Ow, that hurts,” I winced uncomfortably.

“You think Tommy Crites thought that when you stabbed him twelve times? What about Carolyn Turner when you stabbed her six times—” he snarled.

Bastard.

“Oh, what a load of shit,” I spat. “I’m the wrong shoe size—the wrong, everything!”

“But you’re just the person to be able to fabricate that,” he chuckled.

“I can't fabricate video footage, asshat.”

I could hear the police and agents tearing apart my house like rabid animals. Papers were falling to the floor; evidence bags being filled with things I’d never seen before. I watched, craning my neck as a knife was pulled out from under my sink, bloody and dark clothing from under my floorboards and—

The realization crashed over me as Morgan pulled muddy boots out from under my bed.

Aaron was framing me.

He squeezed my wrists tighter, daring me to say something.

“Are you kidding me? Those aren't even my size,” I struggled against Aaron’s firm grip.

Morgan peeked inside the boots, seeing padding stuffed into the toes to mitigate the wrong size. His glare was almost as deadly as Aaron’s as he left the room to log the evidence.

“You’re sick,” I whispered harshly to Aaron under my breath.

“Maybe,” he leaned in laughing softly, his warm breath ghosting over my ear. “It really is a shame you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when I told you to,” he said, sounding regretful. “I really do like you.”

“I’m going to nail you for this—”

He shoved me harder against the wall, making me wince as the wall bit into my brow and cheekbone, “You’re going away for four murders. You’re not getting me for shit.”

The cuffs bit into my wrists as he pulled me off the wall and led me outside. Reporters were shouting over each other, cameras flashing like strobes but the noise barely registered. My mind was racing, trying to find a way out—any way out. I looked around for a familiar face.

Miller.

Miller, please.

She refused to even look my way.

Aaron matched my wobbly steps, following at a measured pace. His presence was so heavy at my back. How could I have let this happen?

Just as we reached a patrol car, he leaned in again. His voice was low and calm, with such malice behind it that it sent another wave of nausea through me.

“You’ll call me,” he stated.

I jerked against his grip.

“Like hell I will.”

He only chuckled, like I was telling him a god damn joke.

“You will. When you get tired of rotting in a cell. When you realize no one else can help you—you'll call me.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze over my shoulder, challenging his domineering stance.

“I’d be happy to reopen an investigation,” he continued, feigning nonchalance. “Get you exonerated. Clear your name,” he paused, his voice shifting. Almost affectionately he cooed in my ear, the venom so much more pronounced without the robotic tin of the modulator, “But you’ll owe me.”

His words settled over me like poison.

“You’d work for me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You’d go where I tell you. Do what I tell you.”

I swallowed hard, my jaw clenched and tense.

“You’d be free,” he promised, eyes shimmering with something dark. “And I’ll own you,” he smiled sweetly. Aaron opened the car door, hand on my head as he guided me in roughly. “Plus,” he pouted, mouth so close that I felt his lips skim my ear as he bent over and looked at me through the still open door, “you’ll miss me so much, little mouse, I just know it.”

He slammed the door shut.

I barely registered the car starting. I didn't even register Detective Miller getting in the front passenger seat, flipping down the visor and looking at me through the mirror.

All I could hear was his voice echoing in my head.

-

Aaron POV

Aaron watched the patrol car drive away.

Would they call him? Maybe not today. Maybe not even this year or the next.

But Aaron was a patient man and he always got what he wanted.

-

Some extra art:

[billiereid]

Their Type: Criminal Minds x Reader

Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.

Featuring: Aaron Hotchner. Jason Gideon. David Rossi. Jennifer Jereau. GN!Reader

Contains: Physical archetypes. Not much else.

Summary: Everyone has preferences in a partner, whether they want to admit it or not. Here's what I think these BAU agents' types would be.

Aaron Hotchner

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t really have a physical type. He looks at personality first, and everything else comes later.

He’s always so serious, simply because he needs to be. He needs someone who can make him laugh. 

Aaron also looks for maturity in a person. He wants healthy communication, even if he isn’t always the best at reciprocating.

He really values patience. He’s been through so much, and he needs somebody who’s willing to wait for him to open up, rather than pushing.

He also really doesn’t like someone who comes on too strong, or if they’re too clingy. His person needs to have the capacity to be their own person outside of him.

Jason Gideon

Gideon has a thing for brown eyes, but not really a physical type outside of that. 

He needs someone who is okay with not talking about things. Sometimes, his coping method is just sitting in silence with his person.

He may not realize it, but he needs someone to remind him what it was like to be young and in love. He needs someone to show him what fun is. 

He also values intelligence, but he wants it to come independently. He doesn’t want to have to explain everything to his partner. 

David Rossi

Rossi is the kind of guy who goes around saying he doesn’t have a type, that he loves all women equally. But in reality, he loves a woman with curves. And dark hair, for some unknown reason.

Maturity is really big for him. In fact, I’d say it’s a necessity. I don’t think he would tolerate a partner he sees as immature. 

David wants someone who lets him take the lead. He’s an old school guy. He wants to plan dates and pay for dinner. 

If you can manage to impress Rossi with something, he’ll be wrapped around your finger. He’s sort of a jack of all trades, so this would be really difficult. But I think that if he’s really enamored with someone, he’ll be impressed by everything they do.

Jennifer Jereau

JJ doesn’t care much about looks either, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love a guy with an accent. Who doesn’t, honestly?

She loves someone who can make her laugh, but not in an immature way. 

She loves to be flirted with by the right person. She loves to be swept off her feet and made to feel special, and if you can do that with just words, you’re set.

JJ also likes it when a guy is a little clingy. She wants someone to miss her while she’s away for work. 

[ghoulie-67-baby]

Good Morning- David Rossi.

Summary: Emily Prentiss is a bad influence and the whole team seem to enjoy the pain of it.

Prompts: ‘good morning agent’ ‘no’ ‘I believe the proper response is good morning’ ‘no’ (TFR’s writing prompts ebook). I found it on Pinterest.

Warnings: Hangover, Drinking (mentioned), flirting (ish), medication, mentions of crushing on the beautiful David Rossi.

Pairing: David Rossi x GN!reader.

Word count: 738.

Drums seemed to thunder in my head as I trudged out of the elevator and into the bullpen. Derek sneered at me as I slumped bonelessly into my chair, Spencer staring and looking concerned as I downed a few painkillers. Emily had done me dirty this time, challenging me to competitive drinking knowing we had work the next day and wouldn't run from a challenge. It was my own fault in reality but she knew I had no control over my competitiveness so it seemed fair to blame her, especially considering that woman held her alcohol a lot better than I could. I sighed a breath of relief as my head met the cold surface of my desk, barely taking the edge of my hands over from hell.

"Looking good Agent Y/L/N,' Emily and JJ sidled up to the desks, the challenger sitting in her seat with a mocking grin and the blonde sitting on the edge of the desk with a sympathetic smile. I huffed in annoyance, their faces fresh and shiny compared to my own grey, dull one. JJ placed a fresh cup of tea on my desk and I gratefully wrapped my hands around it, revelling in the warmth with a small thank-you smile.

"Remind me never to drink with you again," I muttered, angry with myself for letting her persuade me to drink with them.

"I think I've heard you say that every time and you still end up in this situation" Spencer hummed softly with a shrug and slight smile.

'Yeah, and look where it gets you. You look like you're going to throw up everywhere." Derek stated with a chuckle. Spencer was right, I did say the same last time and it didn't stop me but at least I enjoyed myself.

"Oh no," Emily's voice got theatrical. "What ever with Agent Rossi say?" She teased wiggling her eyebrows at me as she drank her coffee. The rest of the team laughed along with her and I mocked her childishly before flipping her the bird. Since the day I started the BAU, I found myself suffering from a huge crush on my fellow team member and despite working alongside him every day the crush only got stronger.

"Shut it, Emily, this is your fault anyway," I grumbled, the tea not satiating the bitterness in my mood. The four chattered amongst themselves as I rested my head against my arms, ignoring the burning pile of case files on my desk for a little longer. I didn't bother to look up when Garcia arrived and started flirting with Morgan and I sure as hell didn't look up when Spencer started sprouting nonsense about workplace relationships. I had begun to doze off in the crook of my arm as a familiar voice floated through the air but I still didn't move.

"Late night Y/N?" I could hear the grin in Hotch's voice and I resisted the urge to flip my boss off, groaning in his general direction instead. I tried to pull myself together a little, rubbing my eyes to wake myself up and sitting a little straighter.

"Good morning Y/N," David's voice caught me off guard for a moment but I was grateful for it being much softer than the others, as if he was taking pity on my throbbing brain and I glanced up, wincing at the lights.

"No." It sure as hell wasn't a good morning.

"I believe the proper response is Good morning David." He countered, a small smirk of amusement now present on his face as he stood beside me, blocking the light from my face.

"No." This time accompanied by a small shake of my head.

"Yes but-" He huffed out, obviously amused and slightly irritated by my lack of enthusiasm for the day ahead.

"It's not good David," I sighed, "It is not a good morning at all." My voice was monotone as he chuckled and shook his head, gently squeezing my shoulder before walking up to his office. I turned to face the remainder of my team with half-lidded eyes only to be met with a group of grinning and amused faces. Penelope wiggled her eyebrows and Derek chuckled at her antics but I was too exhausted to even react. I grumpily stuck my tongue out at them before plonking my head back down on my arms and smiling softly to myself, finding myself feeling a little better.

[supercriminalbean]

Soft touches

Dave Rossi x GN!Reader.

Summary: The case ends up being longer and your mentally and physically exhausted, but Dave knows how to distracted you from your own mind.

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: Anxitey, nightmares, small mention of passed victims death (I think thats it, let me know if I missed anything)

A/N: idea gave to me by my bestie @ssa-tahlia-obsessions. I hope you this is what you were after my love, I hope you enjoy it 🖤💜🖤💜

The case seems to drag on, the unsub managing to go undetected for over a week before a name could even be found. Any case that drags on gets on the team's nerves, but for you it just seems to never end. You slowly stopped being able to focus,

your sleep was slipping away and when you closed your eyes all you could see were victims faces. Not just victims from this case but cases dating back to when you first joined the team four years ago. You were used to the nightmare but somehow, these seem different, the energy the nightmares leave behind just make you feel icky all day, unable to focus on the unsub you’re meant to be catching. 

~~~

It's been over two weeks when the case finally breaks and the unsub is apprehended. Luckily it's an easy close, after finding his storage unit full of trophies from the past victims, more victims than you all originally thought. That night everyone goes out to celebrate as the jet won’t be ready for them until tomorrow morning. You don’t feel like celebrating, but you know you have to. There's a reason why your team always celebrates closing cases, so we can remember we all made it through another case, so we can relax and calm down from the stress another week of work has brought us, and to remember all the lives we have lost throughout the cases we have worked. While the team is out for dinner and drinks, the table is full of laughter and happiness, even Hotch is cracking a few jokes. But you can’t bring yourself to laugh as much as everyone else, you can’t bring yourself to smile as wide, or to let yourself be as happy as everyone else. This case was too much for you to handle, or maybe it's the nightmares that are getting to you. All you know is that while laughter is filling the table, the scream and cries of victims and families are filling your ears. Soon it becomes too much so you excuse yourself, making up an excuse of being too tired and leaving the table after a small farewell. Everyone soon gets back to their chatter and laughter, everyone except Dave. Who had been watching you a little too closely during dinner and not to mention the last few days. You're not the easiest person to read, but he's not your average profiler. It started with the way you were squeezing your hand in fists, when staring at the crime scene photos, then it was the bags under your eyes and the way too much coffee you were drinking. The last tell was the one that made him the most worried, you were fidgeting. Tapping away on the table, or fingers playing with each other, your hands moving fast while you spoke, unable to stay still, which always spoke to your anxiety. He knew he had to keep an eye on you, and speak to you when it was safe to do so. 

~~~

The next morning, everyone climbed into the jet with the energy high. Everyone slept well and knew when they landed back home they get the next week off. Laughter fills the jet as everyone makes their way towards the front of the jet, all agreeing to play some card games on this long flight. You stick towards the end of the line while everyone climbs aboard the flight, making it easy to get a seat right at the back of the Jet. Not even bothering to explain why, as you drop your bag in the seat beside you, not bothering to spare a glance at everyone as they all sit in front. It's Morgan who approaches you, giving you a look.

“Get up, we are playing cards” Morgan crosses his arms as he gives you his big brother look.

“Morgan” Sighing softly, as you turn your head to look at him. “I'm tired, and I have no energy to be beat by everyone today”

“Come on, just one game please, even Hotch is playing” Morgan smiles warmly at you, trying to get your ass up.

“Not right now Morgan, maybe I’ll join in later” It’s a lie, you have no plans to join or talk to anyone for the 5 hour flight. 

“Fine, but I’m holding you to that” Morgan gives you a small smile, his eyes full of concern as he walks back over to the rest of the team.

~~~

The team plays a few games, but Dave isn’t focusing on the games, his mind is on you. He doesn’t even notice that he's glancing at you more than the game. Your head is resting against the wall as you stare out the window, looking a million miles away. Your arm is wrapped tightly across your stomach, your fingers digging deeply into your arm, your other hand tapping away on the table unconsciously. He can tell something bad is running through your mind and he can’t stand back and watch it anymore, as soon as the next game is over he excuses himself, making his way over to you, the team's eyes following him.

You don’t even notice Dave moved your bag and has taken a seat beside you, until his hand glides over yours, bringing the tapping to a stop. 

Looking over at him feeling confused as you let his hand control yours. His hand flips yours over, his fingers running over your palm and down your wrist and back up again. His soft touch starts moving in patterns, humming softly under his breath. His soft and calming touch is enough for your mind to be pulled back to this reality, your eyes are fixated on his fingers, not even noticing as your other hand falls softly in your lap. Feeling comfortable under his touch, feeling like you're able to relax, your mind is focused on nothing but his touch and his humming is strong enough to wash away the scream and cries echoing in your mind. 

~~~

You lay your head on his shoulder gently, his touch makes you sleepy, your eyes keep fluttering, trying your best to stay away.

“Go to sleep darling” He whispers lightly, feeling how just on edge you are.

“Can’t” Your voice is full of sleepiness and fear.

“Why not?” His fingers keep sliding across your palm, his heart beating quietly as he hears the fear in your voice.

“Scared..nightmares” The words slide out slowly, biting your lip as you do.

“It's okay, I’ll be here to fight them off, just sleep darling” Dave takes a breath as he talks. His hands swap over, the one closer to you wrapping around your shoulder pulling you closer, his other hand continues the figure 8 pattern on your hand. Soon your eyes flutter close and your breathing starts evening out, sleep captures you easily. Dave stays awake beside you, holding you closely, worrying about you. How long have these nightmares been bugging you and why didn’t you come to him, he could help you. He would do anything to help you.

[zvdvdlvr]

Just A Little Late

🩻 - Synopsis. The day comes when Aaron realizes he has to talk to you. Is he able to repair your relationship or does he get the rejection he knows he deserves?

🩻 - Warnings. Angst. Fluff? Possible ooc!Aaron. Mild description of blood and a fire.

🩻 - Author’s note. Thank you all so much for the love of this mini series! I have an epilogue in store if you’d like :)

A couple hours after you got home, your phone buzzed. Looking down, you saw ‘Big Boss 😠’ on the lockscreen and glared down at the glowing box. With a trembling hand, you unlocked your phone and read the message.

From Big Boss 😠: It’s Hotch. What are you doing tonight?

To Big Boss 😠: Why do you care?

You bit your lip after sending. Were you being too harsh? You felt your heart sting. You hated being mean to Aaron, the man who had previously fought tooth and nail to be by yours (and your team’s) side. But after he chose not to visit you or even communicate with you during your stay at the hospital… it’s safe to say you felt betrayed on another level.

From Big Boss 😠: Because you are apart of my team.

You scoffed. “Really? Are you fucking serious, Hotch?”

To Big Boss 😠: Didn’t seem like that when you apparently didn’t have a word to say to me when I was in the hospital. Or at the restaurant.

With tears in your eyes, you threw you phone at the wall as hard as you could. The sound of the screen shattering and broken glass falling to the floor was exactly how you felt.

— 

Spencer and Derek were the ones that went to find you. You were two (full!) hours late to work. Every minute you didn’t show had Aaron’s heart rate picking up. But he knew he couldn’t go to find you. So he sent Spencer and Derek, telling himself he couldn’t keep hiding from you forever.

Spencer unlocked your door as Derek swept the front and back yard. A precaution, but Spencer was worried nonetheless. Because you were never late!

“Y/n?” Spencer asked, his hand finding the gun strapped to his hip. “Are you alright?” 

He heard a loud sigh and guessed it was you over the sound of the T.V.

Derek nodded at Reid and they both toed cautiously toward you, completely unaware of how you’d react to them being in your home. Uninvited.

“Mama? You alright?” Derek asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Spencer looked around. You phone and a bunch of glass laid in a pile near the wall. You had clealry thrown it from a distance- from the couch? Had you even gotten up?

“Will you lay with me?” You tiny voice asked. You were completely swaddled in a blanket leaving only your eyes and nose peeping out.

“I-“ Derek started, clearly taken aback by your actions.

“Of course we will. Move over, you. Derek, call Hotch and tell him we might be a little late.”

Derek watched Spencer sit down on your couch with wide eyes and an open mouth. “I- yeah. Alright. I’ll be back in a second,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He stepped outside and shut the door as he dialed.

“Hotchner?” 

Derek rubbed his head with his hand. “We’re at y/n’s. She’s-“ Derek sighed. “She looks horrible, man. She looks like she cried all night and didn’t get up at all during the night. Her house is clean, but she did a number on her phone. What’s goin’ on with our girl?”

Hotch felt his heart squeeze in his chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You cried all night, your phone was lying in pieces, and you even had Derek worried. Aaron had to fix this. “I don’t know, Derek.” Liar, Hotch thought. “Stay with her. Get her up and moving, I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. I don’t know what you did, Hotch- and don’t lie to me because we’ve all seen it- but you need to get your shit together.”

Aaron felt a singular teardrop run down his face and land on the stained wood of his desk. The dial tone blared loudly in his ear and Hotch felt like the biggest asshole on Earth.

Derek went back into your house and locked the door. “What are we watching, nerds?” The man patted your blanket-covered legs and sat down.

As Spencer explained the show as briefly as Specer could, both men acted like the didn’t see the tears fall out of your eyes and your body shuddering every time you inhaled. Spencer let you play with his hands to keep from picking at your lips until they bled.

Eventually, Derek convinced you to go get cleaned up and dressed. When you came back out, Derek persuaded you into letting him braid your hair (props of having sisters) as Spencer picked something to watch.

You had just started laughing when you heard someone know on the door. Derek tutted poshly and refused to let you move until he finished the braid.

“Better hurry up,” Spencer commented uselessly from your couch, munching on popcorn you didn’t even know you had.

You scoffed. “Good idea, Reid.”

“Off to the races, you,” Derek joked, pushing your head forward when the braid was completed.

“You both suck. Never letting you in my house again-“ you muttered, opening the door. Words fell right off your tongue.

Outside your door, Hotch held out a concerningly large boquet of your favorite flavors. Your mouth fell open and you felt like slamming the door. Just as you started pushinf the door shut, however, Derek swung open the door. 

“Y/n, please listen to what he has to say. I think you need to hear it.”

You looked accusingly at Derek, eyes flickering between the two men in front of you. “No. No! Because why would I listen to a man who wasn’t there! You didn’t show up! You. Weren’t. There. Get out of my house. Get off my property. I quit. My documents will be at your desk tomorrow. Leave. Get out!” You yelled, pushing Derek out of your house (no small feat, my God) and yelling at Aaron.

Spencer swiftly avoided your glare and flailing arms, leaving Derek and Hotch to fend for themselves.

“Y/n, please. Just five minutes. Listen to me- five minutes!” Aaron pleaded. His voice cracked and he faltered against you.

You had moved from Derek to Aaron, trying as hard as you could to push them out the door and onto the grass. “No! Please just leave me alone. I can’t- you made your point when you couldn’t even look at me after I came back to work!” You yelled, not noticing the tears sparking in the back of your eyes.

Derek was glad almost every other adult was at work- the screaming match you and Hotch were holding wasn’t pretty.

Aaron let you push him out the door, but held onto the porch railing. “You were the one distancing yourself from me-“

You froze for a moment, looking at him with so much hurt in your eyes, Spencer assumed you had just gotten your spinal cord severed. “Bullshit! You’re lying to me and you know it, Hotchner. You- you left me there. Dropped me off at the hospital and left! ‘Oh, yeah! Her face is so torn up now, she’s so scarred and fucked up, I can’t be seen with her!’ Is that what you were thinking when you left me there? Huh?!”

“Medic! I need a medic!”

Hotch tore away from the firefighter’s grip, bounding over the lawn to where our were choking on smoke. “Y/n!”

You tore at the ground with your bloodied fingers, slowly going limp.

Aaron didn’t feel the heat of the fire as he slid one arm just under your neck and another arm under your knees. “Please, y/n,” he whispered, navigating through the burning building , blood dripping from your wounds into the threads of Aaron’s clothes.

He held onto your hand as you were pulled into the ambulance on a gurney. Ash and soot streaked his face, but he hadn’t looked away from you. Despite the deep knife wound that twisted and warped your face, despite the burns on your body, and despite your faint breathing, Aaron held on to you. Crying and pleading and hoping.

When Rossi had finally tore his hands from yours, he watched dazedly as you were rushed into an OR. For hours he must have stood there, watching the floor. Waiting.

Waiting.

“I- I love you, y/n! I couldn’t watch you die in some sterile room where I can’t help you! So I left. I left and couldn’t bring myself to see you because this,” he said, gently running a finger from te top of the scar down to where it ended at your collarbone, “this tells me that I failed. I failed you, y/n m/n l/n, and I know nothing I say will excuse that, but the fact that I failed to protect you…” Aaron looked away. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t stand the fact that I failed to protect ome of the only people I care about.”

Your hand came up to hover where Aaron’s was, still resting on the edge of your collarbone. “I needed you,” you whimpered, voice shaking. Your lip quivered as the man who said loved you stepped closer. “I needed you and you weren’t there. You left.”

Aaron nodded vigorously, his own tears falling down his face at your words. You were so close to him, letting his hand trace you carefully even though a part of you still hated him for not being there. Aaron hated him too. “I know. I know, y/n and I’m sorry. But- but I’m here now. I won’t leave unless you tell me.”

You leaned forward and latched your arms around Aaron’s waist and fell, crying into Aaron’s expensive shirt. “I hate you, Aaron,” you wailed, vice-like grip on his jacket tugging him even closer to you.

Aaron closed his eyes and let you fall into him. “I know you do, y/n. I know.” One of his hands rested on the back of your neck and the other kept baby hairs off of your face. “I know,” he whispered, crying silently.

Spencer and Derek both nodded, knowing your relationship (and horribly harbored feelings) wasn’t hopeless after all.

🏷️: @zaddyhotch @mxrgodsstuff @bunnylov-3-r

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Sleepless in Not-Seattle

Barbie dolls: Derek Morgan x gn! Sheriff!gn! Reader

Word: 2.4k

Summary:you're the sheriff of a town and meet an agent in hotchners team that's quite interesting

Warnings: insinuated you're a Texan sheriff bc I'm Texan and I can do what I want, cannon typical violence, Emily makes a bad. Joke, you're sad, you want to make a shelters for prostitutes, they don't kiss, ok goodnight

“Aaron.” You said, reaching out for Hotch. He pulled you into a hug, greeting you with your first name. You pulled back. 

You knew Hotch from years ago. He and his team came to your town to help with a case that was out of your hands. You weren’t the Sheriff at the time, you were the deputy. His small team was in and out of your doors in less than three days, catching your killer. You accidentally saved Hotch’s life, shoving him out of the way of a bullet headed straight for his heart. It grazed your arm and even though it hurt like hell at the time you were glad it was saving your ass now. Hotch owed you a favor and now that you were sitting in the Sheriff’s chair you were catching all the heat for not slapping cuffs on another killer at large in your town. You called Hotch and now he was pushing through your door with his now large team following behind him. 

“Good to see you, no bullet wounds so that’s good. This is it. You’ve got a whole conference room I’ve set everything up in for you. I know how y’all work so I even stocked it with some bad coffee and partially stale donuts. Yay!” You said, shaking your hands in the air as a false celebration. A small smile bit at Hotch’s lips. He turned back to the line of five people behind him. 

He pointed to a woman with black hair and bangs, her thumbs pushed behind her belt. “That is SSA Emily Prentiss.” He moved his finger over one, pointing to an older man with speckled hair. “SSA David Rossi.” Hotch moved his finger over once again, now pointing to a young man with long hair and his hands shoved in his pockets. “Doctor Spencer Reid.” You quirked a brow at that, what the hell kind of doctor is 12? Hotch moved his hand over, pointing to a woman in a pressed suit with long blonde hair. “Our Liaison Jenifer Jareauo.” He pointed to a tall man with a tight shirt and smirk that made you want to call him a dickhead. “And finally SSA Derek Morgan,” Hotch said, dropping his hand. You smiled, waving at them. 

“Nice to meet y'all, if you follow me we can get started. I do not want any more dead bodies on my hands.” You said, leading them off to the confernce room. You heard whispers from Hotch's team, probally about the first name basis between you two. 

Two women were found in your nearby lake. It was awful. They had their hands and feet cut off and you couldn’t find them. All the women were found dressed in white dresses and lying in the bank. The lake wasn’t even pretty. The water was brown and the trees were dead. Those poor women were butchered and didn’t even get to rest somewhere nice.  The local news made it some kind of fun story the public got to learn about. It was passed around diner tables like gossip followed up by recaps of their favorate reality TV show. The press gave the killer a fun name and blamed you because you couldn’t catch him quick enough to stop another woman from losing her life.  

You felt sick every time you looked at the crime scene photos pinned up on their board. Hotch's team had already been there for two days and there was another woman found in the lake. It felt like you were standing on a cliff, teetering on the edge of catching this son of a bitch.  You leaned back on the confrence table, your legs outstreached in front of you. Most of your officers went home for the night, night shift was about to walk in. You even sent home your deputy. She complained but you told her something about how it was better to work a case with fresh eyes than tired ones. You were even sure all of the BAU went back to their hotel. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave yet. You knew those women were left alone in the lake while the last smidge of life left them. Now that you had their pictures and lifeless faces staring back at you on the board you couldn’t leave them alone. It felt like their deaths really were on you. It wasn’t their fault the system failed them and left them to turn to a life of prostitution. It wasn’t their fault some dick bag picked them up and held them for three days, torturing them in every way you didn’t want to think of. It wasn’t their fault he then dragged them sedated to the lake and cut off their hands and feet. It wasn’t their fault their last moment was of pain. You couldn’t leave the precinct because felt like you were letting them down again. Now you were just staring at the board hoping the answer would come to you. 

“Sheriff?” You sniffled and wipped your eyes as fast as you could, looking back at the confrence room door. SSA Morgan was standing in the doorway, his hand raised like he was about to knock. 

“Yes? What do you need?” You answered, pretending like your voice didn’t sound tense. Morgan stepped into the conference room, standing next to your spot on the conference room table. He stared at the board with you. 

“You know, it’s best if you sleep and return to the case rested?” You hummed. 

“Yes, actually I told my deputy that.” You said, staring at the picture of the Lake’s shore. Victim number two’s heart shaped locket buried in the rocks. Morgan sighed, leaning back on the table with you. His hip pressed into yours and you pretended like you didn’t notice. 

“So why are you still here?” Morgan asked, raising a brow at you. You looked away from the board. 

“I could ask you the same.” 

“I asked first so you have to answer first.” Morgan sassed, tilting his head to the side with cockiness you didn’t particually enjoy. It still made you grin, falling the second you looked back at the board again. 

“They were so beautiful. Victoria had a baby girl and 4-year-old son waiting for her to get home, their pictures in her locket. Sophie who did scrapbooking, had two entire bookshelves full of them. All the good times of her life were decorated perfectly. And Clemintine was a quilter. She was selling custom quilts on Ebay. She was saving up all the money in cash, shoved into a can labeled ‘freedom’. Now they’re all missing their hands and feet and sitting in a morgue. Their lives were stolen from them because I couldn’t pull my own weight as Sheriff. Their blood is on my hands as much as the killers.” You said, sniffing when you felt tears brimming in your eyes. Moragn made a sympathizing sound. 

“This isn’t your fault at all. It relies fully on the killer’s shoulders. The press is getting to your head. They point fingers at the first person who shows their face. There is no blood on your badge but there is on the killer’s blade. We will catch this son of bitch. These women will rest peacefully, and their families will get peace knowing their killer is behind bars. You’ll catch him.” You sucked in a shaky breath and stared at the board. You didn’t think this would be over when this case closed but you appreciated him anyway. 

“You know, I actually didn’t like you when you walked into my town but now I moderatly enjoy you.” You said, smirking at him. Morgan scoffed out a laugh and clutched his chest in faux hurt. 

“Oh, you wound me! What did I ever do to you?” You shrugged. 

“I think I’m going to go home. Maybe rest a little.” You whispered, staring at Victoria’s locket again. Morgan hummed. “You should too.” You added. You stood from the table. 

“Oh, what great advice. I wonder where you got that from.” Morgan teased, smiling at you as you headed towards the door. 

“Just the good ol’ noggin, sweetheart.” You said, heading off towards your office to gather your things. 

Two days later you caught the sick bastard and without any more lives were lost. The hands and feet were shoved in his freezer and Doctor Reid told you something about something. You wanted to deck the killer so hard but the look Morgan gave you told you it was better if you didn’t. 

“Is there anything else you need?” She asked, her coat thrown over her arm. You shook your head. 

Later that week you were in your office, typing away at your computer. Your brows were furrowed and you kept turning away from the screen to scribble at the pad infront of you. Once again it was late at night and most of the precinct was empty. Your deputy knocks on your open door, making you look up. 

“You go home, and by the way you should start calling it a night sooner. I’m starting to worry you’re a workoholic.” You said, cracking a smile at her. She groaned and shook her head at you. 

“I’ll clock out sooner when you do.” You shooed her away with your hand and turned back to your computer. As you dipped back into your zone you heard another knock. 

“Deputy, I told you to go home.” You said, looking up to find Morgan and not your deputy. He smirked at you and settled into the chair on the other side of your desk for guests. 

“Staying up late again?” Morgan asked, clasping his hands in his lap. You dropped your pen, leaning back in your chair. 

“I thought you would’ve already left town?” You said, turning your chair side to side. Morgan tilted his head to the side. 

“Oh we had personal business we had to handle, but I wanted to come check on you before we left.” You hummed at him. 

“Oh isn’t that sweet? You care about little ol’ me?” Morgan snorted, shaking his head at you. He glanced down at his lap and looked back up to you. 

“That and we wanted to pay our respects at the funerals.” The mood in the room dampened. You blinked and glanced at your computer to ignore the difference. 

“I saw you there. You look nice in black.” You scoffed at Morgan and sighed. 

“I gave Victoria her locket back, it was still evidence until then. We didn’t need it. I sent Sophie down with her fullest scrapbook, that might’ve been a bad idea cause now her set is missing one but I wanted her to have it in her afterlife. She could reminisce and think back on the good times, maybe that’d help her with the pain of going out the way she did. I gave Clemintine a little bird themed quilt so she could feel free. Her funds went to her best friend and now she’s on a bus to the next city over, a fresh start.” You said, feeling like Morgan jusst wanted to see if you still felt guilty. Morgan leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of your desk. 

“You’re very kind. What are you working on now?” Morgan asked. You glanced down at your paper. 

“I’m trying to figure out a way to make a shelter. A warm home for prositiutes to come to. A person to worry about them, somebody to make sure they get home before curfew and get fed warm food. I just keep thinking about how those women would’ve been safer if someone had been waiting on them. Victoria was the one that caught our attention because her mother came in with the two kids hanging off her. Sophie was already gone by then. We didn’t even notice, nobody filed anything. We wouldn’t have seen Clemintine if we weren’t looking. Now that I’m actually trying to work this out, it’s harder than I expected.” You said, flinging your pen at your paper again and sighing. A smile was playing on Morgan’s lips. 

“You should join the BAU,” Morgan said. You laughed at that one. Leaning forward on your desk to laugh louder. Morgan leaned back in his chair to let out an awkward chuckle. Your laugh died down and you wiped at your eyes. 

“Oh wow. I haven’t laughed like that in a while. Go ahead, tell me why you think I should join the FBI.” You said, even chuckling through saying it. Morgan clicked his tongue. 

“I think you’d be a great addition and it means I get to spend more time with you, I might even be able to take you out,” Morgan said, grinning at you. You furrowed your eyebrows. 

“On a date, Sherriff. On a date.” Morgan said. You leaned back in your chair. 

“Take me out? Like assassination?” You asked, kind of wishing you hadn’t told your deputy to leave. Morgan laughed, filling your offiice with a warm feeling. 

“Oh. Well, that seems biased. Sounds like you don’t want me on the team for my skills but for my stunning good looks.” You said. Morgan smiled. 

“Two things can be true at once,” Morgan whispered, glancing awy from you. 

“I’ll give you my number, but be warned I am quite picky.” You said, reaching over to the front of your desk for your buiness card. You scribbled your number on the back and stuck it out to Morgan. He gently took it from your hand and shoved it into his pocket. He stole a sucker from the bowl on the corner of your desk and left your precinct. 

The next morning you waved them goodbye at the airport. Hotch hugged you goodbye, telling you not to give up on the shelter idea. All good flowers take time to grow or something stupid like that. You murrmed something about him not being your dad and shooed him away. The others said goodbye simply and before long Morgan was standing before you. 

“I’ll call you once I land,” Morgan said. You nodded a mocking smirk on your lips. 

“Yeah, baby? Is that right?�� You said, your tone making Morgan laugh in a way that made you assume that was his best-flustered act. Emily shreeked behind Morgan. He glanced back at her. She laughed and clapped her hands, pointing at him. 

“You’re getting Morgan-ed. What’s it feel like baby girl?” She said, through a laugh. You snorted and waited until Morgan turned back to you. 

“Isn’t she sweet?” Morgan asked sarcasticlly. 

“She’s a peach.” 

Morgan did call you. It was the first night you stayed up without thinking of a case. 

[cumulo-stratus]

A New Years Kiss

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Summary: You and Spencer share a New Years kiss at Rossi's house to celebrate

Warnings: kissing, fluff fluff fluff

A/N: just a little Drabble I wrote at like 2 am on new years <3 hope you enjoy!!

“You know this is our one year anniversary-” Spencer said with a chuckle, pulling you in by the waist. You chuckled and looked up at him, because Although you were tall- you weren't Spencer Reid tall. 

“It is this time last year I kissed you for the first time- you're a very gentle kisser you know”. Your tone had a joking tone to it, but was still just as loving and caring as you always were when talking to your beloved Spencer. 

The pair were so wrapped up in the world moment together they either didn't hear or chose to ignore the sound of Derek whistling at the intimate moment between the two members of the BAU team. 

Penelope jogged, well more like shuffled over in her 5 inch heels, towards the couple and handed them each a flute of champagne.

There were 5 minutes left till the ball dropped on the tv in the center of the living room of David rossi's house. 

He had pulled out all the stops for the BAU and their friends and family- all were invited. Haley and Jack, JJ and Will, Emily, Derek and Penelope showed up together, and of course you Spencer. The BAU’s Cutest Couple™.   

You pulled Spencer in by the waist , and he leaned his head on your shoulder, the warmth of your neck drew Spencer in, not letting him leave. You just smiled, loving Spencer's docile nature and loving mannerisms. Before you could even realize what was happening a very Emily Penelope Garcia flashed a camera in front of you and Spencer's face, capturing the adorable moment.

“You guys are so cute! Ugh- I wish I had that!” Penelope spoke with a pout, jealous of you and Spencer's cute couple-ly-ness. Penelope's comment elicited a laugh from both you and Spencer. 

The trio was drawn from their conversation by Morgan yelling at them to pay attention, it was New Year's Eve after all. “Kids! Come on we got thirty seconds- their showing the ball drop!” Derek motioned for the trio to come over to the couch while he spoke, urgence in his voice. Penelope decided to sit next to Morgan, and he placed his arm around her neck and she leaned into his shoulder- in classic Garcia and Morgan fashion. 

You however opted to stand in front of your boyfriend, his arms wrapped gently around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. Spencer was practically a full head taller than you, and because of that he was able to rest his chin on your scalp. 

The group began to Count down together, almost chanting. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Happy New Years!” Everyone cried out in unison. After the chanting finished, everyone cheered and clinked their glasses of champagne together and took small sips. You Spencer however? You were doing something else entirely. 

As soon as the countdown ended you turned around in Spencer's arms and grabbed his face. You held his cheeks and pressed your lips to his, they were chapped- Spencer lips were always chapped in the winter, and in the summer. At first Spencer was startled, but he soon leaned into it, placing his hands on your cheeks as well. His fingers were cold on your warm cheeks, Spencer had chronic doctor hands- they were always cold. But you didn't mind, as long as your lips remained pressed together. 

It was only when air was absolutely necessary did either one of you pull away. Morgan gave a wolf whistle and you chuckled. Spencer's cheeks just flushed even more red than they'd been before. You leaned back in for one more peck on Spencer's smile, this kiss much more chaste. 

Spencer had a bashful smile on his face when he asked “what was that for?”. You looked at him with a sly smile, before answering “new years” with a shrug and a chuckle. He looked confused for a second before asking “how is that of any significance?”.  You couldn't help but laugh at Spencer's cluelessness of many classic traditions of romance, such as kissing your partner on New Year's Eve. “It's a romantic tradition Spence, couples kiss on New Year's Eve, and I wanted to kiss you-” when you winked, Spencer looked away, blushing profusely.

“Oh,”

“I wanted to kiss you too”

Spencer couldn't look you in the eyes as he spoke, but you could still hear the love and adoration in his voice. 

The End