#foyet is very different

[frankiebirds]

i do Not like the ending of a real rain im sorry this may be controversial.

i get what they're going for with hotch shooting the unsub. i get the foreshadowing of the past case where hotch talked a man down who was then acquitted and went on to kill again. i get the parallel of the unsub killing people who he feels were unfairly acquitted and then hotch killing him out of implied fear that he'll be acquitted by a sympathetic jury. but if you're going to attempt a parallel like that and have a character make a choice like that you need to commit to it i think? there's not even a conversation about it. i dont think it's ever brought up again, hotch doesn't even say anything.

one scene on the jet, if it was well-written enough, could make me accept the ending even if i dont like it, but no. the episode ends with hotch shooting a man who is surrendering and everyone is apparently fine with it?

(i'd like to note that this is a criticism of the writing, not hotch. i think this is an out-of-character choice without justification beyond "one time i talked a guy down and he got acquitted so this time ill shoot the guy as he surrenders. and then keep my job somehow". it just feels lazy and weird.)

[honeypiehotchner]

Operation Lovebirds (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

Happy belated Valentine's Day! In the spirit of making myself feel better, here's some unashamed fluff in between updates of The Gambit!

Summary: You make plans for the team to get drinks together after work on Valentine’s Day in an effort to make yourself feel better after a sudden breakup. The team decides to play matchmaker instead 😉

Warnings: oblivious reader, oblivious Hotch, PINING, YEARNING, past relationship/breakup woes, gender neutral terms for reader's ex, hotch is divorced but no foyet arc, awkward flirting (i think), happy ending ofc!!!

WC: ~5,200

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Aaron Hotchner since you started working at the BAU a year ago, it’s that he doesn’t go out.

You’re not really sure what it is that stops him, because even Rossi comes out with the team most nights, but in the year that you’ve been here, Hotch has come out three whole times. Three. In a year.

So, naturally, you’re the first to let the pure surprise show on your face when Hotch agrees to go out tomorrow night. In fact, you laugh.

He doesn’t.

“Oh my god,” you pause, smacking Morgan’s arm. “He’s being serious. Somebody get the champagne! Get me a calendar, I need to mark it.”

Hotch rolls his eyes at you, but there’s a small smile fighting at the corners of his lips like always when he hears your jokes. “Don’t get too excited. I might change my mind.” 

(The truth is, after seeing how excited you are, he won’t change his mind. He hasn’t seen you smile in a week.)

A week ago, the person you were dating broke things off rather randomly. You aren’t even sure if you can consider them as someone you were in a relationship with, since based off their final message to you, it seems they didn’t see things that way. Regardless, it ended, and it was something that, for the first time, you had high hopes for. You thought it might’ve been real.

So, yeah, Hotch hasn’t seen you smile in a week. He knows something is wrong, but hasn’t had the courage to ask, in case he’s overstepping. The two of you get along just fine to work together, and you’ve had a few heart-to-hearts over the months, especially on late night flights when everyone else is asleep and you’re the only two wide awake. But those feel…different than this.

Hotch is just happy that his idea worked. He knew if he could joke about going out, it would put the bug in your ear, and you’d make the plans. Which is how he found himself agreeing to go out to a bar tomorrow after work.

Tomorrow just so happens to be Valentine’s Day. So what if Hotch selfishly wanted to spend the day with you in some capacity outside of the office, but was too scared to ask outright? So what if he’s a little happy at the fact that you have no plans other than inviting everyone out to drinks?

He’s a little worried given that he thought you were seeing someone, but he thought that was his imagination. You never mentioned dating anyone to anyone on the team, Hotch was just putting pieces together to hurt his own feelings.

Except. You haven’t smiled in a week, and you’re suddenly free for drinks after work…on Valentine’s Day.

Hotch tries not to think about it too much. He doesn’t want to think about you being sad any more than he’s had to this past week with your silent moods and halfway smiles. That alone has already twisted something into a knot in his chest.

“This is perfect!” your excitement is palpable. “This might be the first time I get everyone out at once. Derek, do not let me down. Bring your date!”

“Fine, fine,” Derek concedes. “I’ll ask her if she wants to come -- after her and I have had a very romantic dinner,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder in the same sibling way you always interact with Morgan, but Hotch watches you carefully, noticing the hint of sadness behind your eyes.

Fuck. You were seeing someone. That’s the only explanation, and they broke your heart -- a week before Valentine’s Day, might he add -- and it must’ve felt real to you because why else would you have that devastated look in your eyes?

Hotch, unsurprisingly, has harbored somewhat of a schoolgirl crush for you since about a month after you started working at the BAU. It took Rossi precisely one week to notice, but you’re going on month eleven of being blissfully unaware. Morgan has given Hotch a couple knowing looks but has yet to call him out on it. If JJ and Emily know (and they do), they haven’t said anything, least of all to you. Garcia is well aware after she caught Hotch watching you wistfully from his office one afternoon, but she hasn’t mentioned anything to you.

Rossi has, of course, tried to talk Hotch into making a move -- even a half-move, a hint of a move -- but Hotch refuses. Mostly because he had suspicions you were seeing someone, but also because he just can’t imagine someone like you having the same feelings for someone like him. It’s bizarre.

As everyone listens to your giddy pre-planning of where to go for drinks and what to wear, knowing looks are shared by the team -- looks that you and Hotch are left out of.

+++

You’re trying on the fourteenth outfit and trying to hold yourself together when you nearly cancel drinks to lie in bed in a pit of despair.

But that’s dramatic and irrational, so you try on a fifteenth outfit, say fuck it, and grab your car keys.

You’ll be a little early to the bar, but you don’t mind. Might as well get out before you lose the will to go back out again.

You just couldn’t stomach sitting inside, alone on Valentine’s Day, not during this rollercoaster of emotions that you’re feeling. Especially not now.

It’s not that you thought you had found the one, it’s the fact that you thought maybe they are. It’s not the fact that you were certain, it’s that you were so hopeful. You really thought things would go farther than that, and you never thought the crash and burn would be so random. 

You really thought this time was different. Because it felt different, it felt good. Only for it to end the same as always. 

You should be used to it by now, you think. People being uncertain of you. People being uncertain of how they want you in their lives. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in a relationship with someone only for them to decide that suddenly they aren’t ready for a relationship. It doesn’t make any more sense than it did the last time, but this one certainly knocked the wind out of you from how unexpected it was.

No matter, though. Because tonight you’re dancing, laughing with friends, and hopefully smiling so hard that you forget about it all hurting so much.

When you get to the bar, you’re the first one there, so you slide up to the bar and wave the bartender down, getting started with your first drink.

Unfortunately, no one cute catches your eye -- yet. You’re not exactly sure if you want to flirt with anyone tonight, but it could be fun. Could take your mind off things.

You’re halfway done with your first drink when Derek texts the group chat. Dinner got a little delayed. See y’all in a bit.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he means by delayed. You snort and text back telling him it’s fine.

JJ is next. Couldn’t find a babysitter so Will and I are staying in! So sorry guys!

You frown, but it’s fine. You were worried about whether they'd be able to find a babysitter so soon.

No one else says a word, so you assume they’re all free.

Except that they don’t show.

You’re getting a little annoyed as the minutes tick by until you see, like a knight in shining armor, Aaron Hotchner walks through the doors.

You smile in pure relief and disbelief that he’s actually here, waving him over. He spots you and a soft smile settles on his lips, making a beeline for you at the bar.

Couples are sitting on either side of you, so Hotch stands behind you, your body suddenly very aware of how close he is.

“You look surprised to see me,” he teases.

You stare up at him, mystified. “Because I am.”

Hotch orders a whiskey on the rocks and another of whatever you’re having, opening a tab. Your brain short circuits a moment too late when you realize he’s just bought you a drink.

You don’t mention it, unsure of what exactly it means. Or what exactly you want it to mean.

When the bartender brings the drinks over, Hotch leans down to speak to you over to growing crowds and conversations. “There’s an open booth over there if you want to move somewhere more comfortable?”

Your mind spins with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts as you nod. “Booth sounds nice.”

You were unaware of just how many people had flooded into the bar since Hotch arrived, your focus clearly all on him and how close he was to touching you. Your fingers lightly touch Hotch’s back as you follow him through the crowd to the booth that he can see with his height.

Finally, you spot it, a miraculously free two-person booth at a table with a small lamp in the middle. It casts just enough shadows on Hotch’s face to make him look infinitely more attractive (something you hadn’t thought possible).

You’ve harbored a foolish crush on your boss since, well, the very beginning. It’s embarrassing.

Because you know that not only will he never feel the same way, it’s also highly against the rules at work and would be beyond frowned-upon. So, you suffer in silence, and try desperately not to think about what it might feel like to just kiss him. Just once.

That’s the alcohol and loneliness talking. You need to pull yourself together.

There’s precisely ten minutes of small talk before Hotch goes straight for the heart.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

For anyone else, it’s an unassuming question. It’s simple. It almost falls into the category of small talk, except it doesn’t. Not for two FBI profilers.

Still, you try to deflect with a shrug. “I’m alright. As alright as someone chronically single can be on Valentine’s Day, I guess. What about you?”

He’s not exactly in a different boat. He’s been single ever since his divorce a few years ago, as far as you know -- and you imagine you’d know because these sort of things get around in the BAU. The nosiest unit in the FBI, you always joke.

Hotch mirrors your shrug. “I’m alright.” He pauses, studying you. “I only ask because you’ve seemed…down lately.”

You grimace.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly adds, almost scrambling. “I know this is odd, I’m your boss and we’re sitting at a booth in a bar on Valentine’s Day, but, I want you to know, if you do want to talk -- about anything -- I’m here. I want to listen.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, feeling your facade as it slowly melts and drips away. “Thanks,” you avert your eyes, focusing instead on your drink that has barely two sips left. You have a comfortable buzz now, one that makes you a little quicker to let him in. “I was seeing someone that I was really hopeful about, for the first time, ever, and it ended randomly a week ago. Got a text just out of nowhere.” You pause, chuckling darkly. “I was in the middle of thinking about Valentine’s plans, actually, when I got the text. So.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud only makes Hotch’s heart twist and threaten to break. “I’m sorry,” he says, unsure of what else he can say, unsure of if there’s anything he can say to make it better. “I’m really sorry that happened.”

“Thanks,” you breathe, shaking your head a little to shake yourself out of it. You look up at Hotch and put on a fake, half-smile, the same one he’s seen you wearing the past week. “On to the next one, huh?” you joke. “If there even is a next one. If I even want there to be another one,” you add with a roll of your eyes. “I might have reached my limit for this shit.”

Hotch can’t even say that he blames you. “That’s understandable.”

There’s a trace of something in your eyes when you look at him, something he can’t read, but your smile is a little softer now, starting to look genuine. “Alright,” you clear your throat. “There’s my relationship woes. What about you? Breaking any hearts? Anyone breaking yours?”

He laughs at your change of subject, but shakes his head. “No, no, there’s no one.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t really wanted to, I suppose.” I’m too much of a coward to ask you out on a date, according to Rossi. “Maybe soon, though.”

Excitement glints in your eyes. “Ooh, there is someone, I knew it! Tell me immediately.” 

He just stares at you, fighting back a smile at your unbridled joy that he gets to witness. He is so glad he gets to see this expression on your face. “There’s not really someone, it’s kind of--” He pauses, looking down at his own glass, wondering how much he can say without giving himself away so embarrassingly. “I’ve been too afraid to do something.”

“Why?” you ask, sounding genuinely interested. “Is she dating someone?”

“She was,” he replies, perhaps too fast. “And I’m not certain she feels the same way, or else I’d have made a move by now,” he admits, thinking the whiskey is getting to him. “Maybe.”

“Aaron Hotchner, a shy, hopeless romantic,” you muse, leaning back in the booth with a smirk. “Who would’ve guessed?”

He gives you an almost pained look, hoping the awe seeps through the most. Because you have no idea, do you? You have no idea just what you do to him, just by talking to him, looking at him, making him laugh, letting him hear your laugh. He’s more of a goner than he originally thought.

He laughs off your teasing. “There are my woes,” he says, hoping that’ll be the end of it. “Where are the rest of the team, anyway?”

“Who knows,” you say, sounding unbothered, though you dig your phone out to see if anyone has texted. 

If you and Aaron hadn’t been so caught up in conversation for the past hour, then you would’ve seen that everyone has said they can’t make it or that they’ll be “late” which is only code for they won’t show. You frown down at the messages, some almost forty-five minutes old now, wondering what they’re up to. 

Aaron glances at his phone, too, finding a private message from David. Enjoy your date ;)

Hotch rolls his eyes, pocketing his phone. The team -- most likely led by self-proclaimed Cupid, David Rossi -- decided to play matchmaker. He should’ve known.

And you…you seem completely unaware.

“Whatever,” you exhale, exasperated. “I should’ve known better than to try to get everyone together on Valentine’s Day.” You pause, a sheepish look in your eyes. “I just really didn’t want to be alone, so,” you lightly tap Aaron’s leg with your foot, “thanks for coming and keeping me company.”

“Anytime,” he says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “Should we get another drink?”

You hum. “I was actually getting kinda hungry.”

“You read my mind,” Aaron smiles. “Do they have food here?”

“Probably shitty bar food,” you reply. You look up at him through your lashes, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

He nods immediately, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go. I know the perfect place.”

You grin almost instantly, standing up from the booth. “Lead the way.”

+++

The perfect place that Aaron knows is a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizza joint that he has frequented for years, probably ever since he joined the BAU and moved out here. It’s open late, and half-full of other couples when you and Aaron arrive.

“Hey, Tony,” Aaron greets the owner with a firm handshake and smile. “Table for two, please.”

You watch as Tony gives Aaron a look before repeating his words, “Table for two, you got it, right this way, Hotchner.”

The way Tony says his name is reminiscent of a coach talking to his favorite player, right down to the playful swat of Aaron’s chest. It makes you smile.

“And who is the lucky lady?” Tony asks nonchalantly as he places the menus down on the table by the window.

You giggle, introducing yourself. “I wasn’t aware Aaron had connections here.”

It could be a trick of the dim lighting, but you swear you see Hotch blush as he shakes his head.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, standing back as you both sit. “I’ve known him for years, always coming here alone on Valentine’s Day. I’m just happy to see he’s brought someone with him this time.”

“Oh, we’re--” you start to say.

But Hotch interjects with, “That’s enough, Tony, thank you.”

You furrow your eyebrows only a little. He didn’t deny what Tony is implying.

You ignore it. Because you can’t let yourself read into it. That’s what always ends up burning you. You need to ignore it.

Tony leaves to let the two of you look at the menu, albeit going with a mischievous smile on his face.

“What do you recommend?” you ask, trying to redirect. “Or should we just get a large and split it?”

“That might be easiest,” Hotch agrees. “Let’s do that.”

Tony returns to take your order and brings water with him, promising some wine if you’d like. You laugh him off and tell him the two of you just came from the bar. 

When the pizza comes out, the two of you dig in, both having not realized just how hungry you were. With more water and food on your stomach, the alcohol has begun to wear off. But you’re still happy you’re spending the night with Aaron.

Whoever it is that he’s got his eyes set on, she’s one lucky girl. You know that for sure.

As the night winds to a close, you watch him more closely, wanting to memorize this. Because if you have any say in it, he’s going to get that girl that he’s so hopelessly in love with already. He deserves that. Even if it means you’ll never have another night like this with him.

So, you tell him just that as he’s dropping you back off at home. You turn toward him in the passenger seat, a sad smile on your lips.

“I’m going to give some unsolicited advice, okay?” you begin.

He laughs, clearly wary. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Ask her out,” you say, hating the way you can feel the beginnings of tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. “Make a move. Don’t make her wait any longer. She might feel the same way, you never know, and you’ll never know, if you don’t ask her. So do it.”

He watches you, eyes studying every inch of your face. You don’t know it, but he’s trying to figure out why you look so sad as you’re saying this to him. How can you have no idea that it’s you, it’s always been you? How do you not know?

“That’s all,” you say, blinking the emotion out of your eyes. It’s gone so quick that he wonders if he imagined it. “Thank you for tonight, I really needed it. I’ll see you on Monday?”

He nods, all words foreign to him. “See you Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

“You too,” you give him another smile.

He watches you leave, watches you get to your front door, waits for you to go inside. He stays there, waiting until he sees the lights turn on in your apartment, until he knows without a doubt that you are safe inside.

He drives away. And starts to think of a plan.

+++

Monday is a slow, tortuous day after a slow, tortuous weekend spent wondering yourself sick about if Hotch took your advice. If he spent the weekend with her, the girl that made his eyes go all soft when talked about her to you. If he was going to come into the office as a new man on Monday, feelings reciprocated, love radiating off him.

He didn’t, which you felt guilty for feeling relieved about.

He brought you a coffee, though. With a heart on the side of the cup. Probably from the barista who made it, you think. 

It’s a paperwork kind of day, so everyone leaves by 4:30, even Reid, though he leaves so early because he has an event at a bookstore to go to. Slowly, everyone trickles out, until it’s just you and Hotch.

You’re avoiding your empty apartment. Hotch is finishing up his work, while simultaneously building up the courage to ask you to dinner.

Time is ticking, this he knows, and he starts packing up as soon as he sees you standing to rinse out your coffee mug.

You’re just finishing gathering your things when you hear Hotch leaving his office, locking the door behind him. You look up at him with a smile.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” you tease, gesturing around at the barren BAU. “Why do we keep doing this?” 

It’s true that you’re usually the last two here, but this time feels different. There’s a different tension in the air that wasn’t here before, and you’re trying like hell to decipher if it’s good or bad.

“What are your plans for dinner?” he asks.

“Just leftovers or something,” you shrug. “You?”

“Well,” he says, letting out a soft, nervous laugh. “I was hoping to take someone out to dinner.”

You deflate a little. He must mean the girl. You try not to let it show in your tone, so you keep your head tucked, putting things away. “Did you ask her out? What’d she say?”

“That she had leftovers or something.”

Your hand freezes on your purse. You’re terrified to look up because if you do, then that means-- He can’t mean--

“I didn’t think I was so bad at this,” Aaron chuckles. “I guess it’s not muscle memory anymore.”

Slowly, slowly you lift your eyes. He’s sheepish. There is a blush on his cheeks, his smile is so damn hesitant, and you’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you cross your arms over your chest. “Are you trying to ask me out on a date?”

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, looking so boyish. “Would you like to get dinner with me? Tonight, as a proper date?”

You nod right away, then stop yourself. “Wait, what about that girl you were telling me about?”

You’ve been “the other girl” before, and you refuse to do that again, not even for a man who looks like Aaron Hotchner.

But he laughs. Not at you, more at himself, at the situation. He shakes his head. “That girl is you,” he says. “I thought I was so obvious.”

“Wait--” you pause, blinking, the gears in your head stuttering and starting. “Me?”

He nods. “Since you started here. It was getting kind of embarrassing, according to Rossi.”

You giggle, unable to help yourself. Then pieces begin clicking into place. “Wait, so Valentine’s Day--”

“That was the team’s doing,” he nods to confirm. “Rossi got them in on it.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “And tonight?”

“Tonight was…just us being ourselves,” he confesses with a warm smile. “I didn’t tell any of them to leave so early.”

“And I just always stay a bit later,” you add. “Like you.”

“Like me,” he says. “Though you still leave before I do, most nights.”

“Yeah, because you sleep here, it seems like.”

“Hey,” he laughs, feigning hurt for a moment. “So…dinner?”

“Dinner,” you nod. “I’d love to get dinner with you, Aaron.”

“That’s a relief,” he breathes. “Can I take you somewhere again?”

You can take me anywhere you want, is what you want to say, but that feels a bit forward. “Of course,” you say instead. “Lead the way.”

+++

The team finds out the very next day, by pure accident.

Aaron drove you two to dinner last night straight from work, and the both of you were too caught up in it all to realize you left your car at work. Until it’s the next morning, you’re heading down to the parking lot of your apartment, car keys in hand, with your car nowhere to be found.

Aaron is walking through the BAU doors when his phone buzzes with a call from you. His heart skips as he answers, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my love,” you reply easily. “Do you know where my car is? You get one guess.”

Hotch pauses, thinks, wondering why you’re asking him this question, until-- “Oh, shit,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you.”

“I can just take the bus,” you laugh just as hard. “I just wanted to tell you.”

You? On the bus? When he can easily just come get you? Absolutely not. “I’ll come get you,” he says again. “Let me set my things down, and I’ll be on my way to you.”

“Aaron--”

“Let me, please?” he asks, shoving inside his office to put his things down just inside the door. “I’m already walking back out to my car. We can get coffee and breakfast.”

“Okay,” you concede, finally. “I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be twenty minutes.”

It’s less time than that, actually, but you don’t call him out on it. Instead, you climb into his passenger seat with a smile.

“Long time no see,” you joke, buckling yourself in.

“I’m so sorry,” he laughs. “I completely forgot about your car.”

“I did too, don’t be sorry,” you reply, resting your hand on his arm. “It’s funny. And I’ll just drive it home tonight.”

He doesn’t want you to, he wants to always drive you around like this, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. “Okay. Well, for your troubles, we’ll get breakfast.”

“And coffee,” you sigh happily. “My turn to pick. I know the best place.”

He turns his phone toward you, the GPS already up. “Lead the way.”

When the two of you finally make it back to the BAU, the whole team is there, huddled around in the bullpen, clearly whispering about you and Hotch.

See, it’s rather suspicious when Hotch’s things are in his office, but he isn’t, especially an hour after he’s usually already got half the day’s work done. And your absence was noted too, as the minutes ticked by and no one had heard from you. And they knew the two of you were the last to leave last night.

Hotch holds open the glass door for you, laughing at something you’ve said (like always), the two of you unaware of the team meeting until you’re inside.

Everyone wears similar smirks. 

“Hello lovebirds,” Rossi chimes. “We were wondering where you disappeared to.”

“Just breakfast,” you say with a shrug.

“Mhm,” Morgan hums. “Where’s my breakfast?”

“Go away,” you groan, swatting him. “Why are you all around my desk? Boundaries!”

Just like that, the crowd disperses with some laughter, and Hotch is free to escape up to his office. Rossi is quick to follow him, interrogating him about his night.

“It was a great night,” Hotch replies, not wanting to give anything away. “You are an instigator.”

“Did you kiss her?” Rossi presses on.

Hotch makes a sound of disbelief. Rossi looks appalled.

“You didn’t?”

“There is such a thing as taking things slow, Dave,” Hotch replies.

“Alright,” Dave concedes. “But dinner was good?”

“Dinner was great,” Hotch reiterates, unable to hide his smile. “Now get out of my office so I can get some work done.”

Rossi leaves with a smirk so smug that Hotch hopes his face cramps up.

+++

Later in the evening, when once again it’s just you and Hotch left in the office, Hotch decides to pack up a little early. 

You’re in your own world, completely unaware that he’s heading out until he’s standing beside your desk. 

You lift your eyes, realizing he’s watching you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles. “Ready to go?”

You glance at the clock. “I was actually--”

He shakes his head. “Come on.”

“What?”

“As your boss, I’m deciding you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, really?” you quirk an eyebrow. “And there wouldn’t happen to be any ulterior motives, would there?”

He shrugs, all sheepish again. “If you happened to be free for dinner again, I wouldn’t say no.”

“And if I’m not free?”

He’s unbothered. “Then I’ll walk you to your car and let you get to your plans.”

“Not even a kiss goodnight?” you tease as you start gathering your things.

Hotch goes quiet. “That can be arranged.”

“Okay,” you murmur, standing with your things. “Let’s go.”

He reaches out for your hand which you easily hold onto, walking with him to the elevators. As you wait for one to arrive, you look at him, taking in his side profile. He catches you looking from just the corner of his eye, starting to smile.

Once you step onto the elevator, you break the silence. “I desperately need to sleep early tonight, so raincheck on dinner?”

He nods. “Of course.”

You pause, testing the waters. “Coffee tomorrow, though?”

He smiles. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“That’s perfect,” you reply.

Hotch walks you to your car, as promised, and helps you set your things inside. He even opens the driver’s side door for you. You’re about to get inside when he stops you, one hand on your arm.

“About that goodnight kiss,” he says, a glint in his eyes that has your stomach doing flips.

You place your hands on his shoulders, gently looping your wrists around his neck. “Mm, what about it?”

His hands find your waist in no time, squeezing ever so slightly. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask,” you murmur. “And yes.”

You’re both smiling into it, softening when your lips finally connect. You feel it then, how this is what you’ve been missing. 

Aaron is so gentle as he kisses, so timid in a way that only makes you want him even more. His hands never wander from your waist, except for one moment to cup your jaw, to brush his thumb over your cheek as he kisses you one last time.

He pulls back to watch you, your eyes still closed in bliss. When you finally open them, he’s smiling at you.

“That’s some goodnight kiss,” you tease. “Careful, or you’ll spoil me.”

He shakes his head. “I want to,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. “And I will.”

You bring one hand to his face, holding onto him in disbelief. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers, giving you one more kiss for good measure. “Let me know when you get home safe?”

You nod. “You as well?”

“Okay,” he smiles. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nod slowly. “In the morning.”

Neither of you make any move to leave. In fact, it takes half an hour for you to peel yourselves off of one another, and might’ve taken longer if your stomach hadn’t growled.

Eventually, you part, and Aaron shuts you into your car, waving as you drive off before he walks to his own vehicle. He stares at his reflection in a bit of disbelief, wondering what he did to deserve someone like you.

[gublernatural]

Cheese Danishes ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner

♡ SUMMARY: aaron is struggling to navigate his feelings, and his fears, as his relationship with his younger graduate student neighbor progress

♡ WARNINGS: smut (piv) mdni, oral (fem recieving), fingering, fluff, angst mentions of criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and george foyet, age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s)

♡ NOTE: the timeline on this is wonky when compared to the show. in my head, aaron and jack did go into witness protection and left for a while, but once foyet was caught aaron returned as unit chief to the BAU. so the team is made up of the people in the later seasons, including prentiss, but aaron is still in charge.

Part one

—♡

Aaron pulled your body tighter against him amidst the start of the season’s first snowfall. “Thank you,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. It wasn’t very often he allowed himself to stay after you two had been intimate, only after he had been away for a rough case. You basked in the attention every time.

As much as you wanted more, your relationship with Aaron has been primarily physical. You could count on one hand the amount of times you two had a connection outside of sex. It wasn’t necessarily his ideal either, but life gets in the way when you’re pulled away to attend to serial killers every week, in between spending time with your son.

You two lay together for a while, not saying anything. This was the time you used to pretend things had turned out the way you wanted them to. Of course, you lusted over him when you first met. Something about having a sexy, older neighbor fulfilled a fantasy you didn’t know you had. But, over the months you got to spend with him, both before and after your drunken declaration of interest, your feelings for him had evolved.

You’d learned how much more he was than his stoic exterior. He was gentle, like the way his calloused hands caressed your hips as he pulled you into his lap while you made out. He was funny, constantly teasing you for your abnormal habits. He was kind, making sure you were safe and sound before he retreated to his home.

But, most of all, he was distant. Physically distant a good portion of the time, being needed in different parts of the country at any given time. Mostly, he was emotionally distant. It was as if something was tormenting him most of the time, keeping him from truly giving himself to you. Even when he was buried deep inside you, it was as if there was a gap between you, preventing any real connections.

He gave you an even tighter squeeze, warning you he would be leaving soon without using words. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your body tensed back up when he did this, knowing how empty the house would feel in just a few minutes. He let out a familiar sigh, before pressing one more kiss to your forehead. “I should probably head back,” he spoke his usual phrase into the darkness of your bedroom. You nodded against his chest before pulling yourself away from him, allowing him to get up.

He noticed the way you pulled your comforter closer, trying the replace the warmth he had been providing. Aaron’s heart broke, wanting to crawl back next to you and hold you close for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if he could.

But, he couldn't. He knew that. If he allowed himself to be honest with you, to tell you all the ways he has fallen for you since you showed up on his doorstep with a container of desserts, he would ruin everything you had. Whether it be from him not being able to handle his own emotions, or something as terrifying as George Foyet, something would ruin the sparse nights he got to spend with you. He came with too much baggage, too many ways you could be hurt, to allow himself to have everything he wants.

So, he slips back on his pressed slacks and buttons up his white shirt. He moves quietly, trying to convince himself you are falling asleep, not worrying about what he is doing. Your soft voice ruins this, “Let me know when you get home,” you say, as you do every night he’s here. He lets out a sound of agreement, even though he knows he won’t do it.

The room falls quiet again as Aaron tries to find his suit jacket. He uses his phone flashlight and sees the arm sticking out from beneath your bed. He quickly bends over to grab it, hoping you don’t hear the way his hips creak as he lowers himself. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he finally makes his way to the door. He’s one step through it when you speak again, “Aaron?”

“Yes?” he replies quietly, ignoring how timid your voice sounds. “Maybe we could get lunch or something soon?” Your heart beats against your chest, reverberating in your temples as you ask. It doesn’t make sense. You have no problem letting him know when you’re soaking through your panties because of the lewd photo he sent you, but you’re on the verge of a panic attack as you ask if he’d like to have a meal with you.

“Yeah,” he nods, actually meaning it. He would love to have lunch or something with you. Of course, no one knows if it will ever actually happen. “Cool,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll text you.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he closes your bedroom door, making his way back to his house. Your body shivers with both chill and loneliness when you hear your front door close.

Aaron’s shoulders were slumped as he made the trek across the street. He threw his jacket over his shoulders, but not putting his arms through the sleeves, to try and protect him from the cold. This year’s winter had come in full swing this week, with the first snowfall happening tonight. He couldn’t make out where the little hand on his watch was, but he knew it was some time after midnight.

He was carrying a lot of guilt and he had no one to share it with. He couldn’t tell you because the repercussions could result in you losing your life, the same way Haley did. He couldn’t tell the team because they didn’t know about you. And that was all of the adult people in his life, pretty much.

His key turned in the door and he let out a sigh. He’d forgotten to turn his heat on when he left for the last case, so it was freezing inside. He stopped in the hallway to change the thermostat, before making his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting it properly heat up before he began to remove his clothes.

The cold he was feeling was both literal and metaphorical. The chill air burned his skin, opposite from the way your warm touch soothed it.

Aaron felt like he was on autopilot as he cleaned himself, put on his warmest pajamas, and made his way to his bed. It felt bigger than it did before he left. He fell asleep pretty quickly, both from the strenuous case and the orgasm he had not that long ago.

The next morning, you were woken up by the sun casting through your window. You had forgotten to close the curtains last night. You reached for your phone, seeing two messages from Elise. ‘Meet us for brunch?’ and ‘Bring your old man ;)’. The “us” in question was her and her new girlfriend, Annie. They were a cute couple: they seemed like they were made for each other.

You texted back, asking about the time and place, choosing to ignore her second message. When you got up to get ready, you couldn’t help yourself from peeking to see if Aaron’s car was parked across the street. It wasn’t, so you pretended like you didn’t consider asking him to go to brunch.

“Alvez,” Aaron’s voice cut through the chatter in the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing, focusing on the glare on Aaron’s face as he continued, “Stop.” Luke had been teasing Spencer, making the entire team laugh. Luke didn’t answer, knowing it wasn’t worth messing with him anymore. The entire team had picked up on the attitude Aaron had been carrying around lately. There was no more room for teasing in the BAU, as he always seemed angry nowadays.

As the team finished debriefing their last case, Emily lingered inside the meeting room. “Hey, Hotch?” She questioned, usually being the advocate for the team. Aaron didn’t answer but shifted his attention away from the files in front of him and to her. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Just fine, Prentiss,” he lied, becoming embarrassed under her harsh stare. “Hotch,” she cut through the silence again, “we both know that’s not true.” As much as she was trying to be sympathetic, her prying was just pissing him off. “What is going on in my personal life is none of your concern.” He ended the conversation bluntly, not wanting her to pry anymore.

Like a dog who had just been scolded, Emily made her way out of the room. Hotch lingered for a little longer, hoping the team would disperse before he made his presence known again. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking over what Emily was saying to him. Something was wrong, but nobody could fix it. Nobody but you.

Your phone dinged from its spot beside you, and you tried to not let your professor see you reach for it. Sure, you were a grown woman who was allowed to be on your phone, but you didn’t want to seem rude by being distracted from his lesson. You set your pink pen on top of your notebook and lowered your phone into your lap. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you saw the message was from ‘Aaron <3’.

It had been about four days since he left your house and he had not texted since. You refused to text first, not wanting to appear desperate. ‘Hello, I am dropping Jack off at a friend’s at 6:30. Could I come over after? I can order us dinner.’ You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. You quickly typed out a reply, ‘My class ends at 5 and I have to stop by Elise’s to pick something up. Meet at my house at 7?’. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

Your leg excitedly bounced throughout the class, willing the clock to move faster. Your notes were messy due to your brain moving faster than your hand could go. When the professor finally wrapped things up and asked for any final questions, you shoved things into your bookbag, knowing you’d regret it the next time you needed something from it. You were the first one out the door.

You tried not to speed as you drove to Elise’s. You were picking up a new dog bed that Anna was getting rid of. Your dog, Jackson, would love it. You left yourself in her house, yelling out to let her know you had arrived.

You had not been completely honest with Elise. You had told her your relationship status with Aaron was complicated, which was half-true. It was very complicated, but also very non-existent. You rushed through your interaction with her and Anna, ignoring the joke she cracked about you having a hot date.

You arrived home close to 6:45 and immediately made your way to your closet to throw on something nicer than the leggings and sweatshirt you wore to class. You used the extra time to clean up around the house.

Aaron knocked on the door at 7:00 on the dot, making you giggle at his punctuality. “Hello,” you smiled at him as you opened the door. He said his greeting and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You could feel your face warm up at his actions. When he came in, you two settled on the couch, catching up on the things you had missed in each other’s lives.

“Is that new?” Aaron asked, putting at the large dog bed Jackson was resting on. Your heart swooned at him noticing such a small detail. “Yeah! Elise’s girlfriend, Anna, was getting rid of it. She fosters dogs most of the time but she had to stop after the last one got adopted because her dad moved in with her. He’s sick, so she spends a lot of time taking care of him.” Aaron nods in understanding, “You spoil him, huh?” You giggled at his answer, knowing most of your paychecks went to funding Jackson’s expensive lifestyle.

It didn’t take long for you to wind up in his lap, his hands gripping your ass. He was holding you close, pressing his tongue into your mouth. Aaron had a lot of skills, and kissing was probably one of his best. When you pulled away to breathe, he made quick work of moving his lips to your neck, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear. You let out a gentle moan, moving your hands from around his neck to tug on his hair.

Your moment was interrupted when your stomach grumbled, surprising Aaron. He pulled away, looking up at you with wide eyes and puffy lips. You giggled out an, “I’m sorry.” Aaron soon joined you in your laughter. “You said we’d order food! I haven’t eaten since breakfast!” You smiled, enjoying this sweet moment with him.

He tapped your side, signaling you to get off of his lap. He reached for his phone, “What do you want to eat?” You two scrolled through your options, settling on a local pizza place. Your stomach grumbled again after he placed the order.

It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive, and you two watched silly YouTube videos while you waited. The evening was filled with giggles and greasy pizza. It was everything you wanted with Aaron.

Once your bellies were both full and the paper plates had been thrown away, you two resumed your position on the couch. You were back in his lap and his lips were back on your neck. His hands were tight against your hips as you rocked against his cock, which was growing hard underneath you. The room was filled with languid sighs and deep moans as you made out.

His hands slid up your sides, moving to pull your shirt off. You separated for just a second, just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. Once it was thrown by the brand new dog bed, Aaron’s large hand was reaching up to cup your bra, quickly aggravated by the material blocking your skin. His hands moved to unclasp it, not letting his lips leave yours. The bra joined the shirt, and Aaron brought one of your nipples into his mouth.

The rough skin of his right hand felt like heaven on your right breast, eliciting moans of his name to fall from your lips. He was leaving deep, purple marks around across your tits, fueled by the sounds you were making. The light tugs of his hair had him painfully hard in his dress pants. 

You pulled away to look him in the eye, “Bedroom?” Aaron shook his head no, lifting your body to lay flat on the couch. “Wanna take you right here,” he rushed through. Stoic, well-spoken Aaron Hotchner was reduced to slang like “wanna” in these moments with you.

From his spot between your legs, he kissed down between your chest, down your stomach, to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, asking for permission to take them off. You nodded and your pants quickly joined your ever-growing pile of clothes. “Aaron?” He let out a ‘hmm’, entranced by the wet spot in your panties. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” This broke him out of his spell and he stripped himself down to his boxers.

His hands made their way under your thighs and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your clothed sex. “Take ‘em off?” You nodded at his words, lifting your hips so he could pull them off. As soon as your panties were off, he licked a long strip up your slit.

You let out a moan as he began to bury himself into your pussy. His tongue delved into your hole and his nose nudged your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer. You weren’t sure if he could breathe with how he was pressed into your pussy, your juices spreading all over his chin. Once your grip on his hair relaxed a bit, he pulled his face away. As he slid two of his thick fingers into your hole, he said, “Taste so good, honey.”

As soon as he finished his sentence, he moved down to use his tongue to draw little figure eights along your clit. You let out a loud moan, “Aaron, ‘m gonna,” you cut yourself off with another moan, “gonna cum.” Your thighs held him in his spot as you reached your high. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move from his spot as you came on his fingers.

His fingers didn’t stop as he rode you through your orgasm. Once your thighs relaxed, he brought himself up to you. You could see the way your juices glistened on his chin as moved himself to kiss you, then you could taste them on his lips.

“Taste yourself?” He asked. You felt your pussy clench at his filthy words and gave him a shy nod. He smiled, before resting his head in the crook of your neck, pressing more kisses into it. Your arms came to wrap around him, holding his bare chest against yours. You two stayed like that for a little bit, basking in each other’s aura.

“Gonna fuck you now,” He informed, lifting his body a little. He looked you in your eyes, making sure you were still okay with it. You nodded, reaching down to align his dick with your entrance. He kept his eyes on you as he pushed in, noticing the way your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out.

Aaron’s cock wasn’t too long, but the thickness of it left a satisfying burn inside you. Aaron wasn’t one for an intense sex life. He was mostly content with missionary, enjoying the closeness and eye contact that came with it. You’d begun to get him out of his shell, testing things like riding him and doggy style throughout your three months hooking up.

His thrusts were deep and slow, drawing out the delightful burn in your pussy. After your previous orgasm, the stretch of his thick cock was almost enough to send you over the edge again. Everything about him was intentional, especially the way he held your legs so he could angle himself to hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl.

“Faster,” you moaned out, needing more. “You take what I give you,” he demanded, letting his rare dominant side come out. He knew you liked that by the way you clenched around his cock, squeezing him just right. It only took a few more strokes for him to start increasing his speed, never wanting to displease you.

He was chasing his own high, bottoming out with every deep thrust. You could feel the way you were leaving a ring of your arousal at the base of his dick. “Aaron,” you sighed out, trying to let him know you were about to cum again. While you couldn’t get the words out, he could tell by the way your muscles were beginning to tense up and you were letting out higher-pitched moans.

The way you clenched his dick had his orgasm following close behind your own, allowing him to ride you through your high. He let out a deep sigh as he came down, burying himself back in the crook of your neck. He placed gentle kisses along your neck as your hand drew loving circles along his shoulder.

You willed him to keep his head buried in your neck so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes began to fill with tears. It’s not that you were sad, or even disappointed. There was a deep longing feeling in your chest. In your heart, you knew this was where you wanted to be, but, in your brain, you knew it wouldn’t last.

Aaron let himself lay there with you for a while. He didn’t move as his dick softened inside of you and as your loving caress left goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill in the room, he was comfortable.

A few moments pass before he pushes himself off of you, making his way to the bathroom to clean up. When he reappears in the living, he asks “Do you want to take a shower?” You eagerly accept his offer, getting up to guide him to your master bathroom. He smiles behind you as you turn on the water.

You’re very surprised at his actions but scared that if you mention how different he’s acting, he’ll stop. He usually doesn’t stay to clean up with you, besides retreating to the bathroom. You both step into the shower, muscles relaxed by the hot water. Aaron flinches away from it. “Too hot?” You ask, forgetting that not everyone takes scalding hot showers.

“I’ll get used to it,” he compromises. It’s a tight fit, but you both make do. He’s the first one to reach for the wash rag. Soaping it up with your lavender-scented body wash and bringing it to your shoulders. He allows himself to enjoy washing you, taking time to massage and caress your skin. He moves gently and lovingly, as if he would break you if he pushed too hard.

Despite the amount of times you had sex, this shower was the most intimate thing you and Aaron had ever done. It would’ve been easy to convince yourself that you two were a couple, one that is deeply in love and would never hurt each other. However, you could never do that because of the gnawing knowledge of his future departure. You weren’t a couple and he would be retreating to his home any minute now.

Aaron let you stay under the warm water as he washed himself, both of you opting to not worry about washing your hair tonight. You stepped out first, grabbing a towel off of the rack attached to the shower. You wrapped it around yourself, moving to get Aaron one from your towel closet. He enjoyed the warmth of the shower while you were gone. Once you appeared in the steamy bathroom, he turned off the water and wrapped himself in the towel you handed him.

It was quiet for a moment, both of you just enjoying the presence of each other. Aaron was rubbing the towel, trying to dry his hair when he spoke up, “I don’t believe I have any clothes here. Do you have any you think could fit me?” You were gobsmacked at his words. Luckily, you weren’t facing him, so he didn’t see the way your mouth dropped in surprise. You quickly turned around to face him, “Are you staying the night?”

“Is that okay?” He sounded awkward, not really knowing what to do. Sure, he’d left every other time, but he thought it would be okay since you spend so much time together anyway. He was trying to be better than he was before, trying to overcome the fears that had been keeping him from truly being with you. “Of course it is!” Your voice was excitable again, almost as lively as it was the day he met you. “I think I have some sweatpants, I can look.”

Your heart was pounding as you left the bathroom to dig through your dresser, seeing if there was anything you wouldn’t mind Aaron keeping. He followed behind you, settling on the edge of the bed. He was distracted as you looked, admiring you in just a fluffy towel. He wished he saw this side of you more often.

Once you found an old, gray pair at the bottom of your third drawer, you tossed them at him. You got dressed and he slipped them on, choosing to forgo underwear rather than put on the precum-stained ones from earlier. “What do we do now?” You asked sweetly, not really knowing how to go about this sleepover, but excited to have it nonetheless.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He suggested, subtly pointing at the TV hung on your wall. “Sure! What kind of movies do you like?” You asked him as you moved to sit criss-cross on your bed. He chuckled at your cute demeanor, “Me and Jack tend to watch action or comedy, but I love a good romcom now and then.” This sent you into a fit of giggles, picturing Aaron curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and ‘When Harry Met Sally’ being the only thing illuminating his face in the dark room.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” He said with a fond smile on his face. He laid down, leaving space for you to curl yourself against his side, tucked right into his armpit. You felt like you belonged there. “I just didn’t realize you were such a softie,” You said with a few more giggles. He shifted his head down to look at you the best he could, “I can be.”

You two settled on ‘Do Revenge’, playing into Aaron’s apparent love of chick-flicks. You two got comfortable under the covers. About halfway through, Aaron heard your gentle snores filling the room. He reached across you to grab the remote and turn off the TV. He reached back over you to put the remote on your nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled himself down, falling quickly into a deep slumber.

The next morning, you woke up to an unfamiliarly cold room. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, looking at the messed up bed. Your gaze followed the blanket that had been thrown around to an empty bed.

Your eyebrows crinkled in confusion, remembering that Aaron had spent the night. A part of you hoped when you got up, he’d be making breakfast for you like the husbands always did in the cheesy romcoms you two talked about last night. The other part of you knew he had left.

To confirm your suspicions, you made your way to the living room, trying to ignore the steadily increasing beat of your heart. You made your way to Jackson, who was asleep in his brand-new bed. You sat next to him, tears filling your eyes. His clothes were gone. Even the stupid sweatpants you let him borrow. Jackson snuggled closer to you, almost providing the warmth Aaron took with him when he left.

You let yourself lay there for a while, dwelling on the hurt in your heart. It wasn’t as if this was unexpected, but he could’ve had the decency to not lie to you. You explicitly asked him if he was staying the night and he said he was. How could he just leave? As if your time last night didn’t mean anything? As if any of the nights you two spent together didn’t mean anything?

You were forced to get up when you heard your phone alarm going off in your bedroom, indicating it was time for you to get ready for work. You had a busy day ahead of you that would consist of work and catching up on homework. You didn’t have time to worry about a man who wasn’t worrying about you.

You felt numb throughout your whole shift. You ignored Elise’s texts asking you to go out tomorrow, considering you hadn’t had a Friday night out in a while. You ignored pretty much everything, burying yourself in your tasks. You were on autopilot as you drove home. You quickly took care of Jackson, taking him on a brief walk and feeding him. You went out your back door and followed it until you knew you couldn’t see Aaron’s house. You didn’t want to think about him, and you definitely didn’t want him to see how sad you were.

You did homework for the rest of the night, ignoring the world around you. You didn’t turn on the TV or look at your phone once. You took another scorching shower, basking in the burn it left on your skin.

You went on like this for another day. It wasn’t until you returned home from work late on Friday night that you had to come face-to-face with your feelings.

It was actually your choice. No one forced you to slam your car door as soon as you saw Aaron get out of his in his own driveway. No one forced you to stomp your way across the street. No one forced you to yell his name.

No, you were solely guided by your own anger, your own sadness, to approach him. You didn’t know who was around, and you didn’t really care as you started yelling at him. “Fuck you,” You spit out first, “You said you were staying. I wanted you to stay. But you fucking left. I was going to make you breakfast, you know that? The best fucking baker around was going to make you breakfast. But you left. Without saying goodbye.”

You didn’t normally cuss, or yell, really. The anger you felt became too much and you were talking before you could really think about what you were saying. Your eyes started to fill with tears. “Y/N,” he interrupts. He wasn’t yelling at you, more raising his voice so you’d let him talk. “I didn’t want to leave you.” He confesses, a guilty look spread across his face.

You’re instantly quieter and the tears start falling as you speak. “You didn’t?” You quietly question. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to scream and cry and cuss at him so he could feel just a little bit of the hurt you felt when you woke up yesterday morning. But that wasn’t in your nature. You were good and kind and sweet, not mean and nasty.

“No, honey, of course not,” He speaks softly, taking a few more steps towards you. You let him rest a gentle hand on your shoulder as he continues, “I got a call from Jack’s friend’s mother. They had snuck out and gone skateboarding. Jack fell on his arm and they were on their way to the emergency room. I had to meet him there.”

Guilt started to fill your chest as you listened to his explanation. “Aaron, I’m so sorry,” You breathed out as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he spoke, “There’s no need to be. I should’ve called you but I got distracted with work.” You nodded against his chest. He held you as you calmed down, letting your tears subside. “I’ve got to run, we’re leaving for a case and I forgot my go-bag,” You nod at his words, “Be safe, please.”

“Of course,” He said as he started taking a few steps backward. He turned around and made his way to his door. His hand was reaching out for the knob when you called his name. “What are we?” You asked the dreaded question that had been weighing on your chest. It seemed childish, but there was no other way to phrase it. You hoped he wanted to be in a relationship. You hoped he wanted you the same way you wanted him.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” He said as he made his way back to you. “I owe you a conversation, that’s for sure.” You nod at his words, “When can we have it?” You asked, knowing he needed to leave for work. “I’ll text you as soon as we wrap up the case.” You nod again as he makes his way back to his front door.

He’s the one who turns around this time, calling out your name. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “For everything that happened before. I’m going to make it right as soon as I get home.” You give him a soft smile and a gentle nod before turning around to make your way home. 

It takes a full week for the team to wrap up the case. Reid and JJ ask if they can spend the night in Phoenix, not wanting to be on the jet at three in the morning. However, Aaron vetoes this immediately, knowing he needs to be home as quickly as possible to talk to you.

He texts you while Luke drives the SUV, letting you know he will be boarding shortly and to expect him to be over sometime in the morning tomorrow. You’re fast asleep and do not reply, but Aaron knows you’ll see it in the morning. 

And you do. You check your phone first thing in the morning. Usually, your Saturdays are spent catching up on missed homework throughout the week, but today you immediately made your way to the kitchen. When you are stressed, this is where you usually find yourself. You threw on the “kiss the cook” apron Elise had given you a few Christmases ago, pulling up the recipe for raspberry cheese danishes you had seen online the other day.

You had just put them in the oven when you heard the knocks on your door. Aaron had gotten just a few hours of sleep before he made his way to your house. His heart was beating in his chest as he waited for you to open the door.

All of his nerves quickly dissipated as he saw you in your apron. He smiled at it, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss before either of you could even say hello. You giggled when he let you go, opening the door wider so he could come in. You were glad he greeted you the way he did. It took away some of the awkwardness that was looming over you due to the conversation topic.

“It smells phenomenal in here,” he complimented as he made his way to the dining room table. He sat down at the of the table and you settled into the seat on his left. “I’m sorry I had to run the other day, duty calls.” You nodded in understanding at his words. “Did you think about my question?” You asked timidly, wanting to get the conversation started so it could be over sooner.

“I did,” he said with a thoughtful nod, “I’m not quite sure how I would define us if I’m being honest.” His answer left you speechless. Not in a bad way, and certainly not in a good way, but in a way that signaled that you didn’t know how to reply. “I mean, I don’t know how I would define us back then.” He continues on.

For the first time since he kissed you when you opened the door, he made eye contact with you. “I would like to define us as a couple now if that is alright with you.” He didn’t miss the smile that quickly spread across your face and the way you started to twiddle your fingers. “Aaron Hotchner,” You let out an overdramatic gasp, “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Aaron laughed at your theatrics, “Yes, I am.” You immediately threw yourself in his lap, pressing a kiss to his blushed cheek. “I would love to!” He could feel you smile against his face as you threw your arms around his neck. He let you love on him for a little bit before you made your way back to your seat. “I think there are a few things I have to tell you first, though,” Aaron informed again and you noticed the way his body tensed up. You didn’t say anything, creating a safe space for him to get anything he needed off of his chest.

“Ever since the day I barged in after you left me that voice message, this is what I wanted. I wanted to kiss you when you greeted me at the door. I wanted to watch cheesy films with you. I still really want all of that,” He let out a deep breath, “but I come with a lot, Y/N. Even just being with me puts you in danger. My last relationship ended due to my job, and I lost her. My wife, she, uh,” His eyes began to well up with tears.

You reached your hand out to hold his, understanding what he was trying to tell you. His wife, Jack’s mom, had died because of something related to his job. You weren’t going to force him to continue if it was this painful for him to talk about. “I understand,” You spoke gently, not wanting to upset him more, “And I’m okay with that risk.”

Aaron nodded at your words, not really knowing if you meant them. You did. Even if you wouldn’t admit it quite yet, you were in love with Aaron. You understood his job was scary and he dealt with a lot of evil in his line of work, but not even that could keep you from wanting a relationship with him.

“And, there will be times when I’m not around. My job, it is very demanding and very important to me, and to the world, I think. When they need me, I have to go.” You knew this part, he was away a lot. That’s why you had spent so much time texting before he was aware of the crush you had on him. However, before you could respond, the oven dinged, telling you it was time to take out the danishes.

Without thinking about it, you jumped up from the table, exclaiming, “My danishes are done!” Aaron laughed at this, following you with his eyes as you made your way to the oven, pulling out the desserts and sitting them on the counter to cool. You were looking over them are you spoke, “I know that, Aaron. I’m a busy bee, too. I think I’ll be okay when you’re away.”

“These look this delicious,” he complimented, reaching for one. You quickly swatted his hand away, “They need to cool!” He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. “What are they?” He asked, not moving his face from the crook of your neck. “Raspberry cheese danishes! It’s a new recipe.” You could feel yourself getting giddy at the thought of Aaron Hotchner, your boyfriend, and personal taste-tester.

“Well, they look and smell amazing. You’ll have to make some for the BAU holiday party.” He said, very casually. You froze in your spot as he unwrapped from your figure. “You want me to go?” You were surprised at his invitation. From getting to know him, you’d realized that the people in the BAU were some of the most important people in his whole life. “Of course,” he smiled, “Everyone brings their significant others.”

♡ TAGS: @himboelover @zaddyhotch @lcvdoll @h0t-as-h3ll @lamentis-10 @cherubswhispers

disclaimer: i will only tag accounts that have an age on their profile that indicates they are not a minor

[14buddy22]

Hey if you're looking for Hotch requests, what about Hotch dealing with a crush on a non-bau sunshine reader when he's still sad after the divorce/Foyet but he's so confused by his feelings because it's been so long that he doesn't know what's going on??

Like if it's case related, maybe he thinks reader is a suspect because why else would he be so on edge around her and it's just so painfully obvious to everyone else. Idk if that makes sense but I just think Hotch being so out of touch with his emotions despite being a profiler would be funny lol

Feel free to adapt and make it your own!! Thanks!!

Thanks for your request! I hope it lives up to your expectation!

You were the best damn bartender in Quantico, Virginia. At least, that's what you thought to yourself. You made work fun. You worked in a club environment so if you wore something scandalous, flirted with the customers a bit, you were sure to bring in a hefty tip at the end of the night.

But, you loved the hustle and bustle of it. You loved the interactions, loved singing along to the bands or the good music. You loved having conversations with the locals, loved celebrating parties for kids turning 21, people getting married, or hell, people getting divorced.

Then you met who you swore is your soulmate. Something in you stilled when you were bartending. You never froze up at your job. You were good at what you do. But seeing him walk through that door, looking all handsome in a suit, he took your breath away. You watched how he interracted with the bouncer.

You watched him show his badge to your best friend. FBI. An average Joe wouldn't just waltz into your bar, you knew he was a sophisticated man.

But when he locked eyes with you, you felt like the bar had heated up 100 degrees. Making his way over to you, you were trying to calm down. What had you feeling like this?

"Hi, I'm Agent Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI. It's my understanding from the gentleman at the front that you are the lead bartender?"

You finished making your drink for one of the locals and asked your partner to manage the bar. Luckily it was early evening and the college kids had about another hour before they started flooding in so you knew you'd be okay leaving her by herself.

"Yes, I'm Y/n Y/L/N. It's nice to meet you. How can I help you?"

You shook his hand, and you swore you both held it for longer than you both intended.

All I could think was that she was beautiful. No, no, I can't think like that. My wife, ex-wife was brutally murdered a little over a year ago. Something's different talking to her, to-Y/n. Something I haven't felt in a while but I don't know what it is.

She's a bartender. I hear she's a damn good one. Maybe that's why she's about to be the suspect in a string of murders. Men have been killed shortly after they leave this bar. Traces of posion have come back on the tox screen. Bartenders have access to the drinks and alcohol before they serve, y/n's the perfect suspect.

But she's beautiful, and I haven't seen her stop smiling at all. She has a gorgeous smile. She'd be the sunshine on the rainiest days for the men that have been murdered. Before I know it, my thoughts and feelings consumed me, I'm still holding her hand. I could feel Dave's eyes burning a hole into me.

"Have you heard about the three men murdered around town?"

"Yeah, I have. It's very unfortunate. They were great men. At least to me. They tipped well and always had friendly conversations. They also stood up for me if some men coming in here for the first time were getting a little handsy with me."

Oh how I wished I could be the one to make sure no one got handsy with her. Wait, what am I saying? She's a suspect, she doesn't know it, but she is.

"How were they killed?"

Agent Hotchner's partner spoke up to answer your question.

"They were poisoned."

Ugh, these poor men. Had to die a slow pain, they didn't deserve it. They deserved justice now.

"We just wanted to come in to see if anything unusual has happened lately."

"I've seen a lot of crime shows with my ex-boyfriends before. You're really trying to see if I did it. Which I didn't. I don't think I have the heart to kill anyone. I broke up with my last ex because he hunted and I couldn't bare the thought of killing animals."

Of course you broke up with your ex because of that. But I have a job to do and I have to investigate further. Plenty of killers have lied straight to my face before.

"We'll be in touch Ms. Y/l/n, thank you for your time."

You smiled and shook their hands one last time before you went back to working your shift. Something about Aaron caught my eye. Maybe it's the way he was blushing like a school boy. You're not sure, but he was handsome.

Just when Aaron walked into the bar, you smiled at him, offering him a drink.

"Agent Hotchner, it's good to see you again."

Your smile never waivered. Maybe you would shoot your shot with him.

I can't believe I have to do this. Arrest someone this pretty. Arrest this girl who Rossi thinks I have feelings for. What? Feelings? That's an intense word, but I have to arrest her.

"Unfortunately I'm here to place you under arrest."

I watched all the color drain from her face. I watched her smile fall so fast. But it had to be her. Rossi and the team wasn't so sure, but I have a gut feeling it's her. Of course with it being my team, they weren't going to stop me. I took her sunshine away.

"Agent Hotchner, I, I didn't do anything."

Your manager saw what was going on, he was like your work dad. He took care of you like his daughter, despite him having sons, he treated you like his princess. You heard him say say, "Y/n, I'm getting you a lawyer, do not speak. I know you didn't do this. But I'll meet you where they're taking you."

You smiled back at him, tears filling your eyes. You wanted to make everyone happy, you never wanted to hurt anyone. How are you being arrested? You didn't do anything wrong.

Your ride back in Aaron's SUV was silent. How could you think he was your soulmate? Your soulmate would never arrest you. But you were still feeling something, you couldn't explain it.

I keep looking in the rearview mirror at her. I had to trust my gut. She poisioned those men. But why do I feel so guilty arresting her. From the time we had met her, been surveillencing her, up until I placed the handcuffs on her, she had smiled. Everyone spoke highly of her. I took away her sunshine. I did that.

As you walked into an interrogation room, Aaron sat you down in the seat, then took off your hand cuffs, handcuffing one hand to the table instead.

"We'll wait for your lawyer, do you need anything?"

"No."

You couldn't even look at him. How could her. You told him you didn't do it.

As I walked out, I was greeted with Penelope. "Sir, she has nothing on her record, not even a speeding ticket. I've looked through her social media posts and everyone spoke so highly of her. Friends were making special post to thank her for being a great friend. She took care of everyone. Sir, I-I know I'm not an agent, but I just can't believe it's her."

Penelope was cut off by my phone ringing, picking it up after viewing the caller I.D.

Morgan said, "Hotch, we got the wrong girl. It's Y/n's bartending partner. I just watcher her slip something into this guy's drink. I'm bringing her in, we can cut Y/n loose. You can be happy now. Y/n's not a killer. What that gut feeling is, is your feelings that you like her Hotch. You haven't felt that since Haley. I know it's been 20 years, but trust me man. Y/n is something special, according to the track record she has. She's the opposite of a killer. She's just the type of sunshine that you and Jack need in your life."

Aaron walked in and said, "I'm sorry, there has been a huge mistake. You are free to go. It was the other bartender you worked with.

"What? There's no way. She's amazing at what she does."

Aaron shook her head and said, "One of my agents was in the bar watching the entire time, he was undercover. He watched her slip something in another man's drink."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you got the right killer. If, if you don't mind, can one of your agents give me a ride home? I don't have my car, obviously."

You didn't know how to feel. You knew you didn't do anything, but was Agent Hotchner always going to have a doubt in his mind that you were a killer?

You got in his car, this time sitting in the front seat. A storm was coming in, you enjoyed the rain and thunder, it calmed you. You two rode in silence, when he dropped you of at your apartment, he walked you up.

When you opened your door, you turned around to thank him, instead that didn't come out.

"I told you I didn't do it, ya know?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I. There's something about you, y/n. I thought you were a suspect, but you should've never been one."

As your eyes were red and filled with tears, you looked at the man who you thought was your soulmate, instead, he had ruined you. Yes, you two didn't date, yes, you didn't hook up, but there was something there.

"Well then why the hell did you do this, Aaron? Why arrest me?"

"My ex-wife passed away a year ago. I haven't had feelings for anyone in nearly 20 years. My feelings for you confused me. I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know what these feelings were because I've been so out of touch with them. And it took me a minute to realize that these feelings are because I didn't think you were a killer, I thought you were beautiful. I think you're beautiful. But that gut feeling was that I think. I think I've found my soulmate."

As she stepped closer to me, I watched the sunshine fill her eyes again, her smile creeping up her face. God, was she beautiful and amazing, and from her friend's testimonies who I interviewed, she was a down right amazing person. Just the absolute sunshine to be around.

You were going to kiss Aaron. You were glad he figured out his feelings. This was going to be the start of something new. You didn't know what happened to his ex, you'd find out someday. You took the chance. You placed your hands on Aaron's hips and leaned in to kiss him. You were so happy that Aaron felt the same way. How did you know this? He placed his hands on your face and kissed you back like you were the only sunshine he'd ever see again.

[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:

[jqmalikhsgib]

quest

eleven

aaron had been gone for three days. he kept in contact with you through the case. with finally solving the case he was headed home to his family.

aaron sighs as he lays his head back on his seat. david noticed he was less stress. he was happy to see his friend was finally doing better.

david was glad you were home. aaron had been more stress and smiled less and less as the days went on.

seeing this more relaxed and comfortable aaron felt familiar.

“how’s yn and the kids?”

aaron looks at his friend. “they’re fine.”

dave gave him a look.

“they’re great. it’s just—”

“what is it? last we talked about it you said you two were great. going to counseling and everything. what’s wrong?”

“yeah, they are great. fantastic even! but she doesn’t know.”

“know what?”

aaron sighs. “she hasn’t seen the scars, dave. she doesn’t know the full story of foyet.”

dave hums understandably. he knew how insecure hotch was about the scars foyet left on him. all the stab wounds he’d have to see everyday for the rest of his life. aaron couldn’t bare looking at them himself. he feels weak whenever he sees himself.

“im guessing you two haven’t—”

aaron shakes his head. “no.”

“what’s stopping you from showing her?”

“fear,”

dave gives him a questionable look.

“fear of her seeing them and—i don’t know. not looking at me the same.”

“aaron, yn isn’t that kind of woman. she loves hard and loves you, and everyone around her, for who the are. she won’t see you any differently.”

deep down aaron knew this. but he couldn’t help the intrusive thoughts running through his head. he had to tell you, that he knew. it was the how he was confused over.

“you know what i say about scars.”

aaron smiles. “scars remind us where we’ve been,”

“they don’t have to dictate where we’re going.”

the two of them nod at one another before zoning off.

when aaron walked into his house he knew everyone would be sleep. he had hoped you’d be awake but wouldn’t be surprised if you’d fallen asleep yourself.

to his lucky stars you were awake. you smile at your husband as he walks over and kisses your forehead.

“how’s my girl?”

“just missing your lovely husband.”

aaron chuckles quietly.

“you mind if i get ready for bed before you smother me in cuddles?” he half jokes. you giggle before nodding.

“go ahead.”

aaron took a quick shower. he made sure the door was locked. not ready for you to see all the stab wounds. once he was out he stared at his chest in the mirror.

he runs his hands over the permanent scars. he grabs his shirt. putting it on along with his boxers he leaves your shared bathroom.

aaron smiles once more. he climbs into bed and holds you close.

“missed you.” you whisper into his chest. aaron clears his throat.

“there’s something i didn’t tell you.”

you look into his eyes. noticing his nervousness you frown.

“what’s going on?” you sit up.

“before george foyet killed haley, before they went into witness protection, he found me. he was in my apartment. our apartment.”

you listen intensely.

“he was waiting to hurt me. i knew what he craved. fear. i wouldn’t give it to him. i refused. i think—i believe that’s what set him off more. i knew he wasn’t there to kill me. he had a bigger plan for that. but he needed me to hurt. to feel helpless,”

“aaron? what did he do?”

“remember how i told you he stabbed himself repeatedly?”

“god, aaron, he didn’t?”

aaron nods. “over and over and over. i barely made it. he called the police and they got me to the emergency room as soon as possible. they patched me up and everything. im—i was scared to tell you. scared for you to see. i didn’t want you to look at me—”

“no! aaron this isn’t your fault. it wasn’t your fault. he—he’s the one that hurt you. you’re so strong baby. so very strong.” you couldn’t help but cry.

he holds you, shedding a few tears himself. thankful he has such an amazing woman like you.

when you look him in the eyes you smiled at him like he was the only man on this planet. aaron smiles right back at you.

he leans forward before connecting your lips. the first kiss you two had in two years. it felt amazing. it was exciting.

aaron was still the best person you have ever kissed. he kissed you like you were the only girl in the world. and to him, you are.

when he pulls away he smiles once more. “i love you yn. im—im not there yet. i want to, trust me i do. but i just think we need a little more time until we get there.”

you nod understandably. it had been two whole years. you knew you’d wait a life time for aaron. and aaron would wait a lifetime for you.

“i understand. there is no rush. we have forever.”

aaron hums in agreement.

“goodnight, darling.”

“goodnight, aaron.”

if you wanna be added or unadded to any of my stories taglist please let me know

taglist:

@slut4ethan @zaddyhotch @rosiehale23 @whotfskai @shergoretzxx @vodkori @14buddy22 @ivebeenthearchersstuff @madesavage05

[sequinsmile-x]

You and Me, Forevermore

Three consecutive New Years Eve's that Emily and Aaron spend together.

-x-

Hi besties!

This is very soft, sweet, largely pointless and just a way of me saying thank you for all the love and support from you all this year. This fandom may be small, but it's lovely and wonderful and I adore every single one of you. This is my favourite corner of the internet <3

Writing is my favourite thing to do in the world, and anytime anyone tells me a fic of mine has made them smile, or cry or it's simply provided a distraction in this increasingly horrid world we live in, it makes my day.

Thank you for being here, and I'll continue to be here writing about our favourite idiots for years to come.

For the last time in 2024, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: some alcohol consumption, largely just them being soft idiots in love

Words: 4.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily had never been a fan of New Year's parties. 

Of all the parties she’d grown up going to do they had been her least favourite. Long nights where she’d been nothing but an ornament her mother put on display so her friends could tell Emily how much she’d grown in a year, how much she looked like her mother as they asked questions they didn’t care about the answer to just to pass the time. 

She loved the holidays, she always had, but New Year's itself had always felt like an anticlimax. All the promises of being a better person, of making better choices, were gone before January was over. It only ever seemed to feed into the artificial life she’d grown up in where no one said what they actually thought, and no one spoke about anything that felt genuinely important. 

This year felt different. 

She smiles as she looks around Dave’s house, at the team scattered amongst his other friends and acquaintances, and she thinks this might be the first New Year’s party she’d truly enjoy. 

“Princess,” Derek says, getting her attention as he approaches her and Penelope, his smile wide and posture relaxed, “Where’s your guy? I thought you two were glued at the hip these days.” 

She rolls her eyes but can’t fight her smile, and she looks over her shoulder and smiles as her eyes catch Aaron’s where he’s standing at the bar, and she gives him a small wave, “He’s getting me a drink.” 

Penelope squeals, like she always did when she encountered Emily and Aaron’s relationship outside of work, and she quickly clears her throat, “Sorry, I’m still not used to how cute you two are.” 

“Please don’t call Hotch cute,” Derek replies, faking a shudder as he sips his beer and winks at Emily, “I can’t picture him that way.” 

If Derek had made that comment even a few months ago, Emily would have felt her shackles rise. Out of everyone, he’d been the one to take the news of her and Aaron’s relationship the hardest. It took him several weeks to get used to the idea, for his snide comments to slowly give way, and it had driven her crazy. She’d talked to him about it more than once, and had come away from that conversation upset each time. She’d had to tell Aaron to not get involved, sure that the two men butting heads would only make matters worse, and she knew it had been hard for him to see her upset by one of her closest friends not accepting a relationship that made her happier than she had ever been. 

She still didn’t know what had truly got through to Derek. If he finally saw that both she and Aaron deserved this after everything they’d been through with Ian and Foyet respectively, if he saw that she was a different person when she came back from Paris and Aaron helped her find herself again, or if he’d taken the time to watch them together when they thought no one was looking. If he’d seen the way they cared for each other and understood each other. 

Or if, what Emily thought was the most likely, Penelope had finally called him out on his bullshit and told him to get himself together. 

“But they are cute,” Penelope says, turning to look at Emily, “Right?”

She chuckles and shrugs, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tries to answer in a way she knows won’t embarrass her boyfriend. Because they were cute. Sickeningly in love with each other in a way that would make her turn her nose up if she read about it in a book or saw it in a movie, and the worst part was she loved it. She loved him and knew she always would. 

“Here you go, sweetheart.” 

She smiles and turns as Aaron’s hand skims her lower back and lands on her hip. He hands her a glass of champagne and she kisses him, “Thanks, honey.” 

“Oh god,” Derek says, scrunching his nose up in mock disgust, “I think I preferred it when you were pretending you weren’t in love with each other.” 

“I didn’t,” Penelope quips, her smile wide as she watches them, “I think it’s sweet.” 

Emily feels Aaron tense next to her, any progress that he’d made on relaxing around their friends, with the help of alcohol and her insistence that everything was fine, undone in a matter of seconds. She makes a point of leaning further into him, her arm looping around his waist as she kisses his jaw and then his cheek, smiling against his skin when it’s enough to relax him a little. She pulls back and looks at their friends, her eyebrow raised in a mix of amusement and defiance at the contrasting looks on their faces.

“Derek, it’s New Year's Eve, this is a party,” she holds up her glass of champagne, “This is my…” 

“Fourth,” Aaron offers as she trails off, and she smiles up at him again, the soft smile she gets in return mixed in with the alcohol enough for her to briefly forget the point she was trying to make.

“Right, thanks honey,” she looks back at Derek and Penelope again, “This is my fourth drink. I’m going to get a little drunk and a little handsy with my boyfriend, okay?” She can’t deny that she doesn’t get a kick out of how Aaron briefly tightens his hold on her or how Derek scrunches his nose up, “If you don’t like that, I think thats your problem.” 

“Chill out, princess, I was only joking.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him and smiles, letting him know that she is too, mostly. Then she turns in Aaron’s embrace and smiles at him, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss. It was almost midnight, almost the start of a year she was looking forward to for once, and she wanted some time alone with the man she loves. 

“Let’s go find the guy with the tray of those mini desserts,” she says, grateful when he immediately nods, his smile soft and loving as he reaches for her hand and links their fingers together. 

He looks at Derek and Penelope, “Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year, sir. Hotch.” Penelope replies, her smile sparkling with mischief as she looks at Emily directly “Don’t desecrate Dave’s home office. Again.” 

Emily widens her eyes and ignores Aaron’s gaze burning into her side, “Pen. What happened to what is said on girl's night, stays on girl’s night?” 

Penelope has the decency to look embarrassed and she holds her glass higher, “Sorry, it’s the champagne, it’s like truth serum.” 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aaron says, his hand on Emily’s hip as he leads her away from their friends, his smile and the spark in his eyes letting her know he isn’t mad at her, “Let’s go before any more details about our sex life come out.” 

She nods and lets him lead her away, leaning into his side as they weave through the pockets of people all scattered around Dave’s house, “Sorry, baby,” she says, stamping a kiss against his jacket, “Pen and her big mouth.” 

He hums, his eyes soft and loving as he comes to a stop and wraps his arms around her, “Do I even want to know how our sex life came up in conversation?” 

“You know what she’s like, she wants to know everything,” she replies, hooking an arm around the back of his neck, “And she knows how to get me to talk,” she says, pressing her lips together when he simply raises an eyebrow at her, “She tried to imply that you’re…,” she looks around them and makes sure no one can overhear them, her cheeks warm with the alcohol thrumming under her skin and embarrassment that Penelope had played her so well, “Vanilla in the bedroom.” 

He laughs, loud and bright and beautiful, and he shakes his head lovingly at her before he kisses her, “Sweetheart, it’s sweet that you want to defend me, but I think I can live with Garcia thinking I’m boring in bed.” 

Her response is cut off as someone yells that the ball in Times Square is dropping, and that the countdown has begun. She smiles as Aaron tugs at her hand and pulls her into the empty hallway, the sound of the crowd counting down from ten following them. She leans against the wall and encourages him closer, her hand on his shoulder as his nose knocks against hers, something that draws a sound she refuses to call a giggle out of her as the countdown continues. 

“Three, two, one. Happy New Year!”

She kisses him, sighing into it as she tastes champagne and her future on his tongue, and she smiles when they break apart, her forehead resting against his as his breath skips across her face. 

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.” 

She cups the back of his neck and tugs him in for another kiss, her reply lost against his lips, “Happy New Year, honey.” 

___

She’s making a cup of tea when the doorbell rings. She walks out of the kitchen and calls up the stairs, smiling when she already hears a door being thrown open. “Jack, that will be your Aunt Jess. Say goodbye to your dad and then come down here.” 

“Coming, Emily!” 

When she answers the door Jess pulls her into a hug, “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year,” she replies, stepping back to let Jess into the house, “Jack is on his way.” 

“How’s the patient?” Jess asks, smiling when Emily groans and rolls her eyes. 

“Hard work, as you’d expect,” Emily replies, shaking her head as she thinks of Aaron, “He was insistent that we go to our friend’s New Year party until about 30 minutes ago when he almost passed out getting out of bed.” 

Aaron had woken up not feeling well a couple of days ago. At first, he’d tried to play it off, say it was just a cold, but it quickly became clear it was the flu. Somehow, they’d managed to make sure Jack hadn’t caught it so he was still able to go and spend New Year’s with Jess and Roy like he always did. Emily was just grateful that the flu had waited until after Christmas to take down her giant, cuddly, whiny man, because it meant that they’d been able to enjoy the day in their new home. They’d moved in back in November, a busy time of year anyway in amongst Aaron’s birthday and Thanksgiving, and she loved it. It was a home, the first one she’d ever truly had, and she knew that had nothing to do with the house that they knew was perfect for them the moment they first saw it. 

“Good luck to you then,” Jessica replies, and Jack runs over, sliding in his socks on the hardwood floor towards them. 

“Hi, Aunt Jess!” He says excitedly, handing his bag to her as he slips on his shoes, “Is Grandpa excited? I want to tell him all about Christmas and what Dad and Emily got me.”

Jess nods and exchanges a look over the top of his head with Emily. Roy’s feelings about Aaron moving on, about him starting a new life when Haley couldn’t, were well known. He wasn’t particularly polite to Emily whenever he spent time with them as a family, something that she knew embarrassed Jess to no end. 

“He’s so excited to see you, buddy,” she replies diplomatically, “Now, say goodbye to Emily.” 

Jack nods and hugs Emily, his arms tight around her as she leans down to hug him back. When he pulls back to look at her, the excitement he’d had moments ago is gone, replaced with concern that makes her ache. 

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” She asks, pushing his hair from his forehead, smiling when it flops right back down. 

“Is Daddy going to be okay?” He asks, his gaze drifting to the stairs, “He looked sick and I don’t have to go.” 

She smiles at him, his endless empathy and kindness, despite everything he’d already been through, one of the many, many things she loved about him, “I’ll look after him, I promise,” she says, kissing his cheek, “You know he wants you to go have fun.” 

Jack nods, still looking unsure, “And you’ll be okay?” 

“I’ll be okay,” she replies, hugging him again, exchanging a smile with Jess over his shoulder when she looks up at her, “I promise.” 

“Okay,” he replies, “I love you, Emmy.” 

She squeezes him tightly for a moment, overwhelmed by a type of love that she never thought she’d get to feel before she pulls back to look at him, “I love you too, Jack.” 

He hugs her one more time before he leaves, and she and Jess exchange one too as they discuss when she’ll bring Jack back home the following day. As soon as she closes the door she locks it behind them and blows out a slow breath. Her phone beeps, letting her know it is time for Aaron to have more meds, and she goes to the kitchen to get them and finish making his cup of tea. 

When she walks into their bedroom her heart feels like it’s in a vice when she sees him. He’s curled around her pillow, the sheets twisted around his legs, and he looks sick. He’s pale and miserable and she knows she’d do anything to make him feel better. 

“Here you go honey,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed and turning on the lamp on his nightstand, wincing when it makes him groan, “Sorry, baby. I brought you some more meds. They’ll make you feel better.” 

He groans again as he sits up and takes the glass of water she offers him and the meds. He takes the medication without question - a true sign of how awful he must be feeling, “You really should go to Dave’s party you know,” he says, sniffing in a futile attempt to clear his nose, “It will be more fun than sitting here with me on my death bed.” 

She chuckles and takes the glass from him before she settles next to him in bed, sitting up against the headboard whilst he lays back down, “That really would earn me the title of fiancée of the year if I left you here by yourself on New Year’s Eve.” 

He laughs, or tries to, the sound dying in his sore throat as he shifts closer to her, his head on her stomach and his arm over her hips as he snuggles against her. He’d always been tactile with her, had always been all over her at any given opportunity, but when he was sick it was another level. It was something he’d passed on to his son, who also insisted on sleeping pressed up against her when he was sick, and she loved it. Loved being the source of their comfort, and she couldn’t help but picture a world where a kid who was half her and half Aaron did the same. They’d started trying for a baby recently, hope pressed into every corner of their home, and the thought of it made her giddy. 

“Well, at least it’s New Year’s Eve,” he says, his skin warm even through the barrier of her t-shirt, “The criteria resets tomorrow.”

She smiles and runs her fingers through his hair, “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, smiling when he looks up at her, “I always want to spend New Year with you.” 

“I always want to spend New Year with you too.” 

He slips in between sleep and being awake for hours whilst pressed up against her side. She only gets out of bed to make dinner for them, the empty places now on her nightstand.  She turns on the TV and keeps the volume low, making sure she doesn’t disturb him whilst he rests. She eventually switches the channel to watch the news at Times Square, smiling at the crowds of people huddled together in the freezing cold to watch the ball drop in person. 

“What time is it?” 

She smiles down at him and pushes his hair away from his forehead, “Almost midnight.” 

He nods and sits up, blinking repeatedly to clear his head before he stands up, “Okay.”

“Honey,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him, “What are you doing?” 

“Going to brush my teeth,” he mutters, leaning against the wall as he walks to the ensuite. She rolls her eyes and gets out of bed to follow him. 

“Why?” 

“So I can kiss you at midnight,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “My breath sucks.”

She hums and crosses her arms over her chest, pressing her lips together as she tries to suppress a smile, “Yeah,” she says, looking him up and down, the palour of his skin almost worse in the light of the bathroom, “That’s the problem with kissing right now.” 

He pauses, furrowing his brow as he stops squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush as if he’d just remembered he was sick.

“Oh, yeah, sorry sweetheart-” He says, and she leans in and kisses him, stamping her lips against his, smiling when he frowns in confusion when she pulls back. “You’ll get sick.” 

“Worth it,” she presses her thumb against his lower lip, “But you’re right, you should brush your teeth, your breath sucks.” 

He shakes his head at her lovingly and she winks at him and walks back out to their bedroom. She settles back into bed and pulls the covers over her lap, smiling as she takes the chance to look at her engagement ring. She was going to marry him next year, and hopefully expand their family too. The excitement of it all makes her skin tingle, and as Aaron slips back into bed next to her, it feels infinitely better than any evening drinking expensive champagne ever could have. 

They watch the ball drop on the TV and share a kiss at midnight, his skin warm against hers as he settles against her afterwards. 

“Happy New Year, Em.”

She kisses the top of his head, smiling against his hairline as she thinks of all they have to come, “Happy New Year, Aaron.” 

___

She hums a tune she can’t name as she paces back and forth in her bedroom, one hand under the 4-month-old against her chest, and one rubbing soothing circles on his back. Issac gristles against her, grumbling as he rubs his face against her chest. She kisses the top of his head and sighs, suppressing a yawn as she breathes in his sweet scent. 

“You’ll feel so much better if you get some sleep, sweet boy,” she says, falling to suppress her yawn this time as she carries on, “We all need some sleep.” 

Isaac hadn’t been a great sleeper from the start, but in the last couple of weeks, he’d barely slept for more than one hour at a time. She knew it was normal, she knew that he’d grow out of it, but it was hard. She was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life but she was also the happiest she’d ever been. It was overwhelming sometimes and would spill out of her in the form of what felt like constant tears on her cheeks because somehow this was her life now. She had a husband and two little boys she loved more than she ever thought possible, and it was beautifully, achingly normal. 

It was strange to think how much had changed in the space of a year. Last New Year’s Eve, when Aaron had been sick and she’d stayed home to look after him, this was exactly where she hoped she’d be now. In early January, when she suddenly found herself feeling awful she convinced herself that she’d caught the flu from Aaron. It took almost a week before she let herself even consider that it might be something else, before she dared to take a pregnancy test. She still had it in a drawer in the bathroom, the digital screen that once displayed the word pregnant now faded, because she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. 

She looks up as the bedroom door opens and she smiles at Aaron as he walks in and closes the door behind him, “Jack’s settled in his bed.”

“He’ll be so mad in the morning,” she says, smiling softly as she continues to pace the room, “He was hoping he’d make it to midnight this year.” 

Jack surprised them when he asked to stay home this New Year instead of going to his grandfather’s like he usually did. He explained that he wanted to spend it with them and Issac, and he’d been insistent that he’d stay awake until midnight. He’d fallen asleep in their bed just a few minutes ago and Aaron had taken him back to his room so he’d get a better night’s sleep than he would in the same room as his little brother who woke up several times a night. 

“I know,” Aaron says, walking over to them, “How is the littlest Hotchner doing?”

“He might make it to midnight,” she replies dryly, “I think Zaccy thinks sleep is for the weak,” she says, tilting her head to look at her still wide-awake son, “Huh, kiddo?” 

“Want me to try?” 

She nods and kisses the top of Issac’s head as she passes him over, “Yes please, my arms are starting to ache.” 

“He just loves his mommy so much that he wants to be in your arms all the time.” 

“I think it might be because I smell of milk,” she hums and sits on the bed, her back against the headrest as she rubs her eyes, “But that’s a sweet thought.” 

Aaron smiles at her as he sways side to side, Issac secure against his chest, “You know as well as I do that you are the centre of the world for every Hotchner who lives in this house.” 

She feels her cheeks go warm, still not used to his love and affection even after all this time, and she is distracted by her phone as it vibrates on her nightstand. She smiles as she picks it up, a selfie of the team at Dave’s annual New Year’s Eve party starting up at her, their smiles and slightly dazed eyes letting her know they were all several drinks in. 

“Dave sent a picture of the team,” she says, turning her phone to show him, “With the caption ‘What will be your excuse to miss next year’s party?’” 

Aaron laughs and looks down to see Issac is now sleeping, “He’s asleep.” 

Emily huffs out a breath and watches as he places the baby in the bassinet on her side of the bed and stamps a kiss against his forehead. 

“I’d be pissed you got him off so quickly,” she says, wrapping her arms around one of Aaron’s the moment he’s in bed, “But I am far too tired to care about that right now.” 

He kisses the top of her head and then rests his cheek there, yawning himself as they settle against each other. He looks at the clock on her nightstand and hums, “Only one hour until the new year. I wonder what it will bring us” 

She turns her head to kiss him, “Hopefully more sleep,” she quips, smiling against his lips, “But I’d be happy with more of what we’ve already got.” 

“Me too.” 

She lets herself enjoy the silence that was so rare in their home these days, and she settles into his warmth. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, she isn’t even aware she has until she feels small hands on her face and shoulder. 

“Mom,” Jack whispers, his eyes wide as she opens hers to meet them, “Mom, we all fell asleep.” 

“We fell asleep?” She groans as she blinks a few times and she looks over at the clock to see it is now 12.30 am, “We fell asleep.” She looks over at Issac, panic racing through her until she sees he’s still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. She looks at Aaron and realises they are both still sitting up, that they’d slumped against each other in bed with the light still on and fallen asleep without realising. She looks at Jack and smiles at him, opening her arms up to him and encouraging him in for a hug. He crawls into her arms and she rearranges the covers around them both “I don’t think I’ve fallen asleep before midnight on New Year’s since I was your age, sweet boy.”

“I woke up in my bedroom but I don’t remember going to bed,” he says, resting his head on her shoulder. 

“Dad took you to bed,” she replies, smiling as she looks at her still sleeping husband.

“Should we wake him up?” 

She’s about to say no, to try and figure out how she can get them all lying down without waking him up, but then Issac cries, loud and sharp in the otherwise quiet room and Aaron shocks awake. 

“I’ll get him,” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands as he stands up. She watches with amusement as he walks a few paces and then realises she’s sitting up and Jack is with them too, “What time is it?” 

“It’s the new year Dad!” Jack exclaims, and Emily smiles at him, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year, buddy!” 

Emily turns to look at Aaron, a familiar swooping in her gut as she watches him lift Issac into his arms. She’d always known he was an amazing father, but watching him with their infant son had taken it to a new level. She wanted more kids with him, a thought that wasn’t even dulled by the bone deep exhaustion of having a baby right now, and part of her wondered if, by the end of the year, she’d once again be missing the opportunity to be drunk at Dave’s party. 

“We fell asleep.” She says simply, smiling as he hums in response, Issac against his chest as he starts to settle down, clearly just wanting to be part of the fun.

“I’m not surprised. We’ve barely slept in weeks,” he smiles at Emily and leans in to kiss her, his lips quickly stamped against hers, “Happy New Year by the way.” 

She kisses him back, “Happy New Year,” she then smiles at Jack and kisses the top of his head,  “You too, Jack,” she reaches out and runs her knuckles down Issac’s cheek, “You too, sweet boy.” 

“Happy New Year, Mom and Dad,” Jack beams at her before he leans in and kisses Issac’s cheek, “Happy New Year, Zaccy.” 

Issac blows a spit bubble and it makes Jack giggle, and Emily wipes Issac’s mouth with the sleep of her shirt. 

“I think that’s his way of saying it back, kiddo.” 

Aaron smiles at his eldest, “What do you want to happen this year, Jack?” 

He furrows his brow as he thinks about it for a second before a delighted smile spreads across his face, “I’d like a baby sister!” 

[hardlyinteresting]

Just some thoughts on Hotch and Foyet because they've been rattling around in my brain for a long time now

I've seen some jokes about the “sexual tension” between Hotch and Foyet. And I have seen jokes about Hotch being Foyet’s gay awakening, or being so hot that Foyet changed his target base.

I don't think these memes or jokes were made with malicious intent, but I do think they miss the point entirely.

George Foyet hates Aaron Hotchner. He's obsessed with him because Aaron doesn't give in to him. Aaron doesn't take the deal Foyet offers. He refuses to stop hunting The Reaper and in doing so he strips power away from Foyet.

The Reaper is a sadist. He kills for power and for pleasure. He intimidates and manipulates to inflict psychological harm and prolong suffering. Like Hotch says, Detective Shaunassy is very much a victim of The Reaper even if he never laid a hand on him.

Hotch is determined to catch The Reaper and it puts a target on his own back. The only way for The Reaper to regain the power he feels is slipping is to show Aaron what he can do. It's why he goes out of his way to change his kill tactic and take out the people on that bus. Hotch blames himself for their deaths (wrongfully so) and in that moment The Reaper wins, even if just briefly.

George Foyet steals Morgan’s credentials and leaves the bullet for him to show the power he has. And it does intimidate Morgan, but it also pisses him off. And it pisses Hotch off.

When Foyet attacks Hotch in his own home he stabs him. Multiple times. And he stabs him in the same places he stabbed himself. Every act is a display of power.

Foyet himself comments on the profile of stabbing as substitute for sexual penetration. He goes out of his way to make a comment about what it must mean if he's stabbing men now.

He tortures Hotch, and mocks him with his own profile. Hotch tells Emily later on that he passed out quickly, that he doesn't remember what happened, but we know that this isn't true. Aaron was awake. He remembers. And he's ashamed that he was violated and he hates that he knows the team knows what it means. He can lie and say he doesn't remember it, so that he doesn't have to talk about it, but the facts are still there.

But Foyet doesn't stab Hotch because he's sexually attracted to him. The same way that r*pe seldom has any correlation to actual sexual desire. It's about power, and power excitation.

George Foyet hates Aaron Hotchner and he's obsessive about it. They stand toe to toe as power equals and George needs to tip the scales. It reminds me in a lot of ways of the grave scene in Saltburn actually. And the intersection of obsession and hatred. And how intimacy is the most powerful way to destroy someone. Stabbing is personal. Stabbing is intimate. It's violating. And in Foyet’s case it's still a substitute for penetration, it's sexually motivated, but it has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with power.

But Hotch isn't the first man he's stabbed. Foyet himself was. I also think that because of the power balance and subsequent imbalance between Hotch and Foyet, there's a lot to be said about Foyet envisioning Hotch as a different side to the same coin. It's very much the classic hero versus villain set up. Very Batman and the Joker. And I think there's a lot to be said for the fact that Foyet shows Hotch his own scars and intentionally recreates them.

Basically, despite there being no ill intent, and despite the fact that I do understand the intended joke/ humor in the memes and things, they leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Aaron Hotchner is Foyet's victim in so many ways, and it's far deeper than the surface physical harm and the oblivious psychological fall out like losing Haley, or fearing for Jack’s life.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

100: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: This is your first case back after being released from prison, but are you really ready to come back? Hotch finally catches up with Foyet, and you don't know how much more heartbreak you can take before you break.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Penelope got the address to Foyet's apartment in Arlington and as much as Hotch wanted to storm the place, he had to be smart about this. You, Derek, Spencer, and JJ wait in the building across the street with SWAT gearing up, and Hotch and Emily are sitting in a car on the same road to watch the apartment, just at a different angle.

The entire street is filled with agents dressed in casual clothing. Some of them pose as construction workers, people working on their cars, mothers using empty strollers, people having a casual conversation, and just about anything else that seems normal.

To anyone walking down the street, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

"How much longer do we wait?" Emily's voice comes over the earpiece.

"I need to leave that call to someone else."

"SWAT's getting antsy," JJ says to Derek.

"I'll tell them when it's time to go. Right now we sit tight. Let them know." JJ nods and heads back over to the SWAT team. "These guys are trained to move, not just sit around. I can't really say that I blame them."

"He may not even be there anymore," Rossi says.

"I know. The longer we sit here, the further away he gets. Y/N, do you sense him? See his energy?" You're staring at the road, completely checked out. Derek walks over to you and places a hand on your shoulder to which you jump. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, no, I can't sense him. I don't know where he is," you mumble.

"Alright, this is what we're gonna do. We're gonna send in an agent posing as the superintendent of the building. Say there's a water leak or something. If he doesn't answer, which I don't think he will, we'll send a small camera underneath the door so we can get a feel of what's waiting for us inside. Then, and only then, do we go in."

An agent is dressed the part before being sent in with a worker's bag as if he is going to be working on something inside. Every agent is connected by an earpiece so you can hear what he says when he gets inside the building. You just can't see him.

"Super." The agent knocks but no one answers. "Super. There's a leak in the apartment above you. I need to check your ceiling." When there isn't an answer, he sets his bag on the ground and pulls out the tiny camera that is going to go underneath the door. "Are you getting the signal?"

Whatever the camera is picking up is broadcasted to the small TV in front of you.

"Copy," Derek says.

There doesn't look to be anyone inside the apartment that is very bare. The only kind of furniture inside is a folded table, two chairs, and a few trinkets scattered.

"No warm bodies. It looks like a kitchen table and two chairs," the agent says.

"Is that a laptop on the table?" Spencer notices. "It could be useful."

"Is that food?" Rossi asks. "Get closer to it."

"Wait, go back," Hotch orders. "What's that on the floor?" The agent moves the camera to show the mess on the floor. "It's mail."

"Go, go, go!" Derek gasps.

The entire team hauls ass to the building and when the agents pretending to be normal civilians see, they drop everything and run inside the building, too. Your team approaches the apartment first but they are hesitant to go inside. Hotch looks at you with desperate eyes.

"Is he in there?"

"No, he's not," you mutter. "I'd feel him if he was."

Hotch and Derek are the first ones inside the empty apartment. Derek and Emily go into the bedroom while the rest of you stay in the living room. On the table is an untouched meal and the mail on the ground means he must have left in a hurry. George was here but he isn't now.

"Dammit. He's not coming back here. He left an untouched meal. You drop your mail like this when you're startled, when you need to get out of dodge quickly."

"Something tipped him off. He knew we were coming here."

"The suitcases are open with some clothes missing. There's a safe with a stash of guns in it," Derek says, emerging from the bedroom.

"He didn't even bother to lock them up again. If he's in a hurry, he'll make a mistake."

"Yeah, but when Foyet gets cornered, he starts killing."

"We're not going to let that happen."

The only thing that might be able to help is the laptop on the table so the only person who can get into it is Penelope. She is still at the office but was able to get into it remotely. She gets to work immediately but the computer begins deleting everything on it until she stops it halfway through.

"He is creepy good," Penelope says when she tries to get into the computer.

"How good?"

"He wiped his hard drive. He might have been in a hurry to leave but whatever was on there, he did not want us to see it."

"Garcia, tell me that you're hacked in and that you can rebuild it," Derek says.

"Watch me work, darling." She does her thing for a total of thirty seconds. "I got something. He had an internet alarm under the name Peter Rhea. It alerted him as soon as we ran a check on it."

"What else did he wipe?"

Penelope goes through all the files and pictures rapidly.

"Garcia, wait a minute. Freeze it right there."

She stops on a set of pictures that show a white-picket fence house and a man you don't recognize. Hotch does.

"That's the US Marshal assigned to my family," he whispers.

"Foyet's been watching him this whole time?"

Hotch takes out his phone and calls Sam, the agent posted to his family. However, all he gets is his voicemail.

"Sam, it's Aaron. We found Foyet's location but he has surveillance photos of you. Call me for a meeting location or we're on our way to you."

"We're gonna need to deploy another swat unit," Derek says.

"That's gonna take another half hour."

Hotch doesn't wait another second and leaves the apartment, hellbent on finding Foyet before he gets to Haley and Jack.

It doesn't take long to get to the safe house that Sam and Hotch's family have been staying in. You don't have to go inside to know something bad happened here. You can feel the energy of Death and Evil. Hotch and Derek break down the door and rush inside only to see Sam lying on the ground with deadly wounds all over his body. Blood is everywhere. 

Foyet got to him before Hotch could.

Hotch kneels down next to Sam while Rossi gets the ambulance on the phone.

"This is Agent Rossi, FBI. We need an ambulance. We have a federal officer down."

"I wouldn't... I couldn't..."

"We're getting an ambulance," Hotch says.

"I tried. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Hotch's panic increases and you suddenly don't feel so good. You have to get out of here. Why did you think you were okay to return? "Are Jack and Haley safe? Sam, tell me what happened."

"I don't know how he got in."

You look around the safe house and try to piece together what happened moments before your team arrived. Foyet walks into the living room behind Sam and shoots him in the leg then the render him useless. He beats him with the handle of the gun before taking out a knife. He uses it to cut off Sam's fingers before leaving him there.

He uses Sam's phone and finds Haley that way.

"Sam, I need to understand. Does he know where Jack and Haley are?" Hotch asks again.

"I didn't..."

"What about her phone number? What's her safe phone number?"

"It won't matter," Sam gasps. "I tried, Hotch. I'm so sorry."

The paramedics finally arrive and assess Sam quickly, forcing Hotch to move from him.

Spencer looks at you standing away from everyone else. He knows you're not ready to come back but he also knows this is what you need right now. A distraction. That's all this job is to you now. You look up and lock eyes with him but he quickly looks away from you.

"There are gun wounds to each leg and one foot, he's missing several fingers, and appears to be badly beaten."

Sam is loaded into the ambulance and Hotch goes in after him presumably to get more answers on Haley and Jack. Your team stays at the house to gather more evidence to see where Foyet might have gone or if he even found Haley and Jack. This crime scene is the only way you're going to get evidence because Sam died on the way to the hospital.

"Foyet called Haley from Sam's phone," Hotch informs when he calls Derek.

"Alright, we'll get Garcia to trace it."

"He told her she was compromised and I was dead."

You can hear the heartbreak in Hotch's voice, and you look down emotionally. How can you ever do this job again? All you can think about is prison and the fear that if you close your eyes to sleep, you'll wake up back in that cell.

"Have you called her?" Emily asks.

"No. He said to throw her phone away and to buy a disposable."

"Hotch, we're gonna come get you right now."

"No, Anderson's bringing me a car. I'm hoping that she's just gonna call me, at least, to check."

"Foyet posed as a marshal and even called from a number that Haley recognized. She's not going to call because he scared her. That's what gets him off. The fear."

"No, he paralyzed her," Emily says. "He overwhelmed her and now she trusts him. Where do you think he would take her?"

"Witness Protection had her living in New Jersey," JJ says.

"He has a head start. He could be there now."

JJ's phone rings and she places Penelope on speakerphone so all can hear, including Hotch.

"I got a trace on Foyet. He's bouncing between a few towers."

"Where?" Hotch asks.

"Fairfax County."

"He's still local?"

"Send the coordinates to my phone."

"Done," Penelope says and sends it to Hotch.

"Why isn't he on his way to New Jersey? Wait, that phone's on?"

"Yes."

"Hotch?" No answer comes from him. "Shit, he hung up." The phone beeps signaling that Hotch is calling someone on his end. "What is that noise?"

"Hotch is calling Foyet," Penelope answers.

"Agent Hotchner," Foyet answers.

Hotch is talking to Foyet but they don't know you're listening in on the conversation. Hotch might but Foyet doesn't.

"If you touch her..."

"Be gentle like I was with you? What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something." Hotch doesn't say anything. "Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated. You're more predictable than you think."

"Am I?"

"You didn't know where Haley was so you made her come to you."

"You make me sound lazy."

"It's just another way for you to show control. Your mother tried to protect you from your father but she wasn't strong enough. You hated her for that, didn't you? You decided that all women were weak."

"Those are your words, not mine."

"Weren't you nine when you killed them?"

"It was a car accident."

"That you couldn't take credit for. That had to be hard for you. Poor George got another chance. The little orphan was saved by the wealthy, sterile Eastside couple, the Foyets. The story should have ended there."

"I don't believe in fairy tales. Do you?"

"That's the thing, George. This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. You don't have to do any of this. I know you're exhausted. You're always looking over your shoulder, always wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. Haven't you gotten what you wanted? You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're gonna study you and your methods for years and years."

Hotch is trying to get in his head but you have a feeling he won't.

"You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair. She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her." He must be right outside of their home and a chilling spark shoots down your spine. "Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?" A cell phone rings. "That's your wife. Hold, please." He puts Hotch on hold to answer Haley. "Mrs. Hotchner."

"I'm here."

"Open the gate and I'll drive in."

"Okay."

You can only assume she does.

"Aaron? I really gotta go."

Foyet hangs up on Hotch and you let your tears spill over your eyes. Hotch is completely heartbroken which you felt over the phone. This isn't going to end well and both you and Hotch know it. You have the profile of Foyet so all you need to figure out is where he told Haley to go. It has to mean something to Hotch otherwise he wouldn't get complete satisfaction of ruining his life completely.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[wereoz]

okay but i get the hotchgan people…. they are so poignantly, surreally similar with tiny differences that just… AGH. both became strict with themselves after realising they wanted to get out of their destructive, bad situations as teenagers - only hotch’s was caused by his father being abusive (its not canon but heavily implied in s1) and dying without atoning and morgan’s was caused by his father being very loving so it hurt all the more when he died. they’re both extremely secretive, hating to be vulnerable. they’re both headstrong, morgan frequently raising issues with hotch - as basically the only one who does this. morgan says he may not like hotch, but he respects him. hotch feels similarly but it seems he wishes morgan liked him anyway, bitterly bringing up the fact morgan called him a ‘drill sergeant.’ but the friction creates trust: the only one that could replace hotch as acting unit chief was morgan. morgan pulled hotch off of foyet’s body….. they’re taking over my body like a parasite

[ftm-hotch]

Some Foyet Thoughts

Comment on fall right into me

tickingclockheart Fri 13 Dec 2024 12:21AM MST: god this was so twisted in the best possible way. so, first off, foyet's voice: clear as hell. you get the menacing and deranged yet almost goofy(?) (that's not the right word but hopefully you understand what i mean) cadence he uses down perfectly. the whole "george junior" thing was funny because i can honestly see him calling it that in canon. his descriptions of hotch, from his outsider pov, were so eerie because hotch has no idea he's being watched and scrutinized like that. and i think hotch *does* realize that they're playing a "game", but the "game" he thinks they're playing is *not* the same one foyet does. foyet's contempt for haley was also super interesting to read, as well as his view of hotch's divorce as being directly related to "the game". you show foyet's intelligence clearly, but also how his obsession and delusion makes him not so different from the serial killers he wants to be considered superior to.

I literally couldn't sleep the other night bc I was thinking so hard about Hotch and Foyet, so let's get into it, "it" being a sort of brain dump for a more coherent analysis of Foyet I've got in the works.

(roughly 700 words)

When it comes to the women he kills, the lust Foyet feels is born of disgust that leads to a need to dominate and destroy them. As Hotch says in 5.09, women are weak, and he feels they're beneath him. At the same time, women have a huge psychic sway on him. He hates them so much it borders on obsession, and even when he stops killing, he can't stop himself from victimizing teenage girls (4.18). It's a need, one he can't let go of.

What's interesting in 5.09 is that Hotch connects Foyet's hatred of women to his mother, who failed to protect him from his abusive father. That gives the whole thing an Oedipal vibe that I'll explore a bit more later or somewhere else.

With Hotch, though, things are different. His lust for Hotch is destructive, but the destruction comes from a different place, an assimilative one. He wants to fuse with Hotch, maybe to trade places with him, to bring Hotch down to his level. That he wants to BE Hotch becomes very clear in 5.09: he takes over Hotch's house, plays with his son, and exerts total and final domination over his wife. For a good chunk of 5.09, he has total control over Hotch (and Haley, who he likely thinks of only in terms of Hotch).

As far as my fic goes, Foyet's assumption that the divorce had something to do with him is because he needs/wants to believe that he is as central to Hotch's life and psyche as Hotch is to his. Whether or not this is true is up for debate, but what Hotch feels for him certainly isn't the same kind of sexual obsession Foyet feels for Hotch.

Like with women, Foyet is deeply ambivalent about Hotch. He desires him sexually and in a way, romantically (coming back to that assimilative thing, which I'll come back to when I talk about 4.18). Hotch is everything to Foyet: love and hate, lust and disgust. He wants to own Hotch and be Hotch, and I think he knew, perhaps unconsciously, that their "game" could only end in his own death. Even if he had managed to kill Hotch and Jack, he was so psychically identified with Hotch by that point that I don't think he could have gone on without him. The game is truly one played until death do them part.

And now "Georgie Junior." If you're reading this and you haven't read "fall right into me," the fic this comment is on, I'll tell you everything you need to know: in the fic, Foyet refers to his penis as "Little Georgie Junior." I was fishing around for a weird euphemism for his dick because like tickingclockheart says, he's a weird guy, and the way he talks is almost goofy and definitely playful (C. Thomas Howell I love you forever). When I chose this particular phrase, I was thinking about how Foyet is totally identified with his sexuality. This is how he comes to identify so closely with Hotch. Unlike some serial killers (and a variety of other violent offenders), there's no separation between George Foyet and The Reaper. As Hotch says, "George Foyet is The Reaper." There is no difference, and while Foyet would like to think that this means he exercises total control over himself (like everything else he interacts with), it's clear that it controls him. As I mentioned before, he can't stop himself from offending even when he's not killing, even when it gets him fired from one of his jobs.

Foyet's identification with Hotch is part of why he stalks him, I think. You know that line in The Red Dragon (or NBC's Hannibal, which is an adaptation) where Will says he feels like he's doing things at the same time as (insert killer here, the reference is different in the show than in the book)? Yeah. Foyet needs to know everything about Hotch. He needs to be Hotch, and if he can't do that, he needs to destroy Hotch.

[hotchs-big-hands]

hey my loves, do you have fav Aaron headcanons?

OOOOOOO well lemme share some of mine!!

Outside of work stuff he's a bit shy actually and closed off, partially cuz he doesn't have the best self esteem (cuz of everything that happened with Haley/Foyet etc)

I don't think after Beth he would be actively trying to be with anyone again bc he doesn't think he's made for it yknow? Feels down on his luck.

His go bag has usually got a trinket or a shirt of Jack's in it so when the worst of cases happen he can retreat to his hotel room and just pull it out, remember why he's doing what he's doing.

He calls Jack every night if he's able to. Even if they in different time zones, he'll call when it's Jack's bedtime.

Doesn't think he's a very good dad at all. Doesn't believe in himself even a lil bit.

Has nightmares almost every night abt Foyet, Haley, of the possibility of if he was to lose Jack as well. On those nights where Jack appears in his nightmares and he's home he'll check on his son, sometimes he'll sit at the side of his bed. Often falls asleep there (his poor back) and Jack wakes him up. If it's still the middle of the night then Jack has him join him 🥺

(now if we talking AH x reader)

Going on with the closed off-ness, he would rly try to steer clear of you because he thinks he's bad luck and you'll leave him or you'll die bc of him. This can often come across as him being cold towards you unfortunately.

He genuinely doesn't know what to do if you approach him with your feelings for him, like he's scared. Will take him time to open up to you and let himself be vulnerable. Be gentle with him.

Actually a rly funny guy, he lives for making you and Jack laugh. Like, it's better than a silent and depressing apartment.

Actually think he would make you laugh during sex sometimes! Depending on the mood ofc but he's not afraid to make you giggle :)

He's got a lot of hurt but just be gentle and take your time with him and he'll open up to you eventually 💖💖💖💖

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil’s Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I’ve loved seeing y’all’s comments so far 😈 This is the most evil I’ve ever felt when posting a fic

Warnings: Hotch being a dick (but get used to that bc it’s not stopping); brief non-descriptive smut at the end (the REAL smut comes later dw)

Don’t forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter goes up!

Two: Was it obvious to everybody else? — “No Time To Die” by Billie Eilish

Aaron seemed to be doing better after a few more weeks. He settled in more, and got back in the groove of the BAU. You encouraged him to come out for drinks or dinner with the team, and he actually agreed. Probably because you were there, but you didn’t talk about that.

You didn’t talk about how he ended up coming home with you, or vice versa. How most days you woke up next to each other, no clothes separating you. How it really wasn’t appropriate for a boss to date an employee, especially in the FBI.

But you kept things professional in the BAU office. No one knew any different. Even out with the team, you kept your distance. You stood across the table from him most nights at the bars, to exercise restraint when you had alcohol in your system. Never mind the fact that he left first, and you shortly after, but you came in separate cars, so no one suspected a thing.

He was smiling more, laughing just a little. He had his moods, his moments when the grief manifested as irritation that he couldn't hide. His short sentences made their appearances, but they did before.

Hotch really seemed to be doing better, and everyone was relieved, happy for him.

Until the next case.

Everyone saw it. The similarities to what happened with Foyet were downright uncanny. The phone call, the taunting, right down to the husband coming home to find the mother and child murdered before he was murdered as well.

Everyone saw the sudden change in Hotch.

You kept a watchful eye on him as JJ gave the case. You weren’t the only one watching Hotch, but you were definitely the least discreet. And he noticed, locking eyes with you once and returning your concerned gaze with a frustrated glare.

“Wheels up in 15,” Hotch said, standing and scooping up his files. “Y/N, I need to speak with you in my office.”

You followed him, shrugging your shoulders to the rest of the team when they gave you questioning looks. You were sure he was upset that you kept watching him, but considering how things had been going lately for the two of you, you thought he might want…something else. You tried not to let your excitement show.

Hotch stood in his office with his hand on the door, waiting for you. He shut it behind you.

“Do we have a problem?”

You took a step back, blinking in shock. Never mind on the sex, then. “Excuse me?”

“Do we have a problem?” Hotch repeated. He hadn’t raised his voice, but he didn’t need to.

“No, sir,” you answered. It had been a while since you spoke to him this way, where he was very clearly your boss, Agent Hotchner, and not Aaron who you took showers with. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, which you knew was a lie. “We have somewhere to be.”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

+++

You sat away from Hotch on the plane, opting for a spot on the couch next to JJ. He was unreasonably angry with you at the moment, and you had no idea why, but you were determined to find out.

When he excused himself to the bathroom, you leaned closer to JJ. “Is it just me, or is he on edge?”

She didn’t need you to specify who he is. She nodded with wide eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on. This case went straight to his desk and he approved it before even showing it to me,” she said. “I don’t even know if we’ve officially been invited in. I’m trying to figure that out before we get there.”

“What?” you hissed. He never did that. “JJ, that’s not good.”

“I know,” she nodded, looking down at her file. Quietly, she mumbled, “It’s so similar.”

You heard the bathroom door open, so all you did was silently nod in reply. The details were too similar, and if he personally approved the case…

He shouldn’t be back at work. You knew in your gut that day that it was too soon. Things were going so well, you thought maybe you were wrong, maybe being back at work was what he needed to stay sane. But this was bad, especially for him.

Garcia said he passed his psych eval, but that means nothing to profilers. All of you know how to answer those questions correctly to get back to work, even if you shouldn’t be back. Everyone has done it at least once after being injured, but the situations have never been as bad as Hotch���s.

He should be retired. You knew it, even though you’d hate to see him gone.

“Y/N, I want you to come with me and Morgan to the crime scene,” Hotch announced, startling you. “It’s a big home, so we’ll need to split up. JJ, set up at the precinct with Reid, we need to know everything we can about this family. Get Garcia to send any and all information over. Emily, go with Rossi to some of the neighbors, maybe they noticed something leading up to this.”

Everyone nodded, knowing their next steps. You kept your eyes purposefully away from Hotch’s, wondering how the crime scene was going to go over with him.

+++

Morgan drove to the crime scene (you were surprised Hotch let him) and you sat in the backseat, able to share glances with Morgan through the rearview mirror.

Out of everyone on the team, Morgan is the most likely to ask the difficult questions, no matter who it is. Hotch wasn’t exempt from Morgan’s curiosity.

So you were not surprised when Morgan voiced the concerns that had been swirling in your head.

“Hotch, listen,” Morgan began, and you knew exactly where it was going. “Are you sure you want to go to the crime scene?”

“Yes,” Hotch replied, quick and sharp. “Why?”

Morgan shrugged, though you both knew the answer. “I noticed some similarities in the case file.”

“To?”

You sighed. His stubbornness was going to make this case unbearable. “To Foyet,” you blurted, ripping the bandaid off. “I know you saw it too.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment. “I did.”

“Okay,” Morgan said. “If it’s too much, Hotch, that’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped, his temper already rising. “If it wasn’t, I’d be elsewhere. I don’t need to be micromanaged.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Morgan snapped back, becoming just as irritated. “I’m here for you, man. I know none of us understand what you’ve been through, but we’re looking out for you.”

“Thanks.”

You shared a look with Morgan in the rearview mirror, raising your eyebrows at each other.

+++

Aaron stood idly in the living room. The father, Jonathan, was killed there. Behind the couch, a blood stain soaks into cream carpet.

Family pictures decorated the walls, mostly of the daughter, Elise. Very few had the mother, Georgia, next to the father. Marital problems were brewing just under the surface.

A lamp laid across the back of the couch, the shade ripped and crooked. The struggle lasted longer than the police initially thought. Aaron knew it had. He remembered. The fury that ignites when a father sees his wife and son together, dead, mutilated like animals.

Even if Jonathan was never going to win the fight, he was determined to do damage before he went down. To make the unsub pay. Aaron wouldn’t be surprised if the unsub has bruises and cuts at the very least, a broken rib or two at most.

Upstairs, Aaron could hear your and Morgan’s muffled voices and soft footsteps. He remembered how silent the house was when he arrived, when Foyet was hiding. No one moved, no one breathed. The house braced itself for what was to come.

Aaron turned toward the staircase, heard his body tumbling down on top of Foyet’s. The groaning of pain, he thought one of Foyet’s ribs broke then. Or maybe it finally broke when he kicked him.

The glass coffee table was cracked, surprisingly not shattered, but one more hit would’ve done it.

One more hit. One more. Just one more.

Aaron closed his eyes, his face warm with the memory of blood splattering his skin. Knuckles cracking from punch after punch after punch. Foyet had long gone silent, all that was left was the sound of Aaron’s heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His fists clenched. When he got his hands on this unsub…

“Nothing identifiable upstairs,” you said.

Hotch opened his eyes. He didn’t hear you or Morgan come down. You both insisted on taking the second floor, where the mother and daughter were murdered, and Hotch didn’t argue. He wanted to be left alone.

“It doesn’t look like they struggled,” Morgan added. “They might have known him.”

“Or he used a ruse,” Hotch said, his words clipped.

“Or that,” you nodded, not wanting to argue with him. “It doesn’t look like they suffered. Torture was not part of this.”

Hotch didn’t look at you. He knew what you were trying to do. And he didn’t want to hear it.

“The father struggled with our unsub for a while,” Hotch noted, pointing out his observations. “Our unsub is in shape, as was the father.”

“Garcia said the father had a gym membership,” Morgan supplied. Garcia had called while you were upstairs with some extra details and to check on Hotch.

“Both of you go there next,” Hotch said. “I’ll go back to the precinct.”

“Alright,” you said, glad to get him out of the house.

+++

After dropping Hotch off at the precinct, you and Morgan headed straight to the gym where the father regularly went.

Unfortunately, it turned up empty. The manager gave you and Morgan full access to all of the security footage, and you were able to see Jonathan on it, but nothing suspicious. You sent all of the tapes to Garcia to review more closely, but you didn’t think anything would come out of them. (Nothing did.)

Hotch finally told everyone to get some sleep around ten, but to be back at it by seven the next morning. It took some convincing, but you got him to get in the car with you.

“Even if you don’t sleep,” you said. “You can still shower and relax. Get out of the suit for a few hours.”

He smirked. And nodded.

And ended up in your bed just an hour later.

Not a single hint of alcohol was on his lips. His hair was wet from a shower, and his back was still damp. He barely made it out from under the water before throwing clothes on to come next door to see you. And you barely had enough time to register what he was there for before he was hovering over you on the bed.

“Please,” he whispered, toying with the hem of your t-shirt. “Let me.”

It didn’t take much more than that. You had wanted this for so long.

Clothes flung in every direction; you’d find them tomorrow morning at some point, when it mattered. It didn’t matter at the moment. The only thing that did was feeling Hotch’s skin on yours, feeling his fingertips tighten on your hip bones.

All he wanted was to make you feel good, to apologize for his mood in this one way that he knew you’d understand. He didn’t mean it when he got sharp with you, not really. He never wanted to. It always just happened. He couldn’t ever control it.

Somehow, with no words at all, you understood. “I know,” you murmured over and over, threading your fingers through his hair. With every kiss, every thrust, every breath, you knew. You knew what he wanted to say, but was too afraid to utter. You knew. You knew him.

[masterwords]

all is bright

Summary: After a long series of failed dates, Hotch and Morgan finally come to their senses thanks to some well-placed mistletoe.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: stomach illness mentioned, migraine, foyet mention...99% mutual pining turned first kiss

Read on AO3: all is bright

Notes: Hey there! It's been a hot minute since I posted anything. A long holiday vacation and some major flooding in our town and our house has meant not much writing time. But, I have this for you today. <3 The first of many wintry Christmas themed fics this month, and one of two that are not Secret Santa gifts! This one was written for @imagining-in-the-margins Office Party Challenge using the prompt: Characters end up beneath very suspiciously placed mistletoe at the holiday party. (I have a 2nd story in the works for this challenge as well, different prompt but same pairing of course.)

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“I saw you last night,” Derek said casually, stepping into Hotch’s office with his bag still slung over one shoulder. To Hotch he looked a little tired but he was dressed up in a black button down and slacks, put together in a way he wasn’t usually and it was a little distracting. “At the bar.”

“And you didn’t say hello?” Hotch barely looked up, just a flick of his eyes, then back at his paperwork. Derek entered like that was an invitation, just a little further. He’d wait another minute before coming in completely, let Hotch warm up or push him on his way. He didn’t have a lot of time anyway.

“You looked...occupied. A date?”

“You could call it that. It was an attempt anyway.”

“Good for you!” He meant that, too. Haley had been dead a year, and it seemed to rock him right back to the moment of his divorce, maybe worse. He’d been paralyzed completely, but the loneliness had started to feel crushing. Hopeless. And the longer it went on, the harder it felt to claw his way back out. Derek took his opportunity to drag a chair over and perch himself right in front of Hotch’s desk, to sit and talk with him for a moment. A spot of real connection after a long period of silence. He thought things would be different, but they’d settled back into uncomfortable silence as Hotch retreated into himself.

Hotch couldn’t help looking up at the sudden intrusion.

“It didn’t go well.” He didn’t look too upset by it. He kept his features carefully guarded, but it did sting to admit. He’d met Noel at the gym, not exactly the best place to meet someone but not the worst by a long shot. They’d started going around the same time, Hotch because he needed to supplement his physical therapy as he attempted to regain his fitness after Foyet’s attack and Noel because he was trying to lose ten pounds for a part. Of course he was an actor. He thought Haley would have laughed at that. In any case, they’d managed to talk about theatre while running on the treadmill, avoiding any topics of real import. After a couple of weeks and a successful audition, Noel casually asked Hotch out for a drink. “To celebrate,” he said and Hotch found that he had no real good reason to say no.

He was so damn lonely.

He gave himself a fifty fifty chance at success, having been out of the dating game long enough to be rusty but he still had a pretty firm grasp of the basics. By the end of the night he knew it wasn’t a match. Even when Noel said “I’ll call you,” and tried to kiss him on the cheek, he knew that was it. And that was okay. Like Rossi told him earlier that morning, at least he went out and tried. He got out of the house, he met someone new, he tried an appletini for the first time because his date insisted it was the best drink the bartender made (and hated every second of it, the cloying sweetness making him gag on every sip). He got out of his comfort zone and the loneliness was abated some, overall a success even if the attempt at a match was an abysmal failure.

“How is that even possible? Aaron Hotchner doesn’t fail at anything.”

Hotch sighed and put his pen down, knowing that he was unlikely to get out of this conversation without giving up some details. He put on his bravest face and sucked in a breath, not thrilled about admitting this failure to Derek Morgan of all people. There were layers to that reasoning. “For starters, he was attached to his phone the whole time. His notification sound was Minnie Mouse. He wanted to get all of my social media handles and seemed incredibly concerned when I told him that I had none. He asked me how I could possibly live without having at least one.”

“Yeah, I run into that a lot too.” Derek wouldn’t comment on the Minnie Mouse bit, but the guy sounded like a disaster. He was a little glad it didn’t work out because from his vantage point, that guy was hot as hell and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been a little jealous. From where he sat, it looked like Hotch was smiling and having a good time. He had to fight every instinct in his body not to go break in and ask Hotch to dance when the jukebox kicked up with some old Dwight Yoakam.

“He wanted to take photos of me and I asked him not to. At one point he insisted that SnapChat was safe for me to use because the photos disappeared. I tried to be polite but it’s hard to tell someone you can’t be in their photos without explaining why. They tend to think you’re just a jerk.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that my job requires me to operate cautiously.” That was an understatement, of course, and there was a lot more to it than that. He’d been stalked and stabbed in his own home, it wasn’t just his job that made him operate with an abundance of caution. He’d always been reserved even with people he knew well, more since Haley died. He’d practically sealed himself off. This date...he was stepping so far outside of his comfort zone and realizing quickly how very not ready he still was. He might never actually be ready.

Derek just nodded and smiled, leaning back in the chair. He crossed his legs and couldn’t hide the jaw cracking yawn that followed the movement.

“Late night?” Hotch asked, changing the subject abruptly. He’d had enough of talking about Noel, in fact if he never talked about him or saw him again he thought that would be just fine. It might have been a worthwhile experience but it still hurt. There was an ache in his chest he couldn’t quite shake and it didn’t have as much to do with Noel as it did simply being aware that he didn’t know how to do any of this. He wasn’t used to that feeling. And if he didn’t know how to do this, then he couldn’t shake the loneliness of an empty bed. “I saw you too, you know.”

“Yeah? So you saw me get my ass kicked to the curb huh?”

“It looked a little heated, but I figured you had it handled.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that, but I’ll bounce back. Plenty of fish in the sea.” He was so tired that he’d started using his mom’s words now. Every time he told her about a heart break, which was more often than he’d like to admit (and more often than anyone would believe) she told him the same thing. “You’ll be okay, my darling boy. You’re a catch.” He was starting to seriously doubt that statement.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“Classic BAU problem. I don’t make time for him. He’s been asking me to go on this cruise with him. And okay, yeah, some time off would be nice...but you know how that is. And I love beaches and sand and cocktails...but a cruise? Man, I don’t wanna be on a boat for a week with a bunch of screaming kids and drunk retirees.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Hotch had been on a cruise once with Haley and her family, before Jack. It was worse than Derek could imagine, of that he was certain. It had been a sensory nightmare for a man who enjoys peace and quiet. Even the room was overstimulating, and when he got back on land all he wanted was to hide in his backyard for a week recovering, tinkering, gardening. For a man who loves boats, the novelty wore off fast. He didn’t think Derek could do it.

“Right? That’s what I said. But he got these tickets, all inclusive, and he’s been after me for weeks.”

“I’d approve the time off, if you wanted to give it a shot.”

“Nah. I realized last night that we’ve been trying to force something that wasn’t right anyway. The physical stuff was fun but that’s about it. We’re incompatible. He likes soccer.”

“I like soccer,” Hotch said a little indignantly, his lips ticking up at the corners in a little smirk. Derek laughed.

“Well there’s no accounting for taste, but I can forgive you for it.”

Hotch let out a small laugh and lifted his pen again, just for something to do with his hands. He ran his fingers along the smooth line of it and flipped it over his knuckles. There have been times over the years that he’s wondered about he and Derek, if things were different, if they’d met under different circumstances. Playing in the land of make believe, that’s what his dad would have called it. No what ifs, those didn’t exist and would never exist because the time had passed. They were compatible in nearly every way, sometimes to the point of it being a little ridiculous, but he simply could not indulge himself in that way. He couldn’t ask Derek out, not ever, because it would be so wildly inappropriate of him to cross that line. And Derek would probably not be interested in him anyway, that was a pipe dream. Having things in common didn’t exactly mean romantically compatible, he was smart enough to know that.

Except when he glanced up again and met Derek’s eyes, there was something there that looked dangerous and inviting. Like he was indulging the same thoughts. It was so hard to turn the inner profiler off, especially when you can’t do anything about what’s on your mind. He’d be silly to think Derek hadn’t ever considered it too, really, even if it had only been a passing thought. Another what if. It took them almost no time at all to discover that each of them was bisexual, even if Hotch was married at the time. Haley made it well known to Derek over plenty of late night dinners and too many glasses of wine that Hotch was a theater kid, “if you know what I mean”. And Derek, well he was simply confident. It had taken him a long time to gain that confidence, a lot of years of hiding and shame built up before he decided it didn’t serve him and he was losing precious time to be happy. Plenty of fish. He was a catch. He deserved to be happy, or so his mother said. Fran Morgan said a lot of things, he had come to find out.

Except as he sat in that chair across from Hotch, he knew that kind of real happiness was just out of reach. Because he’d come to realize that Hotch was that happiness. And so he became Captain Ahab and there weren’t plenty of fish, there was one white whale. Hotch’s principals were too strong, his code when it came to work was ingrained in him so deeply that he would never ask Derek out, and he couldn’t just ask his boss out. None of it was fair.

“I suppose things could be worse,” Hotch said finally, offering a small ray of hope. “Single isn’t the worst thing in the world. It does get a bit lonely, though.”

“At least you got the kid. He’s great.” Now. He had the kid now. Because Haley died and now he was forced into being a single parent. Derek felt awful for saying it but Hotch didn’t seem to think too hard about it, he just nodded in response.

“You have Clooney.”

“Well then we’re both doing just fine, huh? Anyway, I’ve got a meeting with Strauss in fifteen. I should drop my things off in my office before I have to see her.”

Hotch hummed in response and watched Derek lift his bag, heading for the door. He paused there in the door frame and looked back, only for a moment, offering a small smile.

“Plenty of fish in the sea,” he said, a little sadly and his white whale nodded. “Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

(x)

The holidays always seemed to creep up on him. One minute it was summer, he was spending every minute with Jack he could outside of work, soaking up the sunshine and the little adventures that felt huge in the eyes of his young son. They spent a lot of time by the small courtyard pool, Hotch lying in the shade of a huge sun-bleached umbrella with a nostalgic 90s pattern still barely visible while Jack and his multitude of bright floating toys find endless amusement in the pool. Occasionally some of the neighbors would pop down, offer him a beer, let the other kids play a while, but it was always them first, them every day. It was their little sanctuary surrounded by cast iron gates and a bright blue sky. All day, camped out. He couldn’t go far, couldn’t take big long trips, he was tied to his job but they could go to the pool. Every day, sometimes. He’d pack up some hot dogs or take a frozen pizza from the oven and they would eat and enjoy the water well into the evening. It seemed to last forever and be over in the blink of an eye. Suddenly they were back to school, carving pumpkins, trick-or-treating, cooking a little Thanksgiving dinner for two (or three if Jessica didn’t have plans). And then he blinked again and it was Christmas Eve and he hadn’t done anything but work his tail end off and try to squeeze in some shopping when he could. It was Christmas Eve and he hadn’t taken Jack to see Santa, he hadn’t done much of anything.

Part of that this year he could chalk up to illnesses that had stacked up, one after another in their home. School had away of sucker punching them, and just when he thought they were coming out of one they’d be hit with another. The last illness was a brutal stomach virus that terrorized his home for a whole weekend. First Jack, then Jessica, then him, all taken down. None of them felt well enough to do anything more Christmasy than turn on a holiday movie and lay on the couch hoping not to need the bathroom. Hoping to sleep. Dreaming of eating something again, anything at that point. Hotch could have killed for a bite of dry wheat toast, but even that was too much during that awful weekend.

Jack bounced back first, followed by Jessica, and finally his body got the memo and allowed him to start eating and drinking again. “You’ve been through a lot in the last year,” Jessica said when he moaned about taking longer to feel better. He didn’t bounce back, he was crawling. “You have to give yourself time.”

He was still not feeling great, but he was back at work after almost a week. That awful weekend left him drained, and though he’d intended to go to work the following Monday, his body had other plans. He was knocked on his ass by a migraine from hell, no matter what tricks he employed it was completely debilitating. Three full days on his couch unable to do anything but the most basic functions of living. Jessica called it his illness hangover, everyone was feeling better and his body finally ran out of fumes to run on. He’d been taking care of everyone in spite of his own needs and when Jess went back to work and Jack went back to school, he all but collapsed. It wasn’t pretty. He cried more than once out of sheer frustration, a particularly low point he wasn’t proud of. But Jack made him a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and raisins and Jessica picked up his dry cleaning and did his grocery shopping and somehow he saw his way through it to the other side.

Three days was his limit. By the fourth day he was at least able to be upright, he could function. He’d be able to work at his desk and push through a pile of consults and administrative work. His jaw ached down into his neck and shoulders and he was wearing his glasses instead of his contacts out of pure necessity, but otherwise he was doing alright. Just exhausted. So exhausted, he didn’t even care that Christmas was almost over. And neither did Jack, really. They were all sort of ready to be done with it. He thought the hardest part would be dealing with the grief of a full year without Haley, their first real Christmas without her (because he could barely remember the first one, it was all such a blur of pain and work that he wasn’t even sure they did anything at all).

His routine upon entering his office was simple. Flip on the overhead light, do a quick walk through, set his briefcase in a corner within arm’s reach, turn on the space heater beneath his desk. After that first round, he would walk back and turn on the lamp, turning off the overhead light. Headache lighting. Finally, he started a pot of coffee. He could get a cup from the common area, but he had the stuff he liked right here and it would hide the dusty smell of his space heater.

With that done, he sat himself down and reclined in his chair, breathing a few times just to settle himself. Bring him here into the moment, ease the throbbing in his temples. He would make it a few hours at least if he moved slowly, if he was deliberate about how he spent his time.

His eyes caught on a small envelope, bright red and addressed in glitter pen to Sir Hotch. Penelope’s looping scrawl with a heart in place of the o in Hotch. He wondered how long it had been sitting there and he felt a small pang of guilt over it. Ridiculous and misplaced guilt for not being here, for leaving his team in the lurch. With a little hesitation, he grabbed his letter opener and sliced through the top of the envelope, sliding out a small white invitation emblazoned with brightly wrapped gifts and other various Christmas drawings. Hand drawn, he could tell. She made it herself.

A party invitation, at first glance. His eyes scanned the little pictures first, then lit on the actual information and he felt his stomach twist.

That night. 7pm. Bring a white elephant gift.

“Sir!” Penelope exclaimed as he read through the note a second time. “I didn’t realize you’d be back today. I sort of thought you’d be out until after the holiday...how are you feeling?” She didn’t bother to try and mask the way she looked him over with concern in her features. He didn't hold it against her, he knew he looked like death warmed over.

“Better, thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m only seeing your invitation now.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come. I’m sure you still need to rest. I actually just wanted to come up and say not to worry about it...I didn’t know you were sick when I brought it in here.”

He scanned the invitation again and offered her a smile. “You know, we haven’t done a single fun thing this season. I’m hoping to take Jack to the mall to see Santa tonight as a last ditch effort to save the holiday, it’s near your place. We could stop by afterward.”

The way Penelope’s face lit up set his heart on fire. She never expected him to come, that much was clear. Even if he hadn’t been sick, she had already prepared herself for him to politely decline. And he almost did, too. He knew he wasn’t likely to feel up for a party that night, he didn’t feel up for one right then either, but something told him he had to go for it. Even if it was just a quick pop in.

“That sounds...so great. Thank you sir. You don’t have to bring a white elephant gift...just...you guys just come. That’s the gift. Having you and Jack in my home.”

“I’ll bring something. I don’t want to throw off the count.” He smiled at that, hiding the fact that while he’d always been good at gift giving, white elephant exchanges had always eluded him. He was better at sincere than silly or broad. He’d have to ask Jessica, she would know what to buy. “Is there anything else you need? Food or drinks, utensils?”

She was beaming now, hardly able to contain herself. He could scarcely believe that him coming to her party was such a good thing. “Nope. Nothing. Just come.”

(x)

From the street, they could already see Penelope’s apartment. Jack had been there a few times for gatherings and once or twice when Hotch was in a pickle and needed someone to watch him for a few hours. She had really come through for him more than once. Her apartment window was lit up with bright twinkling lights from the inside, a gaudy Christmas tree drenched in decadent decorations right in the middle of the display. Shadows moved at the periphery, everyone was already inside. He knew he’d be late but he hadn’t realized just how late. The line to see Santa was shockingly long this late in the season, he really thought he’d be one of very few failures standing in line waiting for the last glimpse of the man in red. He had to leave early to begin delivering gifts, of course, so they were on a pretty strict clock. He made it just in time.

“Are we late, dad?” Jack asked as they entered the building, the air inside warming their cold noses and fingers. He was parked a few blocks away, somewhere with easy access to the mall and her place.

“A little,” he replied, nudging Jack past the elevator. They took the stairs up, Hotch insisting they’d warm up faster if they get their blood pumping. Jack didn’t think that was true, he just guessed his dad was afraid of elevators. He never took them if he didn’t have to.

They could hear Christmas music coming from Penelope’s apartment when they entered the hallway, and as they got closer they could begin to make out the song. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, the good version Hotch thought. The classic. He enjoyed all Christmas music, but he had a special affection for the oldies, the stuff his mom used to play on crackling vinyl when he was a kid.

“The Home Alone song!” Jack squealed, rushing toward the door and knocking excitedly. They had just watched that movie over the weekend and he’d been cleaning up all sorts of Jack’s little traps ever since. No wet bandits would be getting into their apartment on Jack’s watch. Penelope answered the door in a dress that almost hurt Hotch’s eyes, twinkling lights all over that reflected off of his glasses matched the biggest smile he’d ever seen.

“You made it! Did you see Santa?” She crouched to talk directly to Jack right away, leaving him standing there watching. He scanned the party and noticed that the entire team was packed inside of that little apartment.

“Yeah! I did!”

“What was he like? Did he smell like cookies? I always remember him smelling like sugar cookies.”

“He smelled like...candy canes!” Jack wrapped his arms around her neck when she extended her arms to him without hesitation. His hug was full and tight.

“What did you ask him for?”

“It’s a secret!”

“Oh, oh yeah...I guess I forgot that part. Come inside you two! It’s cold out here!” As Hotch entered, he extended his hand with a small wrapped gift inside. It was a little box, the smallest thing on the table and he was a little concerned he chose the wrong thing. He’d had plenty of ideas, all of which Jessica said were wrong or boring – she made the choice in the end, insisting that he would bring the one thing everyone in this crowd would need and no one would ever think of. No one would ever see it coming, especially from him. He wasn’t sure that was such a great thing, but it was done now. He’d committed.

They dove into the gift exchange almost immediately. He barely had time to get a mug of coffee in his hand before they were choosing numbers and stealing gifts from one another. His little box stayed put for a long time, almost insultingly long really. The big gifts were pulled first, followed by the more obvious secondary gifts. By the time his number was called there weren’t many left, and his options were slim so he decided just to take the box he’d brought and slink back into his little corner. Worried the gift was wrong, or might be interpreted incorrectly, he hoped he could just go back home with it and maybe return it after Christmas.

Once everyone was holding a gift from the pile, the real fun began – Penelope announced that one at a time, in their original order first, everyone could begin stealing gifts. One exceptionally large box made the rounds the longest, not because anyone thought the gift would be particularly good so much as they were curious what was hiding inside. Reid had brought the gift, Hotch knew it just by the look on his face as people passed it around and around curiously and he imagined it probably had a sock or something of equally little value but high amusement inside. For someone from Las Vegas, Reid's poker face left a lot to be desired.

Out of nowhere, Derek appeared in front of him with a grin. “I want that,” he said, indicating Hotch’s little gift. Reluctantly Hotch handed it to him and accepted what he had in his hand in return. They couldn’t trade back. That was it. Derek was the final trade and everyone was stuck with what they had.

His heart sank at the thought of Derek opening what he brought, of all people.

“Okay, on the count of three...everyone open your gift! Good luck!”

Hotch let Jack open his gift, even though Jack had a pile of gifts beneath the tree of his own to open when it was time. The little boy scrunched his nose once he got a peek and handed the gift to his dad to finish opening – it was a pair of mittens, nothing interesting to him. Nothing fun at all. He rushed back to where Henry sat beside the tree, eager to get into the really good stuff. Hotch examined the mittens, pulling them gingerly from the rest of the wrapping and holding them up to his hands – they would fit. Penelope made them, he could tell her handiwork (and he’d seen her in her office toiling over them during her lunch hour more than once in the last month). Mittens weren’t exactly his style but his hands did get cold easily and they were a deep, rich gray flecked with blue. He could wear them when the arctic chill in his office got unbearable. His circulation wasn’t what it used to be, if it ever was good in the first place. He tried not to watch Derek too closely when he opened his gift – pulling the little velvet bag out of the box and examining the contents with an amused smile on his face. There were three oversized wooden dice inside with words and little pictures burned into the sides. Date night dice, Jessica insisted they all needed this gift. She’d been hoping JJ would get it, probably, but each of them could use the help in that department. Date nights were spontaneous at best in their line of work, and you didn’t have time to sit and talk it out or make long term plans...it had to be quick and it had to be fun. Make the most of whatever time you get. She’d picked out the appropriate dice, simple food & activities, though she did try to push the sexy ones at him more than once. He drew the line at sexual gifts for his subordinates. Well, he drew the line quite a ways before that even, but that was definitely not going to happen.

The look on Derek’s face as he read the sides of the die made him smile in spite of himself. He seemed pleased with them, or amused maybe, and carefully slipped them into his pocket before heading back to the kitchen for a new drink. Hotch thought about following for a topper on his coffee but Jack’s voice called him to the tree where Penelope wanted the kids to start tearing into their pile of gifts before they went rabid and did tore apart her whole apartment. He made his way through the crowd and stood beside JJ and Will, the feeling of joy at seeing their kids happy and the dread of having to take all of this mess home and find places for it almost palpable between them. JJ was holding a small disposable camera in her hand that looked like it had been pulled right out of someone’s attic. “That from Reid?” he asked and she nodded, smiling. A little yellow Kodak disposable camera inside that enormous box. Reid outdid himself.

“I haven’t seen one of these since college. You think it still works?”

“Only one way to find out,” he replied, hoping she might test it out. The film was probably long since ruined, but the thought of having some of these memories preserved in that way was enticing. He’d always loved the look of real film. Or maybe he was just a nostalgic, sentimental old man now.

“They really went all out,” JJ said, shaking her head as her son ripped wrapping paper to shreds like a wolverine. “I don’t think Henry’s room is big enough.”

Hotch smiled and nodded in agreement, watching as Jack made it into the first of his many gifts. The whole team brought something for the kids, it was too much. Superheroes, books, legos, everything he loved. “Dad, look!” It was squealed over and over as Jack held up gift after gift and Hotch rubbed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses suddenly felt heavy and tried not to let on just how anxious all of that stuff made him feel. Knowing it would have to be in his home, exploding out of Jack's room. The boys finished and rushed around the room, hugging everyone before returning to their spoils and ripping into the boxes, comparing, relishing, delighting in the bright shiny new. Hotch’s head was starting to throb again, the heat and sound of the room was too much. The coffee wasn't helping as much as he'd hoped, but alcohol would have only made things worse. He began thinking about leaving, before it got bad enough that he didn’t think he should be driving Jack around on icy roads. This was the most time he’d spent off of his couch just about all month and he was feeling it now.

“Hotch?” Derek asked, touching his elbow from behind. He turned and took a few steps away from the crowd, getting close to where Derek was so he could hear him over the conversation and Bing Crosby crooning. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replied a little too quietly. The room was spinning in a way that made him feel intoxicated, a side effect he often felt being a little too close to Derek. Smelling his cologne, sandalwood and spice, something deep and woodsy and warm. It momentarily distracted him from the pain in his head. “I hope my being out hasn’t been too much strain on you.”

“Nah, it’s all good. Everyone pitched in.”

“Good,” he said, unable to pull the words he really wanted. He’d like to say thank you, say how much it meant to him knowing that Derek could step into his role and let him have time off when he needed it, he’d like to say a lot of things right then but his mind was a blank pulsing throb. He could feel every nerve ending in his body when Derek closed the distance between them and, with one lithe finger, pointed casually to the ceiling above them. Hotch let his eyes follow the line Derek’s finger drew, up up up to a plant hook with a big mangled bunch of leaves hanging from it. A fist sized ball of green and white, and suddenly his mouth was going dry.

Mistletoe.

Right above them. He was no expert on the rules, didn’t have a lot of experience in this arena, but he knew what you were supposed to do. Did that apply now? At an office party? Who did Penelope hang it for, anyway?

“Right.” He said it and regretted it immediately. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by it. Derek laughed and nodded in agreement for some reason. Maybe he understood. Maybe he just thought it was funny.

“Right.”

On bated breath, Derek hooked his hand on the back of Hotch’s neck like right was an invitation, and maybe it was. His warm palm rested against Hotch’s skin, rough finger pads pulling him close until their lips met. Gently at first, a little timid, just a brush and a pause, searching eyes and held breath before pressing harder. Hotch wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, whether he should fall into the kiss or wait it out. What he wanted and what he should do were battling it out in his mind until he found himself nipping helplessly at Derek’s lower lip, smiling into the kiss, into his rich wine breath, and then his hands were settling on Derek’s hips and squeezing. His thumbs were hooked in Derek’s belt loops, and he had become acutely aware that the noise and chatter in the room had died out, left with nothing but the skin tingling intoxication of Otis Redding singing White Christmas.

It was Hotch's favorite Christmas song, and he knew he was helpless to do anything more than enjoy this moment. Derek began to sway along with the music, one hand still hooking the back of Hotch’s neck, the other cradling his jaw. He traced Hotch’s jawline, to his lips and back with one thumb, fingers splayed over his face a little possessively. He broke the kiss, coming up for air only briefly, smiling against Hotch’s lips. “Been thinking about doing that for a really long time…”

Their foreheads touched and rested against one another, each of them coming to terms with this moment. The first time, the first kiss. A long-awaited, fat chance, when pigs fly kind of kiss that hardly seemed real. Hotch closed his eyes and breathed out. “Me too.”

“Think maybe we could give those date night dice a spin sometime?” Derek asked and Hotch felt a flush rise in his neck, his cheeks burning. He’d forgotten all about them, honestly. He’d sort of forgotten everything in the moment. He nodded, just a slight movement.

“Sure,” he said before he couldn’t think about words anymore and found himself going in for another kiss. Derek’s lips, cherry chapstick and wine, were intoxicating. “Merry Christmas Derek,” he whispered between breaths, between kisses that made him forget where he was and how many people were watching. Who was watching. How many rules they were violating.

And if that realization weren't damning enough, Hotch heard a small clicking sound followed by a quick blinding flash and a shout of joy. JJ had used her little Kodak disposable camera on them. She wound the film excitedly and began wandering around the room clicking photos as quickly as she could, distracting everyone momentarily.

“Merry Christmas Hotch,” Derek replied, anchoring him in place, blinking the flash from his eyes. Holding him there in the moment a while longer. He could feel it starting to slip away.

Everyone in the room was trying not to watch and failing miserably in their pursuit. JJ and Will were helping Henry clean up the mess of boxes and toys he’d created while Emily and Rossi argued over the names of Santa’s reindeer. Reid was frowning as he looked through a rather pornographic tarot card deck he found in one of Penelope’s kitchen drawers, simultaneously repulsed and intrigued.

Jack tapped on Penelope’s arm, pulling her attention from her kissing friends. She wasn’t even pretending not to watch. Quickly she crouched beside the little boy, never taking her eyes off of Derek and Hotch. “Yes hun?” she asked and Jack began whispering in her ear.

“I can tell you now,” he started with a huge grin, his lips tickling her ear as he cupped it with his little hands. Kid whispers were always a little wet and hot and she could feel a shiver at the base of her spine when he talked again. When he divulged his secret. “I asked Santa to give my dad something that would make him happy.”

“Oh,” she gasped, tears in her eyes. Of course he did. He would know that his dad would take care of any presents he wanted, and it was silly to think he hadn’t noticed how sad and lonely his dad was now that he lived with him full time. Surrounded by photographs of the life he’d lost. “Oh Jack. You did good. You did so good.”

“No...Santa did good. I only asked.”

Hotch hoped that little camera still had some life in it.

He'd like to see that photo.

[prpfz]

Back again!!! I’m rewatching Criminal Minds and naturally need to start writing Spencer again. I’m looking for someone who wants to play Hotch.

I’m 21+. I’m experienced and lit and comfortable with multi-para to Novella style seeking the same. I’m VERY angst friendly which is more than fair for this pairing. I don’t have any triggers but would always respect yours! I am fine with dark themes, which is also pretty standard for a show like this. I’m pretty active and can usually do daily replies and would ideally appreciate the same, but real life comes first.

I love writing side characters and would adore someone who feels the same - happy bringing in other CM characters. I’m OOC friendly and enjoy sharing memes, playlists, headcanons, etcetera. Everything you want to include in the plot will be fine with me! Share all your character thoughts.

I don’t have an exact plot in mind, but if we figure out the general season we want to write in then I’d enjoy going through the motions. A sort of colleagues with benefits thing starting up, keeping it a secret from profilers who see everything. That forming into love…

A few specific moments I’ve thought of are around the LDSK episode, following the hostage situation. The anthrax episode, after Spencer is released from hospital. Maybe something starts if Hotch learns about Diana. Also the Foyet era, around the episode Haunted in Season 5 where we see how foolish Hotch is being with his own life - he could certainly use a different outlet. I’m up for all the angst. We can go post Haley in the later seasons. We can do an infidelity arc. Let’s do anything!

If you have a plot you’ve been keen to use for these two then let me know!

Like and I’ll reach out! I’d love for you to tell me a bit about yourself (age, writing style, thoughts on the pairing etc) so we can get started! Please be actively involved in plotting! 💼

give a like and anon will get back to you

[roosunday]

Back again!!! I’m rewatching Criminal Minds and naturally need to start writing Spencer again. I’m looking for someone who wants to play Hotch.

Please only like this advert if you’re interested! Read the full advert please.

I’m 21+. I’m experienced and lit and comfortable with multi-para to Novella style seeking the same. I’m VERY angst friendly which is more than fair for this pairing. I don’t have any triggers but would always respect yours! I am fine with dark themes, which is also pretty standard for a show like this. I’m pretty active and can usually do daily replies and would ideally appreciate the same, but real life comes first.

I love writing side characters and would adore someone who feels the same - happy bringing in other CM characters. I’m OOC friendly and enjoy sharing memes, playlists, headcanons, etcetera. Everything you want to include in the plot will be fine with me! Share all your character thoughts.

I don’t have an exact plot in mind, but if we figure out the general season we want to write in then I’d enjoy going through the motions. A sort of colleagues with benefits thing starting up, keeping it a secret from profilers who see everything. That forming into love…

A few specific moments I’ve thought of are around the LDSK episode, following the hostage situation. The anthrax episode, after Spencer is released from hospital. Maybe something starts if Hotch learns about Diana. Also the Foyet era, around the episode Haunted in Season 5 where we see how foolish Hotch is being with his own life - he could certainly use a different outlet. I’m up for all the angst. We can go post Haley in the later seasons. We can do an infidelity arc. Let’s do anything!

If you have a plot you’ve been keen to use for these two then let me know!

Like and I’ll reach out or, even better, DM me! I’d love for you to tell me a bit about yourself (age, writing style, thoughts on the pairing etc) so we can get started! Please be actively involved in plotting!