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chithereader · 4 months ago

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jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder.

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face.

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through.

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought.

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right?

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh.

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day.

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why.

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?”

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something.

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing.

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty.

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.”

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch.

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you.

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely.

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse.

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate.

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file.

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss.

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth.

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short.

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud.

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile.

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground.

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?”

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing.

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand.

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.”

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.”

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob.

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud.

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia.

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face.

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!”

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you.

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting.

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience.

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?”

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?”

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.”

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.”

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.”

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really?

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.”

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?”

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?”

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.”

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous?

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish.

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–”

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now.

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you.

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt–

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice,

“You don’t think you’re my girl?”

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i-get-obsessed-fast · 22 days ago

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Under Watch

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x Hotch’s Daughter .・゜✭・.

Summary: A string of murders on your college campus brings your estranged father and his team to investigate. To keep you safe, he assigns Spencer Reid to watch over you.

A/N: this takes place in the season 6, I just wanted glasses Reid to be in the pics, also not proofread I will come back and correct it later :) xoxox

BYR(b4 u Reid): babysitter Reid, Strict Hotch, Murder, guns, knives, SA, semi-detailed murder description, cuss words, talks of alcohol, kidnappings, stalking, and detailed make out sesh. | hopefully I don’t forget anything!

“I’m free tonight. We can start working on the project.” You tell the guy walking beside you as you both step out of the lecture hall.

“Yeah, that works. How’s seven?” He asks, holding the door open for you.

“That should be fine.” You say with a small smile

You don’t know him well, barely noticed him until today when he’d ask if you’d be his partner. But before the conversation could continue, a voice cuts through the noise of campus.

“Y/n!”

You turn, scanning the crowd until your eyes land on him. Your father stands in the middle of the quad, his team beside him. The weight of their stares settles over you.

Your brows furrow as you step toward them.

“Why are you here?” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t back down.

Your father’s expression hardens. “You don’t know? Do you not stay informed on what happens around you?”

His tone makes you stiffen. “Mr. Hotchner.” The dean interjects carefully, stepping forward. “We’ve chosen to keep things as contained as possible. We don’t want to incite panic among the students.”

“Not warning them is more dangerous.” Rossi counters, unimpressed.

The dean exhales. “I understand your concerns but unless you’ve run a college campus, you don’t understand the position we’re in.”

You glance past your father at his team. Faces you recognize from home but haven’t seen since you left Virginia. They watch the exchange closely, some with sympathy, others with quiet apprehension.

“What’s going on?” You finally ask.

Your father doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for your arm, his grip firm but not forceful. “Come with us.”

You were led into the campus security building, where case files are scattered across tables. Your eyes flick to a white-board in the next room, crime scene photos pinned in a neat but unsettling arrangement.

“Shut that.” his voice is sharp, and when you glance back at him, his expression his unreadable.

“We were called here because there's been a series of murders on campus. Young woman.” he says, locking eyes with you.

For the first time, you see it, the fear beneath his controlled demeanor.

You don’t know how to respond, but when he lays down three photographs, fear settles in your chest.

“Sarah Johnston, Abigail Smith, Elizabeth Adam’s.” He lists “Do you see a pattern?”

Your stomach twists. Hair color, similar build. Even the way they smiled in their photos. You and these girls resembled each other.

“Could be a coincidence,” you murmur, though you don't believe it.

“It’s not, he has a type.” he firmly says “You can't be alone on this campus. Travel in groups, carry your pepper spray, and you are not to be alone with any male students.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I have a project to do with a guy from my class-”

“Meet in a public space, surrounded by people.” Rossi interjects.

“The library is packed, and the study rooms are booked.”

“Cancel.” your father orders. “Tell him you're sick, do it now.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Your father stares. That look, the one that's ended entire arguments without him saying another word. You hesitate, but your fingers move, typing the message before holding up your phone for his approval.

“Good.” he nods, then turns to Reid. “Take her to her dorm, please.”

“I can walk myself.”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why can't you just listen for once?” his voice rises, frustration creeping in.

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut.

“What about everyone else?” you challenge, voice tight. “The girls who aren't getting warnings? The ones who don't have an agent escorting them to their dorms? This isn't fair. I'm just a student like the rest of them. I don't need your protection.”

“You don't understand, and right now, I don't care if you do.” he says, his tone final. “My only concern is getting you to your room. And you're staying there for the rest of the night. Reid, take her.”

“If it helps.” Emily adds gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “A statement is going out today. The school is setting up hotlines, resources, and people will be warned.”

You let out a slow breath. It doesn't make you feel better. Not really.

“Fine.” you turn on your heel, heading for the door. Spencer Reid following right behind you.

The walk back to your dorm is quiet, not awkward, just silent.

When you step inside, you toss your bag onto your bed and gesture toward the other one. “You can sit there. My roommate dropped out a while ago, so no one uses it.”

Reid hesitates before sitting. “Does your dad know?”

You glance at home, confused. “Why would he?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that’s something a father would want to know.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our relationship is… complicated.”

“Yeah.” He says, nodding slightly. “I get that.”

You eye him for a second. “You and your dad close?”

Reid shifts in his seat, before you can take it back, he says. “He left my mom and me when I was a kid.”

You frown. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t affect me anymore.”

There’s a moment of quiet before you decide to change the subject. “I have some games. Do you like Jenga?”

That earns a small chuckle from him. “Yeah.”

You kneel beside your bed, pulling out the game. There were probably better things you could be doing, like assignments or your project, but this seemed like a better way to pass the time.

As you both set up the blocks on the floor, you smirk. “Usually when I play, my friends and I have a rule. Whoever knocks it over takes two shots.”

Reid gives you an amused look. “Are you even legal to drink?” You raise an eyebrow. “What, are you gonna tell my dad?”

He tilts his head. “Should I?”

You laugh. “I don’t think it’ll surprise him, I’m pretty sure he expects worse.”

Reid’s expression shifts slightly. “You know, your dad talks about you a lot. He’s very proud of you.” You freeze for a second. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Reid nodded.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead gestures to the game. “You go first.”

The game begins, each turn making the tower more unsteady. Eventually, Spencer study’s the blocks carefully, trying to find a safe one to pull.

“This is getting difficult.” He mutters, eyes narrowed.

You laugh, watching as he finally picks one and pushes it, only for the entire tower to collapse.

“Shit.” He murmurs under his breath causing your eyes to widen. “Did you just cuss?” You teased.

Reid shakes his head with a smirk, while you get up and dig through your closet. When you return, you hold up a bottle. “Two shots?”

His eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “I’m working.” You scrunch your face. “Is it really called working when you’re watching an adult?”

“I’m still on duty.” He argues. “Your dad would fire me.”

You roll your eyes. “My dad loves you. But fine Spencer, be lame.” Before he could reply, there’s a knock at the door. You both glance at each other.

“I got it, " you say, heading toward the door forgetting there was a killer on the loose and Spencer Reid wasn’t in your room to play games.

Spencer moves ahead of you. “I’ll get it.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. You step back as he opens the door.

Standing there is Eli, the guy from your class.

“Oh, uh… is y/n here?” Eli asks, looking past Spencer. You step forward going to the door. “Eli? What are you doing here?”

“I saw your message. Just wanted to check on you.” He says, then glances at the bottle in your hand. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Having a party?”

You quickly lower the bottle. “No, I was just-no.” You stutter.

Eli raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look sick.”

You sigh. “Yeah…I’m not. I just can’t do the project tonight. I’m sorry.” Eli glances between you and Reid before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”

Silence lingers between the three of you. It’s awkward.

“Wait.” You ask suddenly. “How did you find my room?”

“Lisa.” He answers quickly. “I asked her.”

You nod, but something about it feels… off. You glance at Spencer, who’s watching Eli closely, brows drawn together like he’s analyzing something.

Eli clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you guys be. Let me know when we can start the project.”

“Yeah, I will.” You say, before shutting the door.

You turn to Spencer. “That was awkward.” He nodded. “Is that your friend?”

“No. Barely know him. Just a project partner.” You say.

“Hmm.” Spencer’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression unreadable. You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He says, but there’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. “You just can’t be too sure about people.”

You nod. “Do you think the unsub will be caught tonight?” He exhales, his lips pressing together in thought. “I’m not sure. So far, he hasn’t left much evidence behind.”

“How does he do it?” You ask, curiosity outweighing your nerves. Spencer hesitates. “I don’t think your dad would appreciate me telling you.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I don’t think that’s my dad’s choice.”

He sighs, clearly understanding your frustration. After a moment, he finally gives in.

“He stalks them.” Spencer says, his voice lower now. “He waits until they’re alone, takes them somewhere secluded. He hurts them… bad. And then he.” His jaw tightens before finishing. “He assaults them. It’s brutal y/n. That’s why Hotch is so worried.”

Your breath catches. His gaze is firm, searching yours, waiting for a reaction. And for a second, you don’t know what to say. You had meant what you said to your dad about it not being fair, but hearing this… it makes you feel something else.

“If he stalks them, does that make his killings far apart?” You ask, your voice quieter now.

Spencer nods. “He’s projected to strike again in a few days, but we are trying to prevent that. He only keeps his victims for a few hours, but he takes his time choosing them. He studies them.”

Goosebumps rise along your arms, and suddenly, the walls of your dorm feel too close. “I need air.”

Spencer watches you for a moment before offering. “Well can walk around?”

You nod.

The two of you walk with no destination, the sky shifting into soft oranges and purples as the sun starts to set. The air is cooler now, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable.

“So.” Spencer finally says, breaking the quiet. “How are you liking college?”

You glance at him, appreciating his efforts. “It’s been good. A lot of people to meet, a lot of things to do.”

He nods. “When I was in college, I didn’t really… do much.” You let out a small laugh. “Weren’t you, like, fourteen?”

He smirks. “Yeah. That might have had something to do with it.” You tilt your head. “What’s it like? Being that smart?”

Spencer thinks for a moment before answering. “Uh- I don’t know. Sometimes it’s good. Other times it feels like… too much. Even for myself.”

“Must be exhausting.” You murmur

“Can be.” He admits.

The wind picks up slightly, and you shiver without meaning to. You mentally curse yourself for not bringing a jacket.

Spencer notices. without a word, he shrugs off his own. “Here. Take mine.”

You shake your head. “What? No, it’s cold. You need it.”

“I was starting to feel hot in it anyway.” He says, holding it out to you. You narrow your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Spencer.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he just steps closer and drapes the jacket over your shoulders himself, his hands brushing against you for just a second longer than necessary.

You blink up at him, caught off guard.

“Now you have to take it.” He says simply.

You huff but pull it tighter around yourself, the fabric warm. “Fine.” Spencer smirks, satisfied.

You glance down, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He replied, giving you the same soft smile, and with that you both continued walking.

The conversation mostly consisting of Spencer throwing out random facts.

Just as he finished explaining why flamingoes stand on one leg, you glanced down and noticed your shoelace had come undone.

“Damn.” You muttered

Before you could react, Spencer crouched down without hesitation, his long fingers grabbing the laces. He tied them quickly, but his movements were gentle, careful.

You swallowed, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. It was a simple sweet gesture.

“Thanks.” You murmured.

He looked up at you, his eyes catching yours for just a second too long before he stood back up. You cleared your throat, motioning toward a nearby bench.

The two of you sat down, silence setting over for a brief moment before you turned toward him. “So, Spencer, do you have a girlfriend?”

The question clearly caught him off guard. His capture stiffened slightly, and he glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-no. Why?”

You shrugged. “Because you do all these nice little things. Feels like there has to be a girl.”

He shook his head. “No girlfriend.”

“Hmm.” You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s surprising.” Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “Why?”

“Because.” You said simply, “You’re sweet. You’re smart.” Then, without much thought, you reached up and lightly brushed your fingers through his hair. “And you’re pretty good-looking.”

The reaction was instant. His whole face turned red, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Even his ears betrayed him, turning an adorable shade of pink.

“I-I just… I don’t know.” He stammered. “I’m busy, I guess.”

“Yeah.” You hummed, leaning back against the bench. Then, he smirked slightly, his confidence suddenly returning. “Why do you care?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. I’m just nosey, must be genetic.”

“Right.” He said, nodding as if he didn’t believe you for a second. You narrowed your eyes at him, amused by his boldness. Before you could stop yourself, you turned the question back on him.

“Well, do you think I have a boyfriend?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Yeah.” You answered casually, watching as his smirk faltered for just a second. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the small shift, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly against his lap.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He said

You let the silence hang for a bit too long before grinning. “I’m joking, Spencer. I don’t have one.”

He exhaled, shaking his head as he turned toward you, unimpressed. “Yeah, I think I can see why.”

You gasped, shoving his shoulder slightly. “Wow. Sassy.”

Spencer just laughed, and you found yourself staring at him a little too long, watching the way his smile softened his features.

Then, almost instinctively, the teasing faded. The space between you seemed smaller. His gaze flickering to your lips, so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

Your heart picked up speed.

“You know.” You said, your voice lower now. “For someone who’s never had a girlfriend, you sure don’t suck at flirting.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Who says I’m flirting?” You arched a brow. “Oh, so you just tie everyone’s shoes for them, and hand out your coat?”

He smirked but didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted just slightly toward you.

Neither of you spoke, but something was different now, he was watching you in a way he hadn’t before, like he was debating something.

And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned in first. He met you halfway.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge it was happening. But then Spencer’s hand found your jaw, his touch delicate, and suddenly, it wasn’t hesitant anymore.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his button up, pulling him just a little closer, feeling the warmth of him against you.

Spencer’s lips moved against yours with surprising confidence, his fingers firm against your jaw as he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, pleading for entrance, and you don’t hesitate to grant it.

A quiet sigh escaped you, your hands instinctively tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

“Spencer.” You breathed between kisses, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His lips left your mouth only to find the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck. The contrast was dizzying.

The Spencer you knew, the one who rattled off statistics and fidgeted when people stood too close felt miles away from the one currently leaving a trail of heat against your skin.

Had you really been gone that long?

Deep down, a part of you had always wondered about him.

You’d always thought he was cute. He was different from you in almost every way. Careful where you are reckless, and logical where you are impulsive.

Maybe that was why you found yourself so drawn to him.

His hands moved from your jaw to your throat, his fingers grazing lower, trailing down your body until they landed on your waist. His touch was warm, grounding.

You weren’t sure if you were pulling him closer or if he was the one doing it, but the space between you two was practically nonexistent.

Then, suddenly, he stiffened.

Spencer pulled back so fast it left you breathless, his wide eyes darting around. “Did you hear that?”

You blinked, still dazed. “What?”

“I think I heard something.” His body tensed, one hand instinctively resting on his gun as he stood, scanning the area.

You quickly straightened, glancing around. The campus was quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of crickets and rustling leaves from the breeze.

“Maybe we should head back.” You suggested, still trying to catch your breath.

Spencer nodded, but not before his gaze flickered back to you, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss you’d just shared.

“Yeah.” He said, his voice quieter now. “It’s late.”

The both of you walk back in silence, both thinking about the actions that took place a moment ago.

As you finally reach your dorm, something on the floor catches your eye. A pink envelope.

Spencer notices it too, his sharp gaze narrowing. Without hesitation, he bends down to grab it. “It just has your name.” He says, his voice low. He hands it over, and you take it.

You open it without thinking much, assuming it’s some harmless note. But the moment you pull out what’s inside, a wave of fear washes over you.

“Oh my god.”

Your voice trembles as your fingers clutch the two Polaroid photos. The first is of you and Spencer kissing. His hand cupping your jaw, the image capturing the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

The second photo was when Spencer was scanning the area after hearing a strange noise, his hand on his gun. Someone had been watching. Someone had been right there.

You shove the photos toward Spencer. His expression hardens as he studies them, brows furrowing deeply. He looked furious.

“We have to give these to the team.” He says firmly.

“No, it’s probably just a prank.” You argue, though your voice is weak. You’re desperate to convince yourself, but even you don’t believe it.

Spencer shakes his head. “We can’t be too sure. I’m sorry.” He apologizes as he slides the photos back into the envelope.

You swallow hard, the weight of it all crashing down. “My dad’s going to be upset.”

Spencer steps toward you, his fingers brushing the strands of your hair behind your ear. “It’s going to be alright.” He assures you.

Your eyes scan him, and you can see guilt flashing across his face. You know he feels responsible, and you can’t help but feel the same.

Without another word, he pulls out his phone. “We have something that might be connected.” He says into the receiver, his voice clipped. “Alright. We’ll be on our way.”

The walk to campus security is silent, the dread growing heavier with every step. When you arrive, your father is already there, his signature stoic expression barely concealing his concern.

“What is it?” He asks, striding toward you both.

You and Spencer exchange a quick, uneasy glance. Spencer hands him the envelope.

Your father opens the envelope, his eyes flickering over the contents. The tension in the room is unbearable. You swear you can hear Spencer’s heartbeat.

“What is this?” Hotch’s voice is low, but the restrained anger is clear. His gaze shifts to you, demanding answers.

“They were taken of us… not too long ago.” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't respond immediately. The weight of his silence is crushing.

“So, I send an agent to watch over you, and instead, you make him go against orders. You kiss him while a murderer is on the loose, on your campus, targeting girls.” his words cut through you.

“I-I know. I'm sorry.” you stammer, instinctively glancing at Spencer. “It was my fault.”

But Spencer immediately shakes his head. “No it wasn’t. I’m the one that didn’t follow orders, it’s not her fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is. You both had orders, and you failed to comply.” He looks directly at Spencer. “Reid, join JJ. Now.”

Spencer hesitates, clearly torn, but nods. He gives you one last glance before walking away.

“Y/n.” Your father’s voice lowers. “We need to talk.”

You follow him into an empty room, the door clicking shut behind you. The air is thick with unspoken words. You brace yourself, expecting the worst. But when your father finally speaks, it isn’t the scolding you anticipated.

“Do you think you might know who took these?” His tone is calm, but his eyes remain sharp.

You’re caught off guard. “No. I don’t.”

“Think y/n. Is there anyone - someone you’ve been seeing? Someone who might have been watching you?”

You rack your brain, the panic making it hard to focus. “There’s… Eli. The guy I’m working on a project with. He came by to check on me, but that’s really the only person I’ve talked to.”

Your father nods, processing. “And your roommate, do you think she seems like the type to give out your whereabouts? Does she seem untrustworthy?”

You shake your head. “I don’t have one.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” You admit, your voice small.

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were alone in your dorm? That was the one thing I take comfort in while you are away, knowing there was someone else there.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

His expression softens just a fraction, but the frustration is still evident. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I need to question Eli. What class?”

“Psychology.” You say

He gives you a short nod and turns to leave. You follow him out, but the tension lingers.

“Garcia can you look through the schools files for an Eli, a class he takes is psychology with y/n.” He says on the phone.

“I don’t think it’s him.” You say quietly. “I’ve barely seen him around.”

“And that.” Derek interjects, stepping beside you, “Makes him even more suspicious.”

Emily nods in agreement. “If he’s the unsub, he could’ve been targeting you. Sudden appearances aren’t always coincidences.”

You sigh, and take a seat in one of the chairs, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Despite the hum of voices around you, exhaustion wins. Your eyes fluttered close, and before you realize it, sleep over takes you.

“Okay, Garcia gave me the location of Eli’s apartment.” Your dad’s stern voice snaps you awake. “Morgan and JJ, come with me. Prentiss and Rossi, stay here and keep an eye on them.”

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sit up. “What’s going on?”

Your father doesn’t answer, already halfway through to door. Emily steps closer, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “They found Eli’s apartment. But, y/n … Eli was never enrolled in your class.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“He’s been sneaking in.” She says softly. “Pretending to be a student. We think he’s been watching you for a while.”

You stare at her, the words sinking in. Your pulse races as the realization hits. “Oh my god.”

“It’s becoming clear that you were most likely one of his next victims.” Rossi joins in, their eyes both full of empathy.

“But he seemed so…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word. Normal doesn’t feel right. Not now.

“I know.” Emily says, nodding. “It’s difficult. But we’re close to figuring this out. You’re safe now.”

You swallow, the reassurance barely easing your nerves. Rossi lays a reassuring hand on your should giving it a gentle squeeze “It’s going to be okay kid.” He says you nodded and watched as he walked away.

You sit back down, gathering the information you’ve just been told.

Just as the heavy silence settles in, Emily tilts her head, smirking slightly. “That’s a nice sweater.”

Confused, you glance down. It’s only then you remember, Spencer’s sweater. The sleeves are a little long, the faint scent of his cologne lingering.

“Oh. Uh it’s not mine.” You mumble, tugging at the hem. Emily’s smirk deepens. “I know.”

Without another word, she stands and walks toward one of the other rooms, leaving you with your thoughts. You let out a long breath, rubbing your hands over your face. The stress is unbearable.

“Here.” Spencer’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He holds out a cup of coffee, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thank you.” You murmur, the warmth of the cup grounding you, he gave you a soft warm smile. “I’m sorry Spencer.” You apologize.

His eyes scan your face. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

You blink at him. “You’re acting as if I didn’t kiss you back.” He says. Heat creeps up your neck. “I just feel like this is my fault.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re stuck here instead of searching Eli’s apartment. Emily having to babysit now. And all because-”

“Because we went for a walk?” Spencer finishes, raising an eyebrow. “And kissed? You do realize that without that walk, and that kiss, we probably wouldn’t have gotten this close to catching him.”

His words sink in. The guilt that’s been gnawing at you lessens, just a little.

“So in some weird, messed-up way.” He continues, his voice softer. “It’s a good thing.”

You manage a small smile. “I guess.”

Spencer’s grin grows, and for a second, the tension in the air lightens. “Well, I should get out of here before Emily comes back.”

“Probably a good idea.”

With one last lingering look, he turns and heads out. The warmth of the moment fades as the waiting continues. Minutes pass, then thirty. You sip the last of your coffee, anxiety prickling beneath your skin.

The sudden sound of the door opening draws your attention. Your father and Morgan stride inside, and between them, handcuffed and smirking, is Eli.

“Prentiss, Reid.” Hotch says, his voice sharp. “Join JJ at Eli’s apartment. She’s going through it now.”

Spencer and Emily don’t waste a second, slipping out of the building. You barely register them leaving, your focus locked on Eli. He walks past you, and despite the restraints, his presence feels suffocating.

“It’s not over.” He evilly smiles as the words left his mouth, your blood runs cold.

“Don’t speak to her!” Your father snaps, his voice booming. In an instant, Hotch has Eli shoved against the wall, his face pressed hard against the surface.

You flinch, heart stammering. Eli only laughs. The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“y/n.” Morgan’s voice is calm but firm as he steps closer. “If you need anything, we’re here. Don’t go anywhere alone. Got it?”

You nod, barely able to find your voice. “Got it.”

Morgan gives you a reassuring nod before following your father into the makeshift interrogation room. You’re left there, your mind racing. Emily’s words from earlier echo in your head.

“You’re safe now”

You want to believe that, but with Eli’s words burned into your memory, it’s hard to feel safe at all.

After what felt like hours, you made your way to the restroom, you splash cold water on your face, the droplets sliding down your skin as you brace your hands on the sink.

The reflection staring back at you is pale and exhausted, the weight of everything visible in your eyes. You close them for a moment, willing the lingering feeling to disappear.

But then, the sound of a lock clicking behind you jolts you awake.

Your heart leaps as you whip around. A man stands in the front of the door, his expression twisted with excitement. He’s holding a gun, the metallic glint catching the harsh bathroom light.

“We’re going to do this the easy way, okay Claire?” His voice is disturbingly calm, like he’s rehearsed these words a thousand times.

“Claire?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not Claire.”

But he doesn’t listen. He steps forward, his grip tightening around the gun. You instinctively back away.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, though his eyes are wild. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you with me.”

He’s closing in now, his body looming. You can feel the panic rising, your chest tightening. Every part of you screams to run, but the barrel of the gun hovers dangerously close.

“Let’s go home, Claire.”

The words send a chill down your spine. You open your mouth to scream, but before you can make a sound, the gun is at your temple. The cold steel sends a shock through you.

“We’re going to be quiet, okay?” He growls, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t make me shoot you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your pulse pounds. You can feel his erratic breathing, the tension in the air thick and suffocating. Every instinct tells you to fight, to scream, but you don’t.

“Okay.” You force out, your voice trembling.

He grabs your arm, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you towards the door. Each step is slow, calculated. He cracks the door open, peering down the empty hallway. You silently pray that someone will come, your dad, Morgan, Rossi, anyone.

But the hall remains empty.

No one sees.

No one hears.

And then, he’s dragging you through the exit.

——

Back in the interrogation room, Eli sits slouched in the chair, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“You’re making a mistake.” He taunts, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “A mistake?”

Eli nods, chuckling to himself. “I knew you’d come. That’s why I was home. You’re too predictable. And while you’re all in here wasting time on me…” he leans forward, savoring every word. “No one’s watching your daughter.”

The room shifts in an instant. The air turns cold. Hotch’s face darkens, fear flashing through his eyes.

“Morgan, Rossi. Stay here.” Hotch orders, his voice sharp. Without another word, he storms out. His movements are frantic, searching every corner of the building. Empty chairs, empty hallways. The tension grows unbearable.

“Where the hell is she?” He demands, slamming his fists on the table when he returns. The sound echoes through the room.

Eli simply smirks. “I don’t know.”

——

The van jerks violently as the man speeds through the dark streets. Your wrists ache from the rope biting into your skin, and the duct tape over your mouth muffles your desperate pleads.

He’s erratic, mumbling to himself as he drives. You pray for the sight of flashing police lights, for anyone who might notice how reckless he’s being. But the roads remain empty.

After what feels like eternity, the van screeches to a stop.

“We’re here.” He announces, giddy like a child on Christmas morning.

He yanks open the back doors, his rough hands grabbing at you. You scream, the sound muffled and desperate. You kick, pounding your fists against his back as he hauls you over his shoulder. But it doesn’t faze him.

The air shifts as he carries you inside. The stench is unbearable, a rancid mixture of mildew, rot, and something metallic. The walls are stained, rust creeping across the cracked concrete. Water pools around the floor, dark and slick.

He dumps you onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Before you can react, he pulls a heavy chain from the corner, the rusted links clinking together.

“This is so you don’t try and leave like the others.” He sneers

The chain clamps around your neck, the padlock snapping shut. The weight is suffocating, restricting your movements to only a few feet. You twist and pull, but it’s useless.

He crouches in front of you, his grin wide with satisfaction. “We’re finally together, Claire. Just like I promised.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at him, your heart continues to pound violently. The panic threatens to consume you, but you fight it. You have to stay calm. You have to find a way out.

But as he watches you with twisted delight, the truth sinks in. No one knows where you are.

The tape rips from your mouth, the sting sharp against your skin. You gasp, your chest heaving, but before you can speak, the man crouches in front of you, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Before we continue, Claire.” He says, his voice low and deliberate “I need you to be truthful.”

Your glare sharpens, every nerve in your body screaming to fight. “I’m not Claire, you psycho! Let me go!”

The words barely leave your lips before his hands snap to your face, gripping your chin tightly. The veins in his neck bulge with fury.

“You are Claire!”

His trembling hand digs into his pocket, pulling out a worn photo. He shoves it into your view. “This is us, Claire! Before you decided to leave!”

The woman in the photo has your face, or almost. The same features, the same hair.

“That’s not me.” You whisper, shaking your head.

“You always like to lie!” He growls, his voice cracking. He finally lets go, pushing you back against the cold wall as he paces, running his free hand through his greasy hair.

Then he stops.

“Who was that guy?” His voice drops, seething. “The scrawny agent. Why were you with him?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

His teeth clench. “Why did you let him touch you?” He snarls. “Why did you let him look at you like that?!”

He’s talking about Spencer.

“No, no.” You stammer, your pulse racing. “He’s no one. You don’t have to worry about him.”

But it’s too late. The idea is planted, festering in his mind. He shakes his head, a bitter grin twisting his lips.

“I need him here.” He says, his voice trembling with conviction. “I’m going to bring him here.”

“No!” You cry, panic lacing your voice. “You don’t need him! You have me!”

“You need to help me, Claire!” He pleads, crouching down once more. His eyes are wide, frantic. “You have to get him here.”

Tears burn your eyes as you shake your head. “I can't do that.”

He reaches forward, his rough thumb swiping a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, darling. It's going to be okay.”

But it won't be.

“Tell me the number.” his voice cracks, dangerous edge creeping in. “I wont.” you whisper.

His hand snaps to his belt, pulling out a small knife. The light catches the dull blade.

“Why are you making me do this?!” he roars, the knife flashing. Before you can move, the cold steel slices across your arm. The pain is immediate, searing. You scream, clutching at the bleeding wound.

——

“Y/n is missing.”

JJ’s words hit like a bullet. Spencer’s heart drops.

“What?” He breathes, his voice sharp. “How? Someone was supposed to be watching her.”

“We don’t know, but Hotch needs us.”

Without another thought, they leave Eli’s apartment and rush back to campus. Spencer’s mind races, his breath short. This can’t be happening.

Emily and JJ make their way into the building but before Spencer reaches the door behind them, his phone rings.

His hands fumble as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Spencer.” Your voice quivers on the other end. “It’s me.”

His chest tightens. “Y/n! Where are you? Hold on! Let me get Hotch.”

“No!” Your voice cracks. “Spencer, don’t. Please… just come. He wants you here, and he says he’ll hurt me if you bring the team.”

“Y/n.” Spencer runs a trembling hand through his hair, panic gripping him.

“Come unarmed.” You whisper. “The address is 3840 Cherry road.”

The line crackles. And then-

“Don’t come, Spencer! Please!”

A sickening thud enters through the phone, your muffled cries follow.

“y/n!” Spencer shouts, his voice breaking. But there’s no answer.

The line goes dead.

His hands shake as he scribbles the address onto a scrap of paper, dropping it where someone will find it. Without another word, he bolts for the SUV.

——

The building looms ahead, rotting, desolate. Spencer moves quickly, his steps silent. The walls are damp, stained with water and time. The stench of mold lingers.

Then he sees you. Sitting against a wall, your head hanging low.

“Y/n.” He gasps, rushing to your side. Blood stains your lips, your nose, and a fresh cut marks your cheek. You’re barely conscious, your head lolling.

“Spencer?” You murmur, your voice weak. But as your eyes adjust, terror flashes across your face.

“No.” You whisper, your hands weakly pushing him away. “Why did you come? I told you not to.”

Before Spencer can respond, a voice rings out.

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Spencer freezes. You both turn, dread pulling in your stomach. The man stands, his eyes blazing with fury.

He lunges, grabbing Spencer and shoving him to the ground, he then pulls out a gun.

“You don’t want to do this.” Spencer says, his hands raised. “We can talk.”

“Why were you with Claire?” The man’s voice booms, echoing through the building. “She doesn’t want you! She wants me!”

“Claire?” Spencer asks cautiously, trying to keep him talking. “Don’t say her name!”

“You want the truth?” Spencer’s voice is steady now, his eyes never leaving the gun. “She doesn’t want you. She never did.”

You stare at him in shock, wondering if he’s gone crazy.

“She wants me.” Spencer presses, his voice low “She doesn’t want you.”

“Do you want me to explain more of what we did?, what you didn’t get to see?” Spencer asked. “What is he talking about?” The unsub asked as he made his way towards you angrily. “You slut!” He spat in your face, but before he could strike you a gunshot echos.

The man in front of you crumbles, blood stains his chest. His eyes go wide, and the life drains from him.

You gasp, and look to see Spencer standing, his gun drawn, chest heaving.

He rushes to get the keys out of the pockets of the dead man, then to you unlocking the chain from your neck, and untying your wrists. The moment you’re free, you collapse into his arms.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, holding you tightly, his hand going up and down your back. “You’re safe now.”

You cling to him, sobbing. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” Spencer breathes, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of footsteps echo. “They’re in here!” Morgan’s voice rings out.

Hotch bursts through the doors, his eyes locking onto you and Spencer. You let go of Spencer and make your way towards your dad, stumbling, but he needs you halfway and catches you in his arms, tightly pulling you against him.

He was scared to let you go, scared you’d disappear.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, his voice thick with guilt.

You shook your head not wanting to hear his apologies, you were just thankful to be able to see him again.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Hotch’s hand gently cups your face, his fingers tracing the cuts. He nods, his voice trembling.

“We’ll go home, baby.”

——

1 month later…

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and stepped into the familiar hum of the BAU office. Jacks small hand gripped yours tightly while the other held a plate of cookies, still warm from the oven. As you passed through the glass doors, a wave of familiar faces greeted you, their smiles wide with excitement.

“Y/n!” JJ’s voice rang out first, her arms already reaching for you. She pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you slightly before Emily joined in.

“I was wondering when we’d get a visit!” Emily grinned, her dark eyes bright.

“Yeah, I would’ve come sooner but-”

“But I told her to stay home and rest.” Your dad cut in, his voice warm as he appeared beside you. Jack immediately wiggled free to run into his arms.

“Makes sense, recovery is important.” Rossi added, his fatherly tone laced with relief.

“Yeah, but it could’ve been worse.” You said, shrugging. “I’m just glad I healed up so quickly.”

“We all are, kid.” Derek said, squeezing your shoulder. His easy grin was one you’d miss.

“And what do we have here?” Penelope asked, her bright eyes locked on the plate in your hands.

“Cookies.” You answered, holding the plate up. “I wanted to thank you all. For everything. For helping me.”

A chorus of “Aww’s” and “Yay’s” echoed through the bullpen, and you set the plate on the nearest desk as the team eagerly grabbed a treat. Your father’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, his grip, strong and steady.

“Thank you.” He said softly, his voice just for you.

you met his gaze, the tension that had once existed between you now barely a shadow. “Thank you, dad. I wouldn’t be here without you. I’m sorry for how things were before. But I’m glad we’re…better now.”

His eyes softened, and he kissed the top of your head, a rare display of affection that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

As the others laughed and chatted, you scanned the room instinctively. And there he was.

Through the glass walls of an office, Spencer Reid stood, his tall frame slightly hunched as he watched you. His eyes met yours, warm and hesitant. Without thinking, you smiled. He moved towards you, his steps quick.

“Y/n.” He said

“Spencer.” The way his name left your lips felt far too easy. “How are you feeling? Are you- are you okay?” His voice was careful, but the concern was evident.

“I’m good. Really good.” You reassured him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than ever, actually.”

His smile mirrored yours, though his eyes lingered on you like he was still checking for any sign of pain. “That’s…that’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”

“You should grab a cookie before Morgan eats the whole plate.” You joked, tilting your head toward the group. “yeah, I probably should.” He laughed softly, but he didn’t move.

His gaze held yours, something unspoken passing between you.

“How about you? How’ve you been?” you asked, shifting slightly closer. “Oh, you know. Same old routine,” he said with a small shrug. “Books. Cases. A lot of facts no one asked for.”

You grinned. “Still no girlfriend then?”

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Uh, no. No girlfriend.”

“Shame.” You teased. “I finally turn twenty-one tomorrow, you know. So if you’re free we can finally have that drink you denied me last time at my dorm.”

He blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” You grinned. “And now you don’t have an excuse.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’d like that a lot.”

“Good.” You lingered on the word, savoring how his cheeks turned reddened.

“I could pick you up.” He offered quickly. “If you want.”

“Perfect.” You nodded. “I live with my dad now, so just come by.”

“You moved back to Virginia?”

“Yeah, I transferred. It’s… nice being here. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” Spencer said softly. “Maybe we can, uh, hang out more.”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Cool.” His voice cracked slightly, and the way his eyes flickered down to the floor only made him more endearing.

“Cool.” You echoed playfully, reaching for his hand. “But first, cookies!”

You tugged him gently, his hand gently squeezed yours, neither of you said anything, but the warmth lingered.

You and Jack stayed a bit longer, but the team eventually had to get back to work. With a few more laughs and lingering hugs, it was time to go.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys,” you said, gripping Jack’s small hand. “Don’t be a stranger!” Penelope called with a wide grin.

“You’re always welcome,” Emily added. “And next time, bring cupcakes,” Rossi teased, flashing his signature smirk.

You laughed, the warmth of their affection lingering. “I will. Promise.”

After waving goodbye, you led Jack through the glass doors and out to the parking lot. Once you reached your car, you carefully buckled him into the backseat, ensuring he was comfortable.

“y/n.”

You froze, the sound of your name stirring something electric inside you. Turning, you saw Spencer walking toward you, his long strides closing the distance quickly. Before you could even process it, his hands cupped your jaw, fingers tracing the delicate lines of your face. And then, his lips were on yours.

It was sudden, desperate. His mouth moved against yours, soft and warm, but the urgency behind it set your skin on fire. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp air, and the world seemed to blur around you.

You pulled back, breathless, your wide eyes meeting his. “What was that?” you asked, though your lips still tingled from the kiss.

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer stammered, just as stunned as you were. His thumb brushed your cheek as if trying to memorize the moment. “I just felt like… I needed to do that.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him back in. This time, it wasn’t rushed. Your hands slipped around his neck, fingertips tangling in his hair as his lips met yours once more. He responded instantly, his body pressing closer, the kiss deepening. Your tongue traced along his, and a soft, quiet groan escaped him, a sound that made warmth coil low in your stomach.

You could’ve stayed like that forever. The way he held you, the way his mouth tasted like coffee and something distinctly Spencer, it all felt intoxicating.

But then you remembered, the kid you’re responsible for in the back of your car.

“Spencer,” you murmured against his lips, reluctantly pulling away. “I have to go.”

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “If you’re free tonight… I’d love to come over. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I’m free.”

“Good.”

He stepped back, but not without stealing one last lingering glance. Ever the gentleman, he opened the car door for you, waiting as you slipped inside.

“Drive safe,” he said softly, his hand still resting on the doorframe. You gave him a playful wink. “I will.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot, Jack’s voice piped up from the backseat.

“Eww.”

You caught his grin in the rearview mirror and brought a finger to your lips. “Shhh.”

He burst into laughter, and despite the embarrassment, a giddy warmth settled in your chest. . .

hope you guys love this, it took so long to write but I’m glad it’s finally finished! Lmk your thoughts<3

Thank you to everyone who reposts, and leave kind messages, you guys are the reason I continue writing! I appreciate it so much!

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zvdvdlvr · 9 months ago

Text

from the club

Derek’s wolf whistle made you roll your eyes and try to slip into your seat without drawing too much attention. “Damn, mama,” he sang teasingly, eyeing you up and down.

“Derek Morgan! I ought to-“

“Whoa!”

You glared at Spencer, trying to ifnore the way his eyes trailed over your cleavage. “It’s like you guys have never even been in the presence of a female before,” you snark sarcastically. Secretly, though, you feel complimented that such aesthetically pleasing people thought you looked good.

Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, and Rossi were later than Hotch surprisingly. Aaron strode in next, laying a stack of files on the table. He sat down at his regular spot and turned to make conversation until the other arrived when he turned and saw you. His lips drew thinly over his face as he watched you reach over the table to grab a file. He swallowed and averted his eyes from you when you sat back in your seat. Hotch felt like a pervert and averted his mind to the more pressing matter. Dead bodies, knives, murder, he repeated to himself- trying to draw blood away from his crotch.

J.J., Penelope, and Emily arrived next. “Coffee for you all, my precious gems!” Penny sang, placing the team’s favorite brews in front of them. After she placed yours down her eyes gleamed and she raised her eyebrows. “Did you call-“

“Penelope!” You hollered, turning away from the red-head with a laugh.

She just giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. As Emily took her place beside you, she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’m no better than the men here, y/n. You look hot.”

You swatted her away and waited for J.J. to start the briefing. Emily snickered beside you.

There was really nothing professional about being called into work wearing low-rise jeans and a lacey tank top. But it wasn’t your fault- some of your college friends had stopped in the city and wanted to go to the club and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

Rossi showed up right before Hotch said his favorite phrase (read: “wheels up in 30”). You collected your file and started out of the room.

“Good lo- y/n!”

You whipped around to see Penelope rushinf towards you. “Wh-What?”

“You’ve surprised me more times today than I thought possible, darling girl. Turn around! I didn’t know you had ink!”

You breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the feeling of her cold fingers tracing over the black ink just above your jeans. “I have some on the mid back too,” you said quietly.

“Impressive,” Rossi- of all people- hummed. “One of my ex wives roped me into getting a matching tattoo with her. The pain was somethinf else and the aftercare was hell. Rookie, here has a high pain tolerance.” He patted your practically bare shoulder and walked by without another word.

Emily purred lowly as she walked by, laughing at the way you flipped her off in return.

“You know, Jeffery Dahmer didn’t consume people that had tattoos… He said that the ‘tattoos made the meat taste like… shit’,” Reid spouted.

The way Spencer paused before saying shit was endearing. Maybe it was your attraction to nerds, but you felt particularly flattered at the weight of his gaze on you. “That’s interesting, Spencer,” you replied quietly. “Did you know the oldest recorded tattoo ink recipe required insect eggs?”

Spencer just hummed.

“I- uh,” Aaron cleared his throat. You stepped back from Penelope’s hands. “I imagine you have more professional attire?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, Hotch. I’m really sorry, my friends convinced me to go out with them, you know, and I-“

Hotch chuckled and held his hands up. “It’s okay, y/n. What you do on your own time is your business,” he said.

You wrung your hands. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“No problem, y/n.” Hotch started to walk away and you felt Derek’s arm wrap around your shoulder. “Nice ink,” he called back to you.

“I’ll see you on the plane, y/n,” Spencer told you with a wave. You smiled back at him and watched him run a hand through his hair as he walked away.

“Lover boy’s gotta thing for you, y/n,” Derek told you, a shit eating grin on his face. “And Hotch too, if I took a guess. I think you made the old man pop a bo-“

“Derek Morgan!”

You shoved him off of you and tried to ignore his gleeful laughter.

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guiltyc0nscience · 9 months ago

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elle greenaway and spencer reid:

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

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Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways.

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong?

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard.

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news.

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically.

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now.

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

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finelinevogue · 2 months ago

Text

kisses will make it better

summary - you think you’ve made aaron upset so decide not to tell him when you’ve been in a car accident

pairing - aaron hotchner x gf!reader

word count - 3k

Today was shit.

Like really terrible.

It was one of those days where nothing had gone right and you felt like the universe was caving in on you. From missing a meeting due to traffic to getting harassed by your boss again, there was nothing that had technically gone right.

Which is why you were calling Aaron on your drive home, because you knew he would make it better.

It was dangerous to rely on someone to make you feel better, but he was your person and there was no one you would rather speak to than him.

“Hotchner.”

You smiled as he always answered the phone the same way.

He said that people wasted time by looking at the caller ID rather than just answering the phone, so you were used to him never answering the phone any other way.

“Hi love.”

“Y/N?” He questioned and you had to chuckle.

“Who else would be calling you ‘love’?” You laughed.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Um,” You looked at the clock on your car dashboard, “Nearly 11PM.”

“Yeah, it is. Look, you know we’ve got a really busy case right now?” He sounded pissed off and it made your heart drop.

“Yeah, I just thought…” You gulped to swallow back the oncoming threat of tears.

You didn’t want to cry over something so trivial as making your boyfriend upset, but when you had had a day as bad as yours anything was a possible trigger. Especially when Aaron was supposed to be the person to listen and comfort you.

“So I need to sleep and I need this phone line to be open for the police detectives.”

You could hear what he wasn’t saying; ‘Don’t call me’.

“Okay.”

“Alright, bye.” And he hung up.

It felt kind of pathetic to cry, but the tears kept falling.

You sniffled as you let out a few shaky breaths. Your eyes tried concentrating on the roads but your tears were sort of blinding your sight.

Your bad day had just gotten even worse.

The one person you knew would have cheered you up had to go and let you down. It wasn’t really his fault. He did have a really big case at the moment that was really stressful, so any sleep he could get was important, but it would’ve been nice to just speak to him for a few minutes.

You pulled down the sleeve of your jumper over your hand so you could wipe away the tears from your eyes.

You were thankful to be stopped at a red light.

Leaning over into your glove compartment you picked out a packet of tissues and took one out so you could blow your nose. Crying always led to a runny nose.

Maybe you’d done something really terrible and that was why the world was taking it out on you. But what had you done?

Except for this morning, you were always on time for work. You put up with endless sexist and gross comments from your boss. You worked really long nights and early mornings just to get the work done. Working as an assistant for a CEO wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, but it paid the bills.

So why did you deserve to have such a shit day?

That’s what you were hoping Aaron could have answered.

Now you had only gone and upset him too.

The light turned green and you gripped onto the tissue as you took a hold of the steering wheel to turn left.

There were bright lights.

A car horn sounded.

Your feet slammed hard on the breaks.

There was an almighty crash.

And then it all went black.

<.><.><.>

“Miss. Miss, can you hear me?”

Your head felt so heavy and your chest felt tight.

Your eyes were slow to open, but when they finally did they felt so heavy - as if they were being weighed down.

Then you noticed the blue and red flashing lights against the pitch black of night and the paramedic that was leaning into your car to talk to you.

She had a stethoscope pressed against your chest and kept calling out to you for a response.

Slowly it was all coming back to you.

“Miss, answer if you can hear me.”

You nodded your head slowly.

“Okay good.” She said, “You were in a car accident. Do you remember what happened?”

Instead of responding you let the tears fall. Now you were coming back around and things were coming into focus you started to feel how much pain you were in. The seat belt must have stopped you from flying through the front window, but it had definitely bruised your entire chest and rib area in the process. That’s why it was probably painful to breathe.

The lady ducked back out of the car then.

“She’s pretty shaken.”

“We need to get her to a hospital. She could have internal bleeding.”

“Okay let’s cut her out and slowly transport her to an ambulance.”

“Have you asked who we should call?”

Their voices were all a blur as your eyes grew heavier again. The tears in your eyes were making your focus blurry again. It hurt to even cry.

Aaron was going to be so mad.

He was on such a busy case and the last thing he needed was to hear his girlfriend had been in a car accident - a bad one at that. You promised yourself then that you would tell the emergency response people that you didn’t have any emergency contacts. You didn’t need Aaron coming down here.

Not that you didn’t want him, because God you did, but more that you didn’t want to add any extra stress for him.

He had a hard enough job as it was without looking after you too.

He needed his rest, so you would do this alone.

<.><.><.>

Garcia was hurried as she approached Hotch’s office.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” Morgan asked from his desk as he watched his friend rush past.

“It’s Y/N.” She said and that’s when Morgan noticed the tears in her eyes.

Morgan shot up from his desk, as did Emily and Reid who had overheard the conversation. They didn’t ask questions, but did follow Garcia to Hotch’s office to listen in. It was clearly serious if Garcia was upset.

Garcia didn’t even knock before entering.

Hotch looked up from his desk, clearly unimpressed with the lack of knocking until he saw the looks on his team’s faces - especially Garcia’s.

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked, clicking the lid on his pen.

“Sir, you know how you asked me to set up that system where if any immediate family relatives of ours were admitted to hospital then they’d flag on my system so we’d know?” She asked.

Hotch stood up immediately.

“Is Jack okay?” His heart sank.

“Yes, Sir, he is.” Garcia looked distressed still, “But Y/N was in a major car accident last night. Drunk driver hit her side of the car. Caused her car to be sent spinning across the road where it was then hit at the rear by a lorry.”

Hotch went pale. He felt like his heart had stopped beating.

“When?” Hotch picked up his phone.

No new messages.

Why had no one contacted him about this?

He was your emergency contact. He should have been notified about this.

“Accident happened last night at about 11:15. I only got the notification when I came in this morning, Sir.”

“She’s been in the hospital since 11:15 last night?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Where is she now?”

“I had a look and… seems like she’s been in surgery for most of the night.”

Hotch had heard enough. He was ready to go now.

“Prentiss and Morgan. Go to the police station and find out what you can about the accident. I want that drunk driver ID’d.” Hotch ordered and they both left the room immediately.

“Call us if anything changes, Hotch.” Morgan added and Hotch nodded.

Reid…” Hotch said.

“I’m coming to the hospital with you.” Reid said for his boss.

“I need you here to work the case with Dave.”

“Hotch, this will probably be the only time I say this… but no. I’m coming with you and no doubt Rossi will too. Y/N is our friend too.” Reid argued back and Hotch didn’t have to say anything else for everyone to know that he was grateful for it.

Hotch needed the support and he knew you would need it to.

Screw this case.

Family was more important.

“Garcia…”

“I have my computers scanning security footage as we speak, Sir.”

“Good.”

“Go get our girl, Sir.” Garcia said and Hotch wasted no more time before exiting his office.

<.><.><.>

“You can’t blame yourself, Aaron.” Dave said as he drove the car to the hospital.

Aaron had wanted to drive but Dave had disagreed. It would’ve been dangerous for him to drive at a time like this.

“I spoke to her 15 minutes before the accident, Dave.” Aaron said, his composure slowly breaking.

Dave didn’t add anything to the conversation because he knew this was Aaron’s way of opening up as to why he felt so guilty.

“I told her not to call because my phone needed to be open for the police detectives to call me.”

“You were sleep deprived Aaron.” Dave argued.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Maybe not, but it was the truth.”

Aaron kept his gaze on the road in front of them.

This car journey had felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. Then he thought about how long you must have been alone in your crumpled car until someone arrived - how long that must have felt. How scary that must have been.

“I can’t lose her too.” Aaron said.

“You won’t. She’s got a strength in her that not everyone does.”

Aaron wanted to smile at that because he knew it was true, but it was hard to smile when he didn’t have a clue what state he was about to find you in.

<.><.><.>

Aaron stormed into the ER.

He did a quick sweep of the room and walked to the front desk. His hands gripped the front desk like it was the only thing keeping him standing up.

“Y/N L/N.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” The nurse questioned.

“I’m here to see Y/N L/N. She was brought in late last night from a car accident.” Hotch explained.

“Let me see.” The nurse typed away on her computer.

Rossi and Reid came up behind Aaron as they also waited to hear what the nurse had to say.

Aaron’s team was like a family to him, which meant they were also a family to you. The team had taken a liking to you ever since they had seen how much you had positively impacted Aaron’s life. They had never seen him smile so much as when he was around you. You brought out the best in him and the thought of losing you meant losing their boss too.

“Are you Aaron Hotchner, Sir?” The nurse questioned.

“Yes.”

The nurse smiled sympathetically, “Miss L/N specifically told the doctors last night that we weren’t to contact you.”

“W-what?” Aaron furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m her emergency contact.”

“We’re aware, Mr Hotchner.”

“S-so what?” Aaron tried to calm himself down because he knew it wasn’t the nurses fault, “That’s it?...”

“Miss L/N told us not to contact you, Mr Hotchner, so we didn’t. However, now you are here I don’t see any reason to hold you back any further. Just sign this ‘sign in’ sheet, please.”

“Thank you.” Aaron said honestly, feeling both a wave of relief and anxiety.

Why had you told them not to call him?

Well, he knew why…

It was starting to feel like this was his fault. Doubts creeping into his mind as to whether he was the right person for you. It felt like no matter what he did, no matter how happy he became, he would always be tested in some way.

<.><.><.>

Reid and Rossi had gone to buy you flowers, leaving Aaron in the room alone with you.

It had been a shock to see you at first.

He hadn’t really prepared himself for how you might look, but he definitely hadn’t expected this.

You were bandaged like a mummy. Your head had a thick bandage wrapped around. Your hands were littered with plasters and gauze from where tiny bits of shattered glass had cut into your skin. He couldn’t see your chest but he had no doubts that the entire area would be black and bruised.

It made Aaron feel sick seeing you like this.

<.><.><.>

When you finally came around you felt lighter than you had before.

There was no seat belt cutting into your skin and you could breathe a little easier too. The bed you were laid in was really comfortable and someone had clearly dimmed the lights in preparation for you waking up.

Your eyes opened to find yourself in a hospital room.

The small window to the right told you it was a new day because it had been nighttime the last time you had seen the sky. Whether it was the next day or a couple of days was difficult to guess.

You looked down from the window to the small table.

There were six bunches of flowers of all different varieties. All of them had cards underneath them and you were eager to know who they were from.

The one that had a mathematical joke on had to be from Reid. The one that was covered in pink glitter was definitely from Garcia. The one that was clearly handmade had to be the work of Jack Hotchner. That one made you smile.

Your eyes went to the other side of the room where there was a chair facing your bed.

It was empty.

You knew who had been there, though, thanks to the blazer and red tie draped over the back of it.

Just as you started thinking about Aaron, you could hear your two favourite boys approaching.

“But I want to give the giraffe to her now, dad.”

“Ssh, ssh. We have to be quiet now bud, okay? Y/Ns sleeping.”

“But she’s been sleeping all day.”

“That’s because she’s poorly.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron and Jack entered the room a moment later, leaving the door open.

“Y/N!” Jack screamed in excitement when he saw that you were awake. He shuffled himself out of his dad’s hold until he was on the floor and running over to your bedside.

Aaron was ready to tell Jack off until he saw that you were in fact awake.

“Jack, careful.” Aaron said when his son started climbing on the bed.

“He’s okay.” You assured them both.

“Dad said you’re poorly.” Jack said.

“I guess I am.” You smiled at him.

“Does this hurt?” He pointed to the bandage on your forehead.

“A little.”

“Dad can kiss it better.” Jack explained like he was the certified doctor working in this hospital. It made you and Aaron laugh, which was probably the best form of medicine anyways. “Won’t you dad?”

Instead of giving a yes or a no response, Aaron came over to you and placed a kiss on top of the bandage. You couldn’t feel his lips, but his presence was enough to make you a little bit emotional.

He smelt like home and his closeness was so warm that you felt comforted.

Aaron kept his face close to yours as pulled away. He looked at you and noticed your teary eyes. His thumb reached your cheek to softly pad over the skin there - no doubt to check that you were really here and okay.

“Hey Jack, why don’t we go and get a chocolate bar for Y/N, hmm?” You heard Rossi’s voice behind Aaron.

Neither you or Aaron made a move from each other to check. Rossi must have taken Jack from the room because it went so quiet then.

Aaron kept his gaze on your eyes and you could see the sadness lost within them.

You hated to see him so sad. It was your weakness.

“I’m…”

“If you say you’re sorry I’m going to be really upset.” Aaron said quickly to cut you off.

You nodded, crying a bit more now.

“Thank you for coming.” You said instead.

“Don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’ll always be here.” Aaron moved to perch on the bed beside you, careful not to bump into any sore part of you.

“How did you even know?”

“Garcia.”

“Of course” You smiled. Aaron smiled because you smiled.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for being an asshole last night.”

“Aaron, love, I can see that you’re beating yourself up over this but it wasn’t your fault. Yes, you were kind of an asshole. I did need you last night, but you definitely didn’t cause this and I know you know that.”

“You’re too lovely.” He responded.

“I just won’t have you blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

Aaron nodded, “I’ll never not answer the phone again.”

“Okay.”

“But you have to promise to never block me as an emergency contact again. You hear me?” He said sternly.

“I do. It was kind of stupid of me.” You rolled your eyes thinking back now.

“Yeah it was.” Aaron gave you a small smirk, glad to hear you were okay enough to make a joke or two.

“I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Honey. I’m going to worry whether or not you are actually okay.”

“When I told the nurse to not call you she asked whether you were a crazy ex of mine.” You chuckled.

“You’re an absolute menace.”

“A menace that’s going to need lots of kisses to nurse me back to health.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That’s what Dr Jack said.” You shrugged.

“I better get started then.”

#aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch angst

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monzabee · 13 days ago

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pleading the fifth - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: a rather... interesting complication happens when jack’s nanny is called to school by the principal. the only person who can save either of them? it's aaron, of course.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: yelling (kinda), poor Jack is punished without a reason, other than that none?

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

You’d consider yourself a rather calm person—a pacifist, really. You don’t confront people, you don’t get unnecessarily angry, you can’t even recall a time you’ve raised your voice in public. But right now? Right now, you are trying your hardest not to bash the principal’s head into his desk as he stares you down. It’s a glorified staring contest between the two of you, with Jack as your unwilling audience and referee.

When the school first called you to tell you should come into the principal’s office, you thought of the worst. The worst being Jack having an accident, or one of the crazy criminals his dad deals with escaping prison and somehow finding him—which should serve as a reminder for you to stop falling asleep to murder podcasts.

But no. Instead, you find yourself in a situation so utterly ridiculous, so mind-bogglingly absurd, that you’re starting to wonder if Aaron spiked your morning coffee before he went into work as a juvenile prank. “You’re telling me,” you say slowly, pressing your palms against the desk, “that Jack is in trouble… because he didn’t answer a question in class?”

“He was exhibiting disruptive behaviour, which hindered the ability of the other students in class to participate.” The principal explains, he’s an aging man with thinning hair and an ever-present scowl, folds his hands neatly in front of him and you find it hard to take him serious due to the absurdity of the situation.

You blink. “Disruptive? He didn’t even talk!”

“His silence, Miss Y/LN,” he points out, whilst he’s pointing at Jack, “was disruptive to other students.”

Jack, sitting beside you, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His little hands are folded in his lap, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He looks more annoyed than guilty. Your feel for him, for you know he’s not a bad kid, he’s the complete opposite, really. “But still. You called me down here because he didn’t want to answer a question?”

“Yes,” the principal continues. “His teacher asked the students to share what their parents do for a living. When it was Jack’s turn, he refused to answer.”

You glance at Jack. He meets your eyes and gives the tiniest shrug, as if to say Yeah, and?You return your attention to the principal. “With all due respect, I don’t see the issue here. Jack’s dad is a federal agent. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.”

The principal sighs, rubbing his temples as if you’re the one being difficult. “Miss Y/LN, we encourage transparency in our students. Sharing personal details fosters a sense of community and trust within the classroom.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “And you think forcing a child to disclose information about his father’s dangerous job is a healthy way to foster trust?”

The principal’s scowl deepens. “It sets a precedent. When children refuse to participate, it encourages others to do the same. That’s not how we run things here.”

Jack finally speaks up, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I did participate. I said, ‘I plead the Fifth.’”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

The principal looks unimpressed. “That’s not participation.”

“Actually,” you say, unable to help yourself, “it’s a constitutional right.”

Jack nods excitedly. “Exactly.”

The principal rubs his temples. “Miss Y/LN, this is not a debate. We called you in because Jack’s response was disrespectful and set a bad example for his classmates.”

“Oh, come on,” you say, exasperated. “He’s a seven-year-old, not a criminal. He didn’t swear, he didn’t insult anyone, he just chose not to disclose personal information about his father. And frankly, I think that’s smart.”

“Oh, you misunderstood me—he talked about Mister Hotchner’s job.” The principal clarifies, “He refused to tell the class what his mother does as for a living.”

You blink.

Once. Twice.

Slowly.

Jack is still staring at his lap, clearly uncomfortable. The principal is watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to snap your fingers and magically produce an answer that will satisfy him. You take a breath, steady and slow, before asking, “And did it not occur to you that Jack doesn’t have a mother?”

The principal’s expression falters for just a second before he recovers. “Well, I—”

“No, really,” you cut him off, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “What exactly were you expecting him to say? That she passed away? That she’s not in the picture? That it’s none of your business?”Jack’s fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt, his small shoulders hunching. “Because all of those things are true, and dare I say, this is just a great ground for a lawsuit.”

“I—” The principal clears his throat. “We didn’t realize—”

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re an educator, and you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, forcing a child to talk about a subject he’s uncomfortable with might be a bad idea?”

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “Miss Y/LN, we were only trying to encourage openness. Jack could’ve explained it to class—”

You’re done. You pull out your phone and hand it over to Jack. “Go out and call your father, tell him to come here as soon as he can.”

And Jack, being the sweet and smart kid that he is, doesn’t hesitate for a second. He takes the phone with a small but satisfied smile, hops off his chair, and walks out of the office, pressing the call button as he goes. Once you’re satisfied he’s out the door, you turn back to the principal.

The principal watches him leave, his jaw tightening. “Miss Y/LN, I don’t think involving Agent Hotchner is necessary—”

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “Oh? You don’t? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you want to discipline a child for not wanting to discuss his dead mother in front of his classmates.”

The principal shifts in his chair. “That is not what I said—”

“It’s exactly what you said.” You let out a slow breath, reigning in the urge to throw his stapler at him. “Look, Jack is a kid. A good one. He’s polite, he does his work, and he keeps to himself. If he chooses not to answer a personal question in class, that’s his right. And you know what else? If Aaron were here, I guarantee you he’d be saying the same thing—but with a lot less patience than I am.”

Aaron Hotchner is used to walking into tense situations. In fact, he thrives in them. He’s spent years profiling criminals, negotiating with hostage-takers, and dissecting the minds of the most dangerous people in the country. But right now? Right now, as he takes in the scene before him—his son looking uneasy, you standing rigid with barely contained anger, and the principal sitting behind his desk with an expression that’s quickly morphing from smug authority to barely concealed nervousness—he knows exactly what kind of situation this is.

It’s one that will not end well for the man in front of him, and not because he’s about to chew the principal out, but because you’re just as angry as he is.

“I’d like to hear why my son was called in for disciplinary action.” His voice is calm. Even. But it has the weight of authority behind it—the kind that makes grown men break eye contact and shuffle in their seats.

The principal straightens, clearing his throat as if that will make Aaron any less unimpressed. “Well, Agent Hotchner, I assure you this is simply a misunderstanding,” the principal starts, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jack refused to participate in a classroom discussion, which we found to be disruptive.”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. “Disruptive,” he repeats flatly. He’s aware that the look he gives the man is quite off-putting, but he couldn’t care less given that his son has been put on the spot.

“Y-yes,” the principal continues. “We encourage transparency in our students, and when Jack chose not to share what his mother does for a living—”

Aaron hears you scoff at the flimsy excuse the principal offers. He also hears the faint shuffling of clothes, and he doesn’t need to turn around to see that Jack has tucked himself over to your side. It’s a comforting thing that he does whenever he feels overwhelmed, and though the two of you have tried very hard to help him overcome this, he feels glad that Jack has you at the moment to bring him relief.

“He doesn’t have a mother.” Aaron’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Sharp. Final. He’s also very aware of the fact that your lips are curling in an unapproving way, and of the fact that this can be an uncomfortable topic for most. But why should his child be put in an uncomfortable situation by the very people who are supposedly tasked with his well-being.

The principal falters. His mouth opens, then closes, before he manages a weak, “I wasn’t aware.”

Aaron’s expression remains unreadable, but his tone drops, making his displeasure crystal clear. “Then maybe you should have been.”

Beside him, you shift slightly, and when Aaron looks over the shoulder to you, you have your arms protectively around Jack as you level the principal with an unimpressed look. “That’s what I said.”

Aaron almost smirks. Almost. But the sight also tugs at some of the strings of his heart.

The principal stammers, scrambling to regain some semblance of control. “Agent Hotchner, I assure you—”

“Assure me what?” Aaron interrupts smoothly. His voice remains even, but there’s a razor-sharp quality to it now. His annoyance is amplified due to the fact the he is back at looking at the middle age principal instead of his son and you, but he tries to remain as stoic as he can. “That you failed to consider the emotional well-being of a child under your care? That you thought coercing him into sharing deeply personal information was an acceptable way to foster ‘transparency’?”

The principal swallows. “I—”

Aaron doesn’t give him room to recover. “Jack is a child. A good child. If he chose not to answer a question, there was a reason for it. And instead of respecting that, you decided to make an issue of it. You called in his guardian, wasted her time, wasted my time, and most importantly, made my son feel like he did something wrong when he didn’t.”The principal’s face is rapidly losing color, and you find it highly amusing to watch Aaron tear him a new one as you absentmindedly stroke Jack’s hair. Aaron takes a step forward, just enough to make the older man shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Jack will not be receiving any disciplinary action for this. Furthermore, I expect a formal apology from both you and his teacher.”

“Agent Hotchner, I—I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“I do.”

The silence in the room is suffocating. The principal, realizing he’s backed into a corner, nods stiffly. “Of course.”

Jack may be young, but he isn’t oblivious. He understands things far too well for a child his age—has seen too much to be anything but painfully aware of the way the world works. And right now, he understands that the adults who were supposed to protect him in this environment have let him down.

Aaron takes in a slow breath and releases it just as steadily. He won’t let this moment define Jack’s time here. He won’t let this school—this principal—become another source of stress in his son’s life.

He turns his attention back to the man in front of him, watching the principal squirm under his gaze. “I trust this won’t be an issue again.”

“No, sir.” The principal nods quickly, his hands folded tightly together on his desk.

The final look Aaron gives the man is cold, and you’d be lying if it isn’t at least a little bit satisfying to watch. With the matter settled, Aaron turns to Jack, his face softening. “Let’s go.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate. He hops off the chair and moves toward his father, but not before looking up at you. There’s something in his gaze—relief, maybe, or gratitude—and your heart clenches at the sight.

You ruffle his hair playfully. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here before your dad arrests someone.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t arrest people for incompetence.”

You smirk. “Pity.”

#monzabee #requests open #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch imagine

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luffyssa · 4 months ago

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i got bored so here's a meme

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hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

Note

I have an idea for a Hotch story. What about its Hotch x wife!reader where jack is about 6 months old but she’s still constantly checking his breathing at naps and bedtime and waking up all the time she check him and is super conscious. Hotch thought at first it’s just a new mom thing but now you’re losing sleep and worried all the time so he brings it up one night and she just breaks down and says “I never know if you’re coming home to me so I need to make sure jack is ok so I always have a piece of you with me”

Safe and Sound | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x wife!Reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Could probably be qualified as post partum, anxiety, lack of sleep.

A/N: I tried my hardest to write this with Jack as the baby, but ultimately I had to make it into a new baby unrelated to Jack, cause my brain couldn't wrap around reader having given birth to Jack. Otherwise it follows the prompt…. Hope it's okay <3

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm amber hue as you hovered over the crib. The rhythmic sound of the baby monitor buzzed faintly in the background, but it wasn’t enough to ease your mind. Your hand rested lightly on your son’s tiny chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall from his breathing. Six months in, and every nap, every bedtime, still filled you with a quiet kind of dread.

What if the monitor failed? What if something happened while you weren’t watching? The what-ifs buzzed louder than the monitor, it was a relentless echo that kept you tethered to the edge of fear no matter how safe or serene he looked in his sleep.

The creak of the nursery door broke your focus, pulling your gaze away from your son’s chest. Aaron’s silhouette filled the doorway, his broad shoulders casting a shadow into the softly lit room. He was only wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers, the casualness of his attire contrasting with his usual suit and tie. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, and his dark eyes softened as they took you in, concern etching faint lines across his face. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, not in irritation but in worry.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, careful not to wake the baby. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered back, brushing your fingertips over your son’s soft, silky hair. You lingered, reluctant to leave. “I just needed to check.”

Aaron stepped into the room, his feet silent against the carpet. “You’ve checked three times in the past hour,” he said gently, his hand finding the small of your back. “Come back to bed.”

You sighed, looking down at your baby boy one last time before letting Aaron guide you out of the nursery. The two of you walked in silence to your bedroom, his hand never leaving you as if to anchor you to him so you wouldn't run back to the nursery. When you climbed into bed, Aaron slid in beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to face you.

“This isn’t just a new mom thing, is it?” he asked, his voice low and careful, treading lightly as he spoke. “You’ve barely been sleeping. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

You froze, staring at the ceiling as tears burned behind your eyes. He was right — he always was. But admitting it felt like opening a floodgate you weren’t sure you could close.

“I just…” Your voice cracked, and Aaron shifted closer. “I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“He is okay,” Aaron said, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “He’s perfect. And you’re an amazing mom.”

The dam broke. The tears spilled over as a sob escaped your lips. “I never know if you’re coming home to me,” you choked out, your hands gripping his t-shirt as though he might disappear. “So I need to make sure the baby is okay. I need to know I’ll always have a piece of you with me.”

Aaron’s breath hitched, his face falling as your words sank in. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as he kissed the top of your head. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “I’m so sorry you feel like that.”

You clung to him, his steady heartbeat soothing some of the ache in your chest. “I can’t lose you, Aaron. Or him. I wouldn’t survive it.”

“You won’t lose us,” he promised, his lips brushing your temple. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you, every time. And I’ll make sure you’re never carrying this alone.”

For a long time, he just held you. As your sobs quieted, he eased you back down onto the pillows, still holding your hand.

“Tomorrow, we’ll figure this out,” Aaron said softly. “We’ll talk to someone and find ways to help you rest. But tonight, let me watch over him so you can sleep. Okay?”

You nodded, your exhaustion finally catching up to you as his words and touch began to pull you under. “Okay,” you whispered.

And as you drifted off in Aaron’s arms, for the first time in months, you felt the weight begin to lift — getting help was not such a bad idea after all.

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pencil-n-pen · 1 month ago

Text

HANDLE WITH CARE

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hotch x fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: spending the night at aaron’s usually puts you at ease, but not tonight. A broken mug brings up old memories, but he still has a way of soothing away old hurts.

cw: implied/referenced past abuse

a/n: honestly idk i just wanted to write hotch comfort. this has been in my drafts since like day 1 of this acc

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⊹ .

It’s really stupid, in hindsight.

In the moment though, it was really, really scary.

It was late. This is mistake number one.

You were trying to quietly make tea and whatever odd hour it was. You can’t check the oven timer. It just keeps flashing 12:00.

Making tea quietly is hard, though. Every sound seems to echo and all the shadows seem to crawl. You’re this close to closing the living room curtains you can see from the corner of your eye. You don’t, though. Not being able to see would be worse.

Anyway. You’re trying to make tea quietly. You’re staying over at Hotch’s —Aaron’s, as he insists you call him when you’re alone— Jack is away at a sleepover. It’s just the two of you.

You couldn’t sleep. Usually, being with Hotch is the strongest sleep aid in the world. You tend to conk out the second your arms find his in bed.

But not tonight.

Tonight you slept in fitful bursts. Your skin prickled and crawled with restless anticipation- of what, you’re not sure.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep on such a rare day off, you got up. Tried to do what you did when you had nights like these before him. Only watching tv is too loud and you don’t have any books here.

Thus: tea.

It started raining a little while after you got up. The pattering of the droplets against the roof and the windows helps drown out the racket you’re making.

You’re not really making a racket, you tell yourself. It just sounds like you are because it’s night. This would all sound normal in the daylight.

It’s the mantra that keeps you going on nights like these. You’ll feel normal in the daylight. It’ll go away in the daylight. You won’t feel so haunted in the daylight.

In the daylight, in the daylight, in the daylight.

You get lost in your thoughts. It happens fairly often on nights like these.

Only Aaron’s stove is newer than yours. It heats up faster.

The teapot lets out a terrible, wailing hiss, shattering the fragile silence.

You lunge for the kettle, hands moving too quickly and too clumsily to move it off the burner. Your fingers slip. The side of the kettle slams into your forearm, and you don’t quite manage to stamp down the pained yelp that rips its way from your throat the second the searing pain registers.

Your nervous system reacts before you do. It jerks your arm to the right, away from the kettle.

And into your empty mug.

You watch in horrified slow-motion as the cup is swiped off the counter, falling to the floor in an explosion of porcelain.

Your arm is screaming in pain. There is boiling water and a hot tea kettle on the floor. There are shards of mug everywhere.

You hear a thump. The creak of a door opening that signifies Aaron coming out of the bedroom, Aaron being awake, Aaron coming to you.

For a moment, your brain just… catches. Sort of like it gets stuck in this web of fear-induced indecision.

The footsteps sound rushed. They come closer.

To compensate for the momentary freeze, your brain kicks into its highest gear.

You drop to your knees on the floor of the kitchen so quickly they crack on the linoleum. You can’t tell if the sting is from the fall or the boiling water. Would it still be hot? Is it still hot?

The footsteps stop. You scramble to get a hold of the pieces of the mug, shaking fingers grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. They’re clutched tight in your palm when you speak, words rushed and tumbling out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please go to bed, I’ll clean this all up—“

A hand reaches out for yours and you flinch. Not a full body one. Just like what happened with the burn. Your nervous system reacts before your brain can process. Takes your hand away from the threat.

Only the hand stills. Stops, right where it is, and your entire body feels funny, and something doesn’t seem right.

Then you stop too. You don’t move. You don’t grab more pieces of the mug, but you don’t drop the ones you have either. Your knees are throbbing. Your arm is burning, stabs of stinging pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

The hand retreats and the person crouches down, and you recognize those pajama pants, that hand, those feet.

“Honey?”

You keep your eyes trained on the mess. On the wreckage.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks over the words.

“Shh,” He hums, and the hand reaches out again, slower, closes over your wrist and turns your hand over. A second hand pries your fingers apart and gently shakes your hand, the mug shards dropping to the floor, tinged scarlet. They mix with the spilled water, washing the kitchen floor a kaleidoscope of linoleum and sharp edges and pinky-red water.

He gently pulls you up to your feet, strong arm going around your waist. It doesn’t cage you, doesn’t box you in. Another hand turns your head away from the kitchen floor and all at once a switch flicks in your brain, and you remember. Where you are, who you’re with.

If Aaron notices your sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t say anything. He leads you to the bathroom, sits you on the toilet lid, and pulls out the extensive first aid kit he keeps under the sink.

“Can I see your arm?”

You hold it out to him, looking at his face only when he’s not looking at you.

He doesn’t look mad. You still have the vague urge to run.

He examines it carefully. “It’s only first degree, but it’s fairly big. We’ll need to run it under cool water for at least ten minutes, and then apply some burn cream and bandage it.”

He’s telling you exactly what he’s going to do. Talking you through all the steps. So you won’t be caught off guard by anything.

“Sweetheart,” He crouches down in front of you again, and you feel bad for his knees, “I’m going to need some sort of confirmation.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” Your voice is raw, “I think I bruised my knees when I— when I fell.”

Your pajamas consist of an oversized shirt —one of his— and a pair of pajama shorts. It’s helpful because he doesn’t have to roll up any pant legs to check your knees. It’s unhelpful because in the adrenaline crash, the bathroom is cold, and so is the toilet lid.

Your shivers of fear are replaced with ones of cold. A small but marked improvement.

He examines your knees, thumbs brushing deftly over the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Looks like you might’ve cut one of them on one of the pieces. It’s not too big, though. Better than your hands.”

You wince at the mention.

He stands, pulling you up with him.

“What hurts the worst?”

“Burn.”

“We’ll take care of it first.”

He turns the sink tap on, checking and double checking the temperature is to his approval before gently guiding your arm under the water. It stings on first contact, and you bite your lip through the pain. You’re sure you’ve made enough noise for the night. The pain mellows, relief following hot on its heels.

Aaron stands behind you, his presence a solid weight. One hand holds your arm in place under the water, the other hovers over the faucet, ready to make any adjustments to the temperature at your word.

You don’t make any.

You’re tired, abruptly. Your hand still stings and your knees ache, but without the sharp stabbing of the pain in your arm, the exhaustion of the past five minutes rushes into you all at once and you sag, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Aaron catches you, hand over the faucet leaving to place a steady hand on your waist.

“You’re not going to hit me. Or yell at me.”

He presses his face into the back of your neck, not so much as kissing your nape as just pressing his lips against the skin there.

“I’m not.”

“I know that,” you say, going for confident but tripping and falling into desperate, “I know that. I was just. I forgot. In the moment, and I got scared.”

The hand on your waist squeezes once.

“I was scared too, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because you were scared,” You can feel his chest vibrate as he speaks, “And you were hurt. And for just a moment, I didn’t know how to help you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for. I was scared for you.”

“I know, I’m just. I know how rare days off are for you, and I was trying to be quiet, so you could sleep but I—“

“Hey, hey. Slow down. Don’t work yourself up.”

He moves your arm back and forth under the water, slowly working the angles of the burn so it all gets evenly cooled.

“Sorry,” You say again, both for lack of anything else to say and just to make sure he knows that you are. Guilt pulses and pounds to the same beat as your heart, to the same rhythm as the pain in your knees and your hands.

“I know you are,” He murmurs, voice a gentle wash of concern and something tender. He always knows just the right thing to say, especially when you’re like this. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not upset.”

“I know,” You answer, and this time he doesn’t respond. He probably knows that your words weren’t for him.

He works methodically through applying the cream and bandages, and then as he fixes up your hands and knees. You’re careful to keep your eyes trained on his, focusing on the feel of his hands and not the fear that jackrabbits in your chest every time your focus slips.

Once finished, he guides you to your feet, and there’s still concern etched in the lines of his face, right in between his brows. That’s where he always keeps it— his worry.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

You could. You should. He’s tired. He deserves to sleep in and you should be able to fall asleep again, because he’ll be there, and everything is fine, and you are fine.

But there’s still pieces of mug on the floor and you feel like there’s pieces of you stuck there too, and your mouth goes dry, and you never did drink that tea, and what’ll happen to the mess? What will things look like in the daylight?

Foolish? A foolish girl, yes— always overreacting.

“Honey?” He says for the second time tonight.

Your face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

He folds himself around you again, easily. His arms slot into place like a puzzle piece- always the right angle, the right feel, the right amount of pressure. He holds you together as you cry, frustrated and tired and all the things you’d tried so desperately not to let show.

“You’re okay,” He whispers, hand smoothing over your neck, your back. All those vulnerable places that itch. “You’re okay.”

He repeats the words as your cries quiet to sniffles, as you start to think he might be right.

You pull away, wiping your hands across your face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what— I’m okay now, I think.”

His eyes search your face, looking for any signs that isn’t true. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I know,” You say, and you really do believe it this time, “I just… it’s frustrating. That this still happens. That you still need to do this. It happened so long ago, and I don’t even think about it anymore, really. It’s weird, it’s just- the mug. It broke and I just… I don’t know.”

Aaron listens attentively to your rambles, no sign of being annoyed or exasperated or anything. “I understand. Healing isn’t linear, sweetheart. There are things that happened to me many years ago that I still think about.”

He dips down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “And I will always do this. Always.”

For the first time tonight, you believe him, fully.

You’ll be okay. Maybe not now, but you will be.

۫ ꣑ৎ

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chithereader · 4 months ago

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l-o-v-e / aaron hotchner

part 2 to jealousy, jealousy!!!! word count: 2.1k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!bau!reader, shy!reader genre & cw: hotch being so in love!! jealousy plot, made-up case, and different use of cm character a/n: i got so much love for jealousy, jealousy it has been so surprising to me how much u guys loved it!! i really hope you enjoy this part 2 as we finally get some clarity to their feelings for each other!!

With your jaw slightly dropped, you manage to get out an “Uh..” Then you clear your throat as if that will make actual words come out then— “Uhh..”

Now you didn’t know how long you were staring at Hotch. Yet somehow you were aware that the silence— your silence was stretching out for too long. Like a fish out of water, you continue to move your mouth soundlessly.

And if you were actually underwater, you knew a series of air bubbles would come out in a line from your lips.

Deep inside, Hotch was getting a little worried. That maybe he came on a little too strong.

Was that too bold? Was that out of the blue? What if you think he’s joking? Or worse, what if you think he’s not taking you seriously?

On the outside, Hotch is trying very hard to maintain his calm and collected composure, not letting too much emotion seep through his expression. Making sure he doesn’t look worried or too proud, too scared or too smug.

The small smile on his face is one that he hopes to convey what he means: that he seriously likes you and that he doesn’t mean to embarrass you. But it is a smile that slowly fades the more he sees the panic growing in your eyes.

Loud clapping shakes you both out of your individual worries as Derek teasingly cheers for the development in your romance— hooting and whooping about how the boss man has finally made his move.

As if suddenly remembering that there are other people in the room, you both look around to check the other team members’ faces.

To your surprise, Reid is blushing even more than you and Hotch are, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Rossi is looking straight at Hotch with a smug grin. Raising his hands theatrically slow to clap painfully slow for his best friend.

“My man.” Derek proudly says still clapping, and if he was brave enough to risk losing a hand tonight, he would have stood up to pat his boss on the back.

Hotch shakes his head bashfully, cheeks turning increasingly red. He looks down at his shoes to hide his face a bit, mumbling a low, “Shut up.”

But Rossi being Rossi, was not gonna let the moment go, “I gotta say, Hotch, I didn’t think you’d ever do it…or anything actually.”

Looking at Hotch, you start to giggle. He’s got his head facing the ceiling, acting playfully exasperated at his team’s antics. No doubt already regretting his public expression a little bit.

But the laughter dies down into soft giggles, and he straightens a little to look at you. Catching your eye, you smile back at him softly, also hoping that he’d understand what you’re saying with that little smile. I like you too. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass me.

Hotch’s worries are instantly quieted by your smile. Like dust settling on the ocean floor, he feels at peace.

Your little staring moment though, is suddenly interrupted by his cell ringing. And the room’s mood sombers knowing that there can only be one reason someone will call one of your cells late at night— a new body was just found.

—

It’s 7:00am and the sun has risen brightly. Reid and Rossi went to the ME with the body to further examine what’s been done. Meanwhile you, Morgan, Seaver and Hotch stay behind at the crime scene, knowing a fresh scene can tell you the most right now.

You’ve been staying close to Morgan as he theorizes the unsub’s movements. Following and coming up with theories of your own in terms of the order of the unsub’s entry and exit.

But as much as you are focused on the case, you look at Hotch and Seaver every now and then, who are interviewing witnesses and authorities on the side.

Hotch catches you looking at him and Seaver, just as Seaver holds on to his arm to fix the strap of her heel. You may have looked extra irritated but you’d blame it on the sun being on your face.

Looking back at Derek who had gotten quiet, you find him smiling at you teasingly. Already aware of what you were just looking at— more like who. You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up, chocolate.”

Derek shakes his head as he laughs, taking his sunglasses from where it hung his shirt and wears it on you.

“Calm down, Cyclops. You might just kill the two of them if you’re not careful.”

You gasp at his audacity, watching his back as he walks away, not even giving you the chance to respond to his teasing.

Not wanting to stare at his back any longer, you turn around to pick up right where you left off. Only to have the fright of your life seeing Hotch right in front of you.

With a hand on your chest you catch your breath, “Oh my god! How even—“ One second he’s more than 6 feet away from you, the next second he’s not even 4 inches from you.

Your heart beats even faster as Hotch’s hands reach up to your face to remove Derek’s sunglasses. “Morgan!”, he shouts and tosses Derek his glasses.

Derek catches it instinctively and looks to the both of you in confusion, but Hotch looks back at you and takes his own sunglasses off his face to wear it on you.

Seaver watches all of this unfold from behind Hotch, and you could see it annoyed her. But she puffs her chest and turns to the people she and Hotch were talking to, continuing the interviews they were conducting.

—

Now during the case, obviously there wasn’t really any time for you and Hotch to discuss the romance brewing between the two of you. Absolutely no time to indulge in personal matters at a time where other people’s lives depended on you.

But that’s not to say that Hotch has not followed up his advances with more actions. Not at all— the complete opposite actually.

He has only become increasingly affectionate and bolder with his actions. He seems to have given up on holding himself back around you. He’s constantly sitting beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as you walk, then he stands behind you constantly towering over you whenever, wherever.

He’s even given you his handkerchief multiple times so you could wipe your sweat, and when you guys ordered takeout for the night, he made sure to unpack yours for you and hand you your utensils, even standing to get you water from the pantry before he even touches his food.

He’s been crazy sweet and even more protective than usual, you almost didn’t need words to confirm how he feels about you… if it weren’t for Seaver who has also gotten bolder with her advances towards Hotch. Then I mean, maybe a little reassurance would be nice.

It seems as if the recent development in yours and Hotch’s romance was something Seaver saw as a challenge- a hurdle she has to get over to win Hotch.

Annoying you even more, when she arrived at the precinct the next day wearing a revealing top and tight pencil skirt. She looked good, you had to admit.

Looking down at your own attire, with jeans, boots, and a plain shirt. You felt a little defeated. Obviously you weren’t going to attract Hotch being this plain.

But you also wanted to be ready. The team was closing in on the unsub who has become more and more erratic, you could almost predict a chase and maybe even a tussle.

You were standing beside Reid, looking at the board trying to uncover a pattern in the unsub’s dump sites when you heard an agitating little voice say, “Hotch, I think my top unbuttoned at the back. Could you get it for me?”

Tension instantly brews. The team, who has caught on to Seaver’s ploy early on, awaits your reaction. You could feel their gazes on your back, even from Reid who you could feel checking on you from the corner of his eye from where he stands to your right.

But you refuse to give in. You continue- more like pretend to- analyze the map on the board. Even tilting your head a little to sell that you’re really not paying attention to the two. However in all honesty, all your other senses are very much attuned to whatever’s happening behind you.

Rossi cleared his throat, making you check the room’s reflection on the window on your left through the corner of your eye. And you watch as Seaver turns in her seat away from Hotch, anticipating him leaning close and putting his hands on her.

Now you thought that since Hotch had an idea about how Seaver makes you feel, that he’d keep his distance. You know, set those boundaries to appease you. But to your surprise, Hotch leans over the distance between his chair and hers, and reaches over to button her top.

You could feel your face heating up. You don’t know if he simply didn’t care, if he was oblivious, or if he did it on purpose. But now was not the time to act up and make a big deal out of something so trivial. You were all so close to catching the unsub, you poured your focus on the case instead.

But you need a moment to yourself, maybe a little fresh air or even a pep talk in the bathroom mirror will do. Just as you were about to excuse yourself stepping back from the board, you hear Hotch close the file he was reading- before he was interrupted- loudly.

His stern voice soon follows, “Just a little advice, Agent Seaver: if you’re assigned to the field, dress like it. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about buttons popping or heels snapping while you’re chasing an unsub or racing to save someone’s life.”

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Their reflection on the window was blurry enough that you couldn’t make out their facial expressions, so when you hear Hotch’s stern voice your head snaps to look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be annoyed at Seaver given that he’d just helped her.

You almost feel bad for Seaver who’s turning red in embarrassment. She’d obviously put together an outfit for Hotch. You all knew she was an outstanding agent, so to jeopardise her performance for a man’s attention seemed weird even for her.

–

To your surprise, her advances towards Hotch did not stop even after his dig at her unprofessionalism.

As you were all boarding a jet well into the night, exhausted from the long case, you all noticed Seaver subtly rushing to sit first. Unsurprisingly, she chose the seat beside Hotch’s usual seat. Acting normally, she pulled out a blanket settling in her seat.

But Hotch, who has been behind you the whole time, was just shadowing your movements. The most exhausted out of all of you, he wasn’t even thinking about where he’ll sit. He was blindly following you like a puppy, with a hand on your waist as if to not get lost.

He was actually just waiting for you to sit somewhere, then he’d sit beside you. So you chose a couple-seat on the far end of the jet, away from Seaver. Neither of you have the energy to deal with her antics.

In a last attempt to get Hotch to her, Seaver calls out “Hotch, I saved you your seat!”, even opening up her arms that are covered by the blanket as if to invite him to her warmth.

But Hotch only looks at her silently, blinking. Then in less than 10 seconds, Hotch takes your hand, intertwines it with his, kisses yours softly, and crosses his arms as he closes his eyes to sleep- leaving your hand somewhat trapped to his body.

You’re surprised at the bluntness of his affection, considering most of your team members were looking at you after Seaver called him out.

Stealing a glance at Seaver, you catch her shoulders drop before she settles back into her seat, while Morgan mouths to you “Told you,” from across her.

Turning your head to look at Hotch, you can tell he isn’t asleep yet though his eyes are closed. You squeeze the hand intertwined with yours, trying to get it out of his grip and crossed arms– he opens his eyes to look at you and softly whines, “Stoopp.”

“Hey!” you whisper.

He breathes out a grumpy, “What?” to which you smile softly and say, “Fine. I guess I’m your girl.”

here's my masterlist!

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #aaron hotchner x reader angst #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader

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i-get-obsessed-fast · 1 month ago

Text

Family | Criminal Minds

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: under unexpected and intense circumstances, the team uncovers you and Spencer Reids biggest secrets- your relationship and the baby on the way.

A/N: sorry for the wait!! I wanted this chapter to be perfect and hopefully it is! Lmk your thots<3 xoxo

BYR(b4 u Reid): kind of suggestive, use of y/n, child abuse, mentions of blood, and hospitals. | lmk if I missed anything<3

read the first half to understand a bit more -> Oh Baby | Criminal Minds

The weekend passed quickly, uninterrupted by work, a rare occurrence, but one that gave you and Spencer the chance to just be with each other. Wrapped up in blankets, tangled together on your couch, the two of you spent most of the time talking about everything and nothing.

Spencer had been at your place since Friday night. The only time either of you left was to grab some extra clothes and a few belongings from his apartment, bringing them back so he wouldn’t have to leave again.

“I’ve been thinking.” He murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. You were nestled against him, your head rested on his chest, fingers lazily intertwined.

“You’re always thinking.” You teased

He huffed a quiet laugh “Yeah, I am.” He paused for a moment “I want us to move in together.”

That made you lift your head, searching his face “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate “I think moving in together is probably going to be the last thing we’ve done to soon.” You thought about that for a moment “That’s true.”

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly “I just— I want to be with you, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.” His voice was quieter now, but there was something heavy in it.

“Spencer, nothings going to happen to me.” You assured him

He exhaled, but it didn’t seem like it made a difference. He still looked at you like the thought of you two being apart even just to sleep was something he couldn’t bear.

You softened “Alright.” You murmured, “If moving in together is what you want, then I want it too.”

His head tilted down to look at you, a slow, relieved smile pulling at his lips “Yeah?”

You nodded “Yeah, but it has to be somewhere new, somewhere we choose together.”

“Of course.” He quickly agreed, pulling you closer “So when do we tell the team?” You asked, he hummed in thought considering the best timing

“I think we should wait until you're in your second trimester, but for now, we could at least tell them about us,” he says

You let out a small laugh “I’d rather just hit them with everything all at once.”

Spencer shook his head with a fond smile “Of course you would.” you shrugged “might as well get it all over with at the same time, right?”

“If that's what you want, then we’ll do it that way. I just don't think I’ll be able to hide it any longer.” He admits

“You know,” you started biting your lip as you laid your head back down on his chest “Penelope told me the team already knew we were…” you trailed off feeling awkward “We were what?”

You rolled your eyes “That we were sleeping together. She said it was obvious.” He let out a small laugh “Well I think Penelope’s crazy.”

“She is.” You admitted with a grin “But she’s probably right, we were terrible at keeping things lowkey. I honestly wouldn’t doubt they somehow found out we started dating the night we made it official. I don’t think they’ll be to surprised with that news.”

Spencer shrugged “Well if they do know, they won’t say anything until we confirm it. So at least we can all just pretend for now.”

You nodded, amused “Yeah.”

“What time is it?” Spencer asked, you sighed glancing at the clock “Time to get up.”

He groaned clearly not wanting to leave the comfort of you “Five more minutes.” You smiled shifting to look at him once again, your fingers threading through his messy hair. His eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, completely content.

You couldn’t help yourself, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Morning breath don’t matter. Spencer could never be gross to you, and you knew he felt the same.

“Come on.” You coaxed “I’m starving. If we hurry, we can grab breakfast on the way in.” Spencer cracked an eye open, feigning offense “You're choosing food over staying in bed with me?”

You nodded, grinning “Right now, yes.” You kissed his cheek before smirking “Shower together? You know… to conserve water. I’m very environmentally conscious.”

Spencer huffed a laugh “Oh, So thoughtful. I suppose I’ll help your noble cause.”

You giggled as you both got up, making your way to the bathroom. . .

By the time you stepped into the bullpen, coffee in Spencers hand and a breakfast sandwich in yours, Dereks suspicious gaze was already locked on you.

“You two ride together?” he asked, brow raised. You took a casual bite out of your sandwich “Yeah, he's on the way.” Derek hummed knowingly “hmm. Alright.”

As he walked away, you turned to spencer, grinning “You think he suspects anything?”

Spencer didn't hesitate “Of course he does.”

You shrugged. “Oh well, I'm gonna talk to Penelope. Talk later?” he nodded “Be safe.”

You snorted “She’s just right there.” you tell him as you walk away towards her door

You knocked on Penelope's office door, relieved to see her already settled in “You may enter.” she dramatically called

Closing the door behind you, you barely had time to sit before she grinned “How was your weekend? You and the good doctor disappeared. The group is talking.” She wiggled her eyebrows

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling “It was good.”

Penelope gasped, leaning in “Really? How good? Spill.”

You kept it simple “We talked… and he finally asked me to be with him.” she squealed “That’s adorable! So, are you guys having this baby?”

You nodded “Yeah. He’s excited, I am too. But we’re waiting until I'm past my first trimester before telling everyone.”

Her hand flew to her chest “Oh, my heart! I feel so special knowing this.” she lowered her voice “Are you telling JJ and Emily?”

You shook your head “Just you and Spencer for now.” she nodded “Right, right.”

You sighed, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thanks, Penelope. I'm really glad I have someone to talk to about all of this.”

She reached out, squeezing your hand “Always, sweet pea.”

You stood, ready to head out, but Penelope hesitated “Wait, one last thing. I was thinking… How are you going to keep working in the field?”

“JJ did it.”

“Yeah, but JJ doesn't do as much field work as you.”

You shrugged “I guess we’ll figure it out.”

She gave you a pointed look “I just don't want you getting hurt.” you gave her a soft smile “I know.” you assured her “Thanks, P. Talk later.”

As you stepped out David caught sight of you, smirking “Someone’s looking better than last week.”

You played it cool “Told you guys, just a stomach bug. A weekend off did the trick.”

Rossi nodded, then subtly tilted his head toward Spencer, who was at his desk “That, and some time with him, huh?”

You rolled your eyes “You guys are crazy.”

But you didn't deny it.

They’d have their confirmation soon enough.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The past two weeks had been exhausting. Squeezing in house hunting between cases, late nights, and early mornings. It felt nearly impossible to find time, but you and Spencer made it work because it wasn’t just about finding a house, it was about finding a home.

As the both of you pulled up to the Victorian house, you exhaled “Hopefully, this is the last house we ever have to look at.”

Luckily, you and Spencer finally had the chance to tour this house together. With your hectic work schedules, and to avoid drawing any more suspicion you had both been viewing homes separately.

You looked out the car window, even in the dark the house stood beautiful. It had charm, history, and character, exactly what the two of you had been searching for.

The both of you stepped out of the car, eyes scanning every inch of the home with quiet appreciation “It’s beautiful.” you murmured

A woman approached with a warm smile “Hello! Spencer Reid, and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s us,” Spencer responded, the both of you stepping forward to shake her hand “Thank you for meeting us at this hour.” Spencer politely said “Our work schedule is… unpredictable.”

“I completely understand.” The realtor assured “I’m happy to accommodate. This house was built in the early 1900s, passed down through generations, but recently, the family found themselves unable to keep it.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice but she quickly brightened “Shall we go inside?”

The moment you stepped through the front door, it felt like stepping into a different time. The natural wood floors creaked under your feet, the rich paneling carried stories of the past, and the fireplace, grand and inviting, felt like it belonged in a home meant to be filled with love.

“How many bedrooms?” You asked, wandering into the living room, already picturing a life here.

“Four.” She answered “All upstairs. Perfect for a family.”

You turned to Spencer “Four seems like a lot of space.” He tilted his head, the way he always did when he was thinking “Not really.” counting on his fingers “One is ours, one is for the baby, one can be a library.” he smiled as he said that “and the last… for another baby.”

Your eyes widened “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I just found out I’m seven weeks. Let’s focus on one baby at a time.” You laughed

Spencer only shrugged, as if the idea of another child was already a certainty in his mind.

You continued exploring, making your way upstairs, and the moment you stepped into one particular room, something inside you clicked.

It wasn’t the biggest, but it had a large, beautiful window overlooking the quiet neighborhood. Soft moonlight filtered in, painting the space in a glow that made it feel warm, safe, and perfect.

“This is it.” You said, taking it all in. Spencer’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through like second nature. You looked up at him. “This would be our babies room.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he took a slow glance around, and you could see it, him envisioning the nursery, picturing you both painting the walls, him struggling with a screwdriver as he attempted to assemble the crib, you teasing him for overanalyzing the instruction manual.

He could see your child taking their first steps in the living room below, and could hear laughter throughout the entire house. He wanted it, he needed it.

“Is this the one?” He finally asked, locking his eyes on you “I love it. A lot.” You nodded

A smile tugged at his lips as he pulled you into him, embracing you in a secure hug “I love it too.” your arms wrapped around his waist as his hand came up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, his touch lingering.

“We should put in an offer right?”

“Absolutely.”

Determined, you both headed downstairs, ready to fight off anyone who might try to take this house from you guys.

After filling out the paperwork, the realtor smiled “I’ll call you in the next few weeks with any updates from the owners.”

“Thank you.” you said, shaking her hand “Really, thank you.” Spencer echoed, his grip firm but grateful

You didn't want to leave. You wanted to stay, to imagine furniture placements, to map out the future in your mind. But Spencer opened the car door for you, waiting patiently as you slid into the passenger seat. He quickly made his way to the driver's side, but before starting the car, he turned to you.

“I can see us here.” He said softly, his gaze lingering, you met his eyes, your heart swelling “I can too. Playing in the yard, reading a book under the tree…”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. It wasn’t just affection, it was a promise. A silent vow that he would give you this home, this future, this life.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You and Spencer were sat in the waiting room of your doctors office, waiting for your first official prenatal checkup.

The last visit had only been to confirm your pregnancy, a whirlwind appointment where the doctor estimated you were around seven weeks along. Now, at ten weeks, the reality of it all was settling in. And with it came nerves, fear, even.

You had read online that the first trimester was the most nerve-wracking. The uncertainty of it all made your chest feel tight.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” a nurse called Spencer's fingers immediately tightened around yours as he stood, guiding you forward. The two of you followed the nurse down the hall and into a small exam room.

“The doctor will be in shortly.” she said with a polite smile before stepping out.

You sat down on the exam table, exhaling “I’m nervous.”

Spencer didn't even try to pretend “Me too.” your stomach twisted “What if something’s wrong? What do we do?” the question left your lips before you could even stop it, your mind already spiraling through worst-case scenarios.

Spencer's hand moved up and down your arm, in slow, soothing motions. “Let's not think about that, okay? Everything is fine.” He tried his best to push aside his fear to be strong for you

You nodded

“If anything happens, I’m here.” His eyes locked on yours, filled with quiet determination.

“okay.”

The appointment went better than you could have hoped. Relief washed over you the moment you heard the rhythmic thump of your baby’s heartbeat. Strong and steady, exactly as the doctor assured you, several times, because Spencer had insisted on triple checking.

“Is there anything we should be looking out for in the next few weeks?” Spencer asked, the doctor chuckled “First-time parents, right?”

You both nodded in unison.

“You’ll know if something feels off, mom.” She said reassuringly “And Dad, just be there every step of the way. Give her massages, help her relax. You two are going to do great.”

Spencer gave a polite nod, but it was clear he still wanted more information. “Thank you.” He said, though his expression remained contemplative as the doctor stepped out.

As soon as the door closed, you turned to him “I need to hear the heartbeat again. We need one of those at-home monitors.”

He nodded immediately “We can get one.” No hesitation, no questions, just unwavering agreement.

After leaving the doctors office, Spencer took you out for food. The two of you sat in a booth at a small diner, waiting for your orders.

You stirred your milkshake. “You know, since I’m ten weeks now, that gives us about two weeks to figure out how we’re going to tell the team.”

Spencer leaned back, considering. “I was thinking… since we found that house we both loved, when we finally get accepted for it, maybe we can have a cookout and just tell them there.”

You grinned “That’s actually a really good idea, a house warming party with a baby announcement.”

He looked pleased with himself.

Your excitement grew. “We have to get that house now. My baby needs that room with the gorgeous big window.” you dramatically say

“We’ll get it.” He promised, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

Spencer had always been thoughtful, but lately, it felt like he was operating on an entirely different level. Whatever you wanted, he was already one step ahead, ready to make it happen. It was like you unlocked some primal instinct in him, the need to protect, to provide. To make you feel like the most important person in the world.

And, truthfully, to him, you were.

“Spencer.” You spoke his name softly, drawing his attention. His eyes flicked up from his coffee “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Your voice was steady, but full of emotion “I’ve never felt like this before. No one has ever made me feel this special. I know our situation is different from tradition, but you make me feel like none of that matters, you make me believe everything is going to be okay.”

His expression softened, something tender flickering in his gaze “You make me feel like everything’s going to be okay too.”

You smiled “I can’t wait for us to be in our home, together.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next day after your appointment, you and the team were called in before the sun even had a chance to rise. It had to be serious, Hotch never called anyone in this early unless it was that urgent.

“We’ll be on our way.” Spencer said groggily into his phone as he sat up on the bed, there was a pause before Hotch responded, his tone pointed “We’re?”

Spencer’s eyes widened in panic “Oh no, I meant I’m on the way. Sorry sir, I’m just half asleep.”

Hotch didn’t buy it one bit. “Reid, just make sure you and Y/L/N get here soon.” The call had ended before Spencer could say anything else. He sat there mouth slightly opened in shock.

“I think Hotch knows.” He muttered, glancing at you “Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it after that slip up.” You teased, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly “It’s alright.”

The two of you hurried to get ready, grabbed your go-bags, and rushing out the door

By the time you arrived, the entire team was already gathered in the briefing room, including Garcia, which meant she’d be traveling with the team. You always loved when she did. JJ stood at the front, briefing everyone on a case out in Los Angeles.

Children were being kidnapped. Held hostage for days before being found again, alive, but barely. Most were so traumatized they couldn’t speak or even remember what happened to them.

Scanning over the photos, your heart clenched. These were people’s babies. Your throat tightened at the thought of what these parents must be going through. The fear, the helplessness. Your eyes stung.

A gentle touch under the tables startled you. Spencer’s hand found yours, squeezing lightly. He didn’t say anything, but you knew it was to comfort you.

You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to stay composed.

Hotch’s voice cut through the room. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everybody nodded, absorbing the severity of this case. “This is sick,” Emily muttered as she flips through the files. “Yeah.” JJ agreed, pressing a hand to her chest “These poor kids.”

Morgan clenched his jaw “We’re gonna get the bastard that’s doing this.” He was determined.

“Hopefully.” You whispered, pushing back from the table. You needed air.

On the jet, your nausea hit full force. You pressed a hand to your stomach, trying to keep yourself together.

“Here, Drink some water.” Spencer handed you a water bottle, his expression tense. “You're supposed to stay hydrated.”

You smiled despite the queasiness “Thank you.”

Across from you, Emily raised an eyebrow “That’s really sweet, Spencer.”

“Just trying to help.” he awkwardly smiled but quickly made his way back to his own seat, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Garcia leaned close, whispering in your ear “Lover boy isn’t very good at hiding things.”

You chuckled softly. “He’s just worried. I don’t think he cares at this point.”

Closing your eyes, you tried to rest, but it was impossible.

David’s voice pulled you back “Rough morning?”

“Yeah, went out last night. Just feeling sick from all the drinks.” You lied Morgan snorted “you? Going out?”

“Yes.” You shot back “Don’t be jealous I didn’t invite you.” He smirked “The more I learn about you.”

Unfortunately thought David wasn’t done “Who’d you go out with?”

“Just some old friends.” You shrugged, hoping he’d drop it, he just nodded, thankfully.

You shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of Hotch watching you. His gaze was sharp, calculating.

He knows.

They all probably do. Who were you and Spencer kidding? You were surrounded by the best profilers in the country.

At the Los Angeles police department, you all set up quickly diving into work. The weight of the case, combined with your exhaustion, made it hard to focus.

“Agent, are you listening?”

You snapped back to reality. Hotch was staring at you expectantly.

“Sorry, I-I got distracted.”

His expression didn't soften. “Now is not the time to be distracted.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “I know, it won't happen again.”

“You're coming with JJ and me. We’re interviewing the most recent victims' parents.”

You straightened “Got it.”

Spencer watched as you walked away, his jaw tight. There was nothing he could do, but he was grateful you were in trusted hands.

Interviewing the parents was brutal. They sobbed, pleading for their twelve-year-old son to come home.

“Please.” the father begged “Tell us you're close to finding whoever is doing this.”

Hotch’s voice was steady. “We just got here, but I assure you, we’re working as fast as possible.”

You leaned forward gently. “Has your son ever mentioned any adults he trusted? A teacher, a coach, a counselor maybe?”

They thought for a moment before the mother spoke. “He saw a school counselor every two weeks.”

JJ frowned. “Do you know their name?”

The parents shook their heads.

“We only found out about it a month ago.” the father admitted. “The school never told us.”

Hotch’s expression darkened “They didn't notify you?”

“No.” the mother said. “We thought it was odd, but it seemed to help him, and maybe he didn't want us to know.”

Back at the station, Garcia worked fast, digging through school records. It didn't take long to connect the dots, two school counselors, both men in their late forties, working at different schools but targeting kids the same way.

“That has to be it.” Morgan said

Hotch nodded “We have addresses. Move now.”

He started assigning teams. “Y/L/N, Rossi, and JJ, you're with me. Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid take the second location.”

As you checked your vest and gun, spencer stepped in front of you. “You can't go.”

Your brows furrowed. “Spencer-”

“I can't let you go.” his voice was firm, but there was desperation in his eyes. You exhaled sharply. “Spencer, we don't have time for this. There are kids who need us.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“What's going on?” Hotch’s voice cut in. You hesitated, searching for an excuse. But spencer beat you to it.

“She’s pregnant.” he said without hesitation

Silence.

Hotch’s eyes flicked to you, he gave a small nod. “Stay here.”

And just like that, they were gone.

You watched as they left, feeling betrayed. Spencer hadn't even given you a choice.

“He did it because he cares,” Garcia said softly. You shook your head “he picked the worst possible moment. This is my job, and I'm still capable.”

She just gave you an apologetic look

You sighed and sat down.

It had been thirty minutes. No updates. No calls. Nothing.

The silence was suffocating, and every passing second made your anxiety climb higher.

“I should go.” You said suddenly pushing up from your chair, Garcia’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No, you shouldn’t. Hotch told you to stay.” She reminded you firmly

You bit the inside of your cheek, restless “I can’t just sit here-”

Before you could finish, Garcia’s phone rang, cutting through the tension. She answered immediately, and as soon as she did, the color drained from her face.

“What?” You demanded, stepping closer.

Garcia swallowed hard “okay, okay. We’ll be there.” She said into the phone before looking at you with terrified eyes “Spencer’s been shot.”

The words barely registered at first. It was like she had spoken in a language you didn’t understand.

“What?” You choked out, shaking your head, but she nodded “We need to go now.”

For a moment, you couldn’t move, the room felt like it had tilted slightly, but you snapped out of it, instinct kicked in and you grabbed the SUV keys without another word.

Garcia gave you the address of the hospital, and you barely remembered the drive. Your hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles were white.

When you finally arrived and rushed inside, the first thing you saw was a team of EMTs pushing a gurney through the sliding doors.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Spencer.

There was so much blood, his skin looked pale, almost ghostly.

Your heart dropped, the world around you blurred, and muffled as if you were underwater.

You moved without thinking, trying to get to him, but someone grabbed you, holding you back.

“Let me go!” You struggled, twisting, trying to break free, but the grip was firm. You turned, frantic, only to see Hotch standing there. He was saying something, his lips were moving, his expression serious, but you couldn’t process a single word.

Everything was too fast and too slow all at once.

Tears ran down your face as you stood frozen, helpless, watching Spencer disappear down the hall.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Hours had passed as you waiting in the waiting room for any updates on Spencer, every hour feeling longer than the last.

The nurse had came by an hour or two ago with a small update informing that things were going well in surgery and he was expected to pull through but your mind wasn’t letting you rest, worried that anything could go wrong any minute.

The waiting room felt suffocating, and no matter how many deep breathes you took, the anxiety wouldn’t settle.

Most of the team had drifted off to sleep, curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. But you couldn’t. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind played worst-case scenarios, refusing to let you rest.

“How are you feeling?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Hotch taking the seat beside you.

You blinked, not really sure how to answer that question. “I’m fine.” You answered

Hotch studied you for a moment before speaking again. “How far along are you?”

It took you a second to remember that little argument you and spencer had before he left, you couldn't believe you were upset with him and now he was in surgery.

“Ten weeks.” you softly say “Almost in my second trimester.”

Hotch nodded, a small hint of a smile crossing his face. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah.” you softly smiled “Spencer’s the father,” he said but he wasn't asking, he said it like he already knew, which of course he did, and you were sure everyone else definitely already knew too.

You looked down at your hands, as you nervously twisted your fingers “Yeah.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “You two are going to be great parents.”

The certainty in his voice made you smile. “I hope so.”

Before he could say anything else, a nurse entered the waiting room. “Spencer Reid?”

You were on your feet instantly, Hotch right beside you.

“He’s out of surgery.” The nurse informed you two. “Everything went well, and he should be waking up soon.” A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding finally escaped. Relief flooded you so fast.

“Go. Stay with him.” Hotch gave you a reassuring look. You nodded, already moving. “I’ll call when he wakes up.”

The nurse had led you down the hall to Spencer’s room. He was lying peacefully on the bed, his face pale but his chest rising and falling steadily. The sight of him, alive and breathing, almost brought you to your knees.

The nurse gave you a small smile before stepping out, leaving just the two of you. You sat in the chair beside his bed, your eyes never leaving his face.

He looked so beautiful.

Minutes had passed, and then an hour. Finally, Spencer stirred. His fingers twitching against the sheets before his eyes fluttered open.

“Y/n?” His voice was groggy. “I’m right here.” You whispered, reaching for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

His eyes locked onto yours, and his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “What? Why are you sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have- at the station, I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.” His voice cracked, and a tear had slipped down his cheek.

“Spencer.” You whispered, letting out a soft laugh. “I don’t care about that anymore. I’m just happy you’re okay.”

Of course, only Spencer would wake up from surgery apologizing. He was the kindest, most selfless person you knew.

“Where’s everyone?” He asked, his fingers still curled around yours “in the waiting room. Do you want me to get them?”

He shook his head “Not yet. I just want it to be us for now.” Your heart swelled “Okay.”

He shifted slightly, wincing, then looked at you with pleading eyes. “Lay with me?”

You hesitated. “Spence, I don’t want to hurt you-”

“Please.” He whispered “I just need to feel you close.”

That was all it took for you to carefully climb onto the bed beside him, mindful of the wires and IVs. His arm wrapped around you as best as they could, his warmth seeping into you.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Spencer.” You murmured, he hummed in response, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your arm.

“I love you.”

There was a pause, and then his arm tightened around you. “I love you more.”

You tilted your head to look at him, and he was already smiling. “So all I had to do was get shot to hear those words?” He teased “I’d get shot a million more times if it meant hearing you say it again.”

You let out a small laugh. “Well luckily for you, that won’t be necessary. I’ll tell you every day. Every hour, if you want.”

Before spencer could say anything, your phone rang.

You glanced at the screen and saw your realtors name. Spencer raised an eyebrow “You should answer.”

You sighed, debating it, but Spencer gave you a small nod so reluctantly you answered.

“Hello?”

“y/n! I was just calling to tell you that the owners want to continue moving forward with you and Spencer! You guys got the house!”

Your mouth fell open slightly, and you looked at Spencer in shock. You were excited and happy but after today, nothing could make you more happy than just being in Spencer’s arms.

“Oh.” You breathed “That’s…that’s great.”

“Isn’t it?” She beamed “Unfortunately, Spencer and I we are away right now.” You inform her

“That’s no problem! Once you’re back, we can move forward with the paperwork.” You nodded even though she couldn’t see you. “Sounds good.”

After a few more exchanges, you hung up.

“Wow. Talk about timing.” Spencer softly chuckled, you smiled tiredly “I know.”

“This is good, though, right? We got the house.” He said sensing you weren’t as excited. You nodded, but your focus was on him “Yeah, it is. But right now, I don’t care about that. I just want you to recover.”

He grinned “I will. Now I just get to recover in our dream home… With my girlfriend.”

You wrinkled your nose “Girlfriend sounds weird.” You admit to him. “What would you prefer?” He asked smirking, you shrugged. “I don’t know.”

But you did know.

His fingers brushed your cheek, his touch featherlight. “I’d marry you right this second if that’s what you wanted.”

Your breath caught.

“But,” He continued “You don’t deserve to be asked in a hospital bed. You deserve something romantic. Something perfect.”

You curled into him, holding him as close as you could.

“Then I guess, I’ll just have to wait.” You whispered, Spencer smiled pressing his lips to your head “Not long.” He promised

You and Spencer spent the next few hours in each others comfort, neither of you saying much. There was something comforting about the silence, about just being together after everything that happened today.

Then, as expected, there was finally a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Spencer called, his voice still a little hoarse.

The door swung open, revealing the entire team. Penelope, Derek, Emily, JJ, Rossi, and of course Hotch. Each of them were holding some combination of flowers, balloons, and gift bags.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle as they all piled into the tiny hospital room, barely fitting. “Sorry for the wait, guys.” He said, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours.

“Hey, man, it’s alright.” Derek said, setting a bouquet down on the table. Then he smirked. “Understandable you wanted some alone time with your girl.”

Spencer’s face immediately turned bright red, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You really thought you could keep that from us?” Rossi teased, raising an eyebrow.

“We called it, we knew it.” JJ added, exchanging a look with Emily.

“This is somehow both surprising and completely unsurprising.” Emily said with a smirk. “Though, I am personally offended you didn’t tell us the moment we found out you were pregnant in the restroom.”

Derek’s eyes widened “Wait, you guys knew before?”

“Of course.” JJ said, shrugging. “We just didn’t know who the father was, but you know we had our suspicions.” She shot Spencer a pointed look

Spencer, still red-faced, shifted slightly in the bed. “Well. Uh-”

“Oh please!” Penelope cut in, grinning “I knew everything.” She bragged

The entire room erupted into laughter, the teasing only growing as everyone started sharing their theories, their suspicions, and all the little ways you and Spencer had definitely not been as sneaky as you thought.

“Like earlier on the jet, I knew you weren’t sick from drinking.” Rossi added with a knowing smirk

“Yeah, I should’ve figured something out then.” Derek sighed, shaking his head “I knew you weren’t a party girl.”

“I think the lesson learned today is that y/l/n and Reid are horrible at keeping things quiet.” Hotch said with his arms crossed a small smile showing

You groaned, embarrassingly hiding your face in your hands. “Okay, okay, we get it. You laughed, thoroughly embarrassed “We’re never hiding anything again.”

“Good.” Rossi said, looking pleased.

The teams teasing quickly spiraled into playful arguments, bets being placed on whether the baby will be a boy or girl, and a heated debate over who would be the babies favorite.

“I mean, lets be honest.” Derek smirked “It’s going to be me.”

“Excuse me? Its obviously going to be me.” Penelope said rolling her eyes

You laughed, shaking your head as the bickering continued.

Spencer had squeezed your hand, and you looked up at him both of you clearly grateful for the family you have and now the family you get to share with your little one. . .

I just want to say thank you all for the nice comments on the last chapter, I'm so glad a lot of you loved it sm<3

I also want to clarify, I am not a realtor nor ever been pregnant so if anything seems off or doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. lol.

Tag list :)

@coraline-jones353 @sleepysongbirdsings @alastorssimp @we-flower-fan @eg-dr3amer3 @bondwithme-murderstyle @cheriesbucky @criminallyvenomous @justlivinginadaydream

Don't forget to check out my other works<3 Here

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