#sa hotchner

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[rubberdingyrappids]

I need a fic, a hefty, in depth fic that has a member of the BAU acknowledging that Hotch wasn���t just stabbed by Foyet but also SA’d.

I just… I just need it. We should have got it in the damn show.

[frankiebirds]

forgot how heavy the SA imagery/implications are in the flashback to foyet stabbing hotch. i need to lay down for the rest of my life.

[lapseinrecs]

Sour Cherry Pie Life

By FaithDaria, paburke

On Archive of Our Own & Fanfiction.net

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 19,010 words

Summary: Dean has retired to the civilian life. Too bad no one told the serial killer currently stalking teenagers in Indiana.

My thoughts: Check the tags because there is referenced off-screen SA. Not the usual SPN x Criminal Minds crossover, but very good nonetheless!! And Dean being good with kids! And!! Lisa is not treated terribly!!! Honestly a win all around?

[ssamorganhotchner]

"I’ve said this for a very long time, and now that scene is so incredibly hard to watch 😣" what do you mean? 👀

Hi anon, my answer is under the cut. CW: mentions of sa, stabbing, and assault.

It had been mentioned in Foyet’s profile that he is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate his victims. Reid has actually said that in male rape, the sexual preference has less to do with the actual act than it does the feeling of power and dominance they feel from the act itself. In addition to that, it has been said more than once (and in more than one profile) that stabbing is usually a substitution for sex...

So with that in mind, and without going into too much detail there is a scene in 5x1 (Nameless, Faceless), that greatly suggests Foyet sexually assaulted Hotch when he stabbed him. I'll leave this here, but one thing Foyet told him was "it goes it much easier if you relax."

This is just my opinion, but after that realization it makes the scene very hard for me to watch.

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[messylxve]

rings | aaron hotchner x reader

content warnings: unedited, reader is has a daughter, pre-established relationship, implied SA, me lowkey supporting women’s rights and wrongs

credit to @saradika-graphics for divider

All eyes were on you.

The final moments of this investigation boiled down to this interrogation between you and a woman; a mother.

All eyes were on you in the interrogation room. You could feel it even through the one-way mirror. All eyes except for her’s, that was.

She eyed that pretty little gold band wrapped around the ring finger of your left hand.

“Mrs. Anderson,” you pressed. “Where. Is. Your husband?”

“Don’t call me that,” the disheveled woman snapped, finally looking to you. “Anderson. I despise that name.”

You didn’t react.

“Miss Levigne, you’ve killed three men and you are holding another hostage. Don’t think for another moment that withholding information will help you. Tell us where he is.”

Her eye fell back down to that ring, her frown deepening. “That’s a pretty ring you have there, Agent.” Her voice was nothing but a croak.

“Levigne…”

“Is it a wedding band?”

Your eyes flickered for a moment to the mirror, but you only saw yourself.

This was the most the woman had spoken since taken in.

“Engagement ring,” you answered shortly.

A whisper of a smile fell upon her lips and a bittersweet note played in her eyes. “Do you have children?”

Your finger twitched.

There was something in her eyes that softened. Something so motherly and saddening.

“A daughter,” you just barely whispered.

A sigh escaped her lips. “You love her. All parents should love and protect their children.”

Miss Levigne leaned in close. Not for intimidation, but as if she was sharing a secret.

“Would you do anything to protect your little girl?”

“Yes.”

Your voice felt raw now, vulnerable.

“I did everything I could to do the same.” She let it out in one harrowing breath. “You need to promise me something.”

She reached out for your hand but was cut short by the cuffs tethered to the table.

You met her in the middle.

“Promise me that man doesn’t touch my child ever again. Promise me that he’ll pay for hurting my baby.”

Tears pricked at your eyes but never fell.

“I promise.” Your words had never been truer.

Leaving that room, you were reminded that all eyes were on you.

“There’s a hidden basement in her house,” you announced, but finding your eyes immediately on Hotch.

You could see that saddening hint in his eyes as he rebuilt that wall of stoic professionalism.

“Let’s go,” he announced, Emily and Rossi now hot on his tail. Morgan stayed behind just a pace slower.

“Hey,” he called softly, grasping your elbow. “Why’d you lie?”

Your response came quick.

“I didn’t.”

On the jet, you listened to your music. Your arms were crossed and your leg bounced anxiously as you reread the same line of writing for the millionth time.

With another sigh, flipped the file shut, but as your hand fell to your side, you felt it get engulfed in warmed.

Looking down, you saw Hotch’s had wrap around yours.

You forgot how much you yearned for these fleeting moments of affection.

You didn’t need to look up at him to know he knew how you felt.

“Mr. Anderson will be investigated,” Emily announced, walking down the aisle of the jet before settling in the seat across the aisle from you.

“However, Daisy will be placed with Miss Levinge’s sister and her wife. No one will mess with her there.”

A bright smile eased onto your lips, a sigh of release relieving you. “That’s amazing.”

Emily smiled, nodding at the woman as Morgan filled in the seat in front of you, not minding Hotch as he pretended to read the file. Your entangled hands were clear from sight.

“What about you?” A teasing smile played at his lips.

Your eyebrows dipped down in mock confusion. “What about me?”

“You never told us you were engaged.”

“Or that you had a kid,” Spencer added, placing down his book in curiosity.

“Yeah,” JJ joined in. “What gives?”

Yours eyes flickered over to Hotch you watched the conversation in amusement, not saying a word.

You shrugged knowingly. “You never asked.”

Even through the mini-uproar your response got, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing Aaron’s smile matched yours.

He squeezed your hand even tighter, and you squeezed right back.

BONUS!!

You returned home early that night, Aaron’s car pulling up right behind yours.

“Hi handsome,” you smiled, watching him circle his own car and settle in front of you.

“Hi.”

His smile was soft and warm as he leaned in, placing a loving kiss to your lips.

You brought your arms to his shoulders, pulling him in even closer.

“I missed you,” you hummed against his lips, taking your hands through his hair.

“Really? What if I say I love you instead?”

You backed away from this kiss, forcing your eyes wide. “Oh I’d run for the hills.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, pulling you into yet one more kiss. “C’mon. Jack is staring us down from the window.”

You two walked into the house and all the horrors of the day washed away. It was all forgotten as the excited screaming of two children barreled towards you two: Jack jumping into your arms and your daughter in Aaron’s.

You couldn’t help but smile at this beautiful thing you had.

taglist: @mackannkees

[miley1442111]

cookies-a.hotchner

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a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1000 FOLLOWERS, Y'ALL MEAN SO MUCH TO ME I CAN'T BEGIN TO EXPLAIN IT!!!!

summary: you're the cute barista he sees everyday.

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem barista reader

warnings: fluff, mentions of sa, aaron is a cutie in this, sorry if this doesn't make sense, i was studying german all day and idk if I have the patience to re-write this :)

---------------------------

Aaron’s nervousness grew as he stepped closer and closer to the counter. Aaron Hotchner was not a man to be anxious, nervous, or shy when it came to speaking to people, even new people. Aaron Hotchner was a confident, intelligent man who was very important and powerful in both his personal and work life. 

So why was he so nervous to speak to the cute barista he saw every morning?

In his defence, you were drop-dead gorgeous. Aaron loved everything about you, your hair, your style, your face, your lips (he spent a lot of time looking at them), and everything about you. You were so interesting, so nice, and very good at making him a good cup of coffee. 

“Aaron! How are you today?” You asked, a smile on your face as he got to the top of the queue. 

“I’m fine thank you, how are you?” he smiled. Good, I got through the first sentence. 

“I’m great! It’s so nice out today,” you mentioned the weather everyday without fail, Aaron smiled and agreed with whatever positive outlook you had, even on the gloomiest of days. 

“It is,” he nodded. 

“The usual?” you asked, getting a cup ready. 

“Please,” he nodded. “And one of the cookies please.”

You stopped your writing on the cup to look up at him. “A cookie? I wouldn’t have put you down for a cookie guy, Aaron.”

“It’s not for me, my son loves the cookies from your shop,” he admitted, since he’d brought Jack here on your day off (yes, he had your schedule memorised. You worked Mondays to Fridays between 7am and 1pm, Saturday off, then on Sundays you worked the closing shift), and he’d enjoyed the cookie quite a lot. 

Your eyes flickered with something like… disappointment, but it was immediately replaced with your signature smile. “Any specific one?” You asked, eyes moving from him to the display case. 

“The red one, he loves spiderman,” he decided after a moment of deliberation. 

“A man after my own heart,” you smiled, and bagged the cookie, giving him a soft goodbye as he waited for his drink and cookie down by the other side of the till. 

---------------------------

Your co-worker gave you a sad smile as you deflated. Your cute regular, Aaron, was obviously married with children, who wouldn’t want to make him a dad? Who wouldn’t want to give him anything he wants forever? He was just so handsome and so sweet and so-

You get the point. 

You were smitten with a married man you had no chance with. Sigh. 

---------------------------

Saturday 4pm

Aaron walked in with Jack’s hand in his and the rest of the BAU team behind him. He was in his marathon wear, after just running the town's marathon. The shop was practically empty, it probably had something to do with the time and the fact that they were giving out free food at the finish line. But Aaron wanted nothing more than to b-line it straight to your cafe and get a latte and a cookie (he tried a bite of Jack’s and he very much enjoyed it).

---------------------------

The bell above the door rang and you put on your best customer service face to be met with Penelope Garcia. Your sister’s friend from college that visits every summer. 

“Pen?” you smiled 

“Y/n!” she squealed, opening her arms for a hug. You came out from behind the counter to hug her.

“How are you?” You asked as the rest of the group looked at the two of you. 

“I’m so amazing! I cannot believe your sister didn’t tell me you opened the cafe?!” She practically scolded. 

“Don’t be too hard on her, she doesn’t exactly… know,” you chuckled uncomfortably as Penelope’s face fell. 

“Why wouldn’t she know?” She whispered, turning you both away from the prying eyes of the group. 

“She… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” you shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Why? What happened?” 

“After the… after Ryan did, y’know, what he did, she told me she believed his version and not mine. C’est la vie,” you sighed, picking at your nails as you explained. 

“What?!” Penelope was practically crying. “That’s awful!” “I’m fine,” you chuckled, going back behind the counter. “Now, what can I get you?”

“I have the order written down, it’s a lot,” a tall man from the group offered. 

“Sounds great,” you smiled at him. He handed you over a piece of paper with various drink orders and food orders and you started working on them right away, since you were the only one working that day too. Penelope paid, and watched over you as the group chatted about various cases and congratulated Aaron on his performance. She soon realised she wasn’t the only one watching you, Aaron’s eyes were firmly planted on either you, or Jack. 

Interesting. 

---------------------------

As you brought over all the drinks, you finally let yourself look at Aaron. 

Fuck, he looked good in a t-shirt and running shorts. It was becoming unfair. 

There were three women on the team. Penelope, not his wife for sure- she was dating Kevin. A blonde woman, showing photos of her kids to the group and sitting far away from Aaron- not his wife. A brunette woman who was gorgeous who sat right beside him, but there was no physical contact- maybe his wife? You couldn’t tell. 

As the night wore on and they started trickling out, you were left alone with Aaron for a split second. While clearing their table, you accidentally knocked into him and spilt coffee on his shirt. 

“Shit, I am so sorry!” You immediately apologised and Aaron just stared at you with this dazed look for a second, then smiled. 

“It’s fine, I promise,” he nodded, but you felt awful. 

“Please let me get you some tissue or something Aaron,” you pleaded, bringing the cups over to the till before running to grab some tissue paper, not even waiting for his response. 

“It’s really not a big-” Aaron started but you hushed him, trying to get some of the coffee off of his shirt. He stared down at you as you worked, muttering soft apologies and sighs or annoyance at your carelessness. “Can I ask you out to dinner?” He blurted out, not even thinking. God, his head felt so hazy when he was around you. 

You slowly looked up in shock. “Pardon?”

“I’m asking you out,” he repeated. 

“But don’t you have a wife-?”

“She and I got divorced a while ago. I get Jack- my son- on the weekends,” he explained. 

“Oh, then in that case, yes please,” you smiled. “I’d love to go out.”

“Good,” he smiled, then he turned quite serious. “I promise to just move things at your speed, I overheard what you and Penelope were talking about,” he sighed. “You’ll call all of the shots, I promise.”

Your heart swelled. He was a gentleman, a dad, and a lovely person? How could you be more lucky? “Thank you, that means a lot.”

Aaron walked out of the coffee shop, a large stain on his white shirt, but a date too, so he really didn’t mind.

He also didn't mind the teasing he got from Penelope on the way home.

---------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover part 2 - dbf!hotch x fem!reader

18+ minors dni!

umm a little part 2 of staying at your dad’s best friend’s house <3 1.5k words, warnings: age gap, choking, degradation? unprotected sex 🤗

To say that your body was on fire since the night before would be an understatement. Aaron held you close until the credits of the movie started rolling, his thumb either rubbing your cheek or running circles on your neck. For such an experienced profiler you were surprised he hadn’t noticed the way you were shaking or the goose bumps on your skin.

His huge hand on you had felt rough on your skin but you wanted nothing else to touch you for the rest of your life. The subtle scent of him was stuck on your clothes and you heavily considered running errands in your pajamas, just so you could live in the cloud of his cologne.

It had just started getting dark outside and you figured Aaron wouldn’t be home until much later. That gave you time to take a long shower and also take your mind off of him and the veins on his hands.

You hit play on your favorite playlist, gathered all your best smelling toiletries, and stepped into the shower. The only problem was that the more you were trying not to think of Aaron Hotchner the more your brain focused on him. When you commanded yourself not to think about his thick thighs, your mind did the opposite. The more you were pushing him away the more he was stuck to you.

Maybe you could take care of your problem until he was home.

--

“Sweetie?”

Aaron searched around the house for you, holding a bag of takeout. He knew your favorite order from all the evenings he had spent at your house, keeping company to your dad – and naturally to you as well.

Moving further into the house, he heard the shower running, finding the reason you hadn’t been replying to him. He had to take a long breath in not to get all hot by the mental image of you in there. Naked and wet and…

No. You were younger, sweet and innocent. He had no business messing with a girl like you. You deserved a guy your age, with less baggage, without a kid, a demanding job, and a dead ex-wife.

Unfortunately for him, all his thoughts and reasons on why he should stay away vanished, the moment the door opened and you stood there in front of him with a little towel wrapped around your body and the expression of a deer caught in headlights.

“Hotch,” you said in a breath. “You’re home.”

“Yeah…I…I brought food.” He wasn’t sure how he was able to speak. Little drops of water were sticking onto your skin, and most of your body was completely exposed.

Aaron wasn’t naïve; he knew you wanted him. Still, he had never even dared to think of touching you.

But now, there you were, wrapped like a little gift just for him, looking at him with eyes that felt as if they were pleading for him to take you.

“I’m sorry for…um…” you said gesturing at your appearance, “this. I didn’t think you’d be home that soon.”

“It’s okay, honey.”

You both stood there for a moment, unable to avert your gaze from each other. The tension was strong, and Aaron knew the right thing would be to ignore it. He wasn’t thinking when he took a step towards you and he definitely wasn’t thinking when he grabbed your arm and pulled you close.

He heard you gasp at the contact and your open mouth looked deliciously inviting. Aaron wanted nothing more than to feel those lips wrapped around his dick, swallowing him whole.

“Hotch…” you whispered all needy, and it snapped him back to reality. If he didn’t let you go now, he would destroy you forever.

“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing your arm, but you grabbed his in response.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because this is wrong.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and your hand moved across his arm, reached his shoulder, and then moved down his chest. Aaron was praying you would stop soon, otherwise there was no way he was letting you out of his arms tonight.

“Unless you want me to take you to my room you should stop right there, sweetheart,” he said.

“And if I want you to take me?”

Aaron didn’t need another signal. He cupped the sides of your head and crushed his lips on yours, pulling you into his body as close as possible.

Your little whines as your lips moved against his drove him crazy and his cock was getting harder and harder by the second. Using his left hand he grabbed your jaw and urged you to walk backwards, without for a moment dropping your gaze.

Soon, you were on laying on your back decorating his bed. The whiteness of your towel was a beautiful contrast to the darkness of his sheets, as he pulled it off your body.

“Fuck, baby, you are so hot,” he said while scanning your body. To say he had never pictured you naked would have been a lie, but you were prettier beyond any imagination.

“Hotch,” you whined.

“Aaron,” he corrected you.

“Aaron, I need you. Please.”

He was dying to touch your body but his hand went to your face first, parting your lips, letting you suck on his finger. “I know you do.”

Your legs parted and the sight of your glistening cunt had his mouth water. You used your legs to bring him closer, wrapping them around his waist.

Your hands went to his belt, the feeling of them on his crotch driving him crazy. You moaned when you released him from his pants and that moan went straight to his ego, seeing how satisfied you were with his size.

Aaron’s finger was wet with your saliva and he run it down your neck, reaching your chest. Your nipples hardened even more under his touch and he could not resist putting one into his mouth, while he played with the other.

“You’re perfect,” he moaned. He lifted his head to look at you. “I want to make you mine.”

“All I want is to be yours.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. I can see that sweet little pussy dripping and begging for me. How are you this wet already?” he asked, when his hand finally found its way between your legs.

Your response was a sneaky smile.

“What does this little smile mean now?” he grinned.

“I was thinking about you,” you admitted. “In the shower…”

Oh, you were going to be the end of him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you show me, baby? Will you show me what you were doing while thinking of me? I wanna see you play with your pussy.”

You blinked ta him shyly.

“Come on, be a good girl and touch it.”

With a proud smile he saw your hand move, before two of your fingers disappeared inside you.

“Fuck,” he said, and started stroking himself at the sight of you. He bit his lips at the thoughts of all the ways he would use your body tonight.

“Need you,” you moaned. “Please, Aaron, I can’t.”

“What would your father say, honey, if I told him I had his daughter under me begging me to fuck her? If I told him she was begging for his best friend’s cock like a fucking slut?”

Your little cries drove him crazy and he placed the head of his dick on your entrance.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, and the next moment he was inside you.

His hips started rocking against yours, and Aaron thought that this had to be how being in heaven felt.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Ah…Aaron,” you moaned. Your hand found his and he thought you wanted your fingers intertwined. To his surprise your request was something different.

“Put it on my neck,” you said.

“You like to be chocked, honey?”

“Mhm…”

He wrapped his hand around your neck and you wrapped your own hands around his wrist.

“Fuck, it’s so good.”

“I know, baby.”

“You’re so fucking big, I…I…”

“Are you close, baby? Will you come for me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you screamed, and he felt your pussy pulse around him.

You looked like an angel while finishing, with your mouth open and your eyes closed. He stared at you, trying to memorize every single feature of your face. You were his now.

He pulled out and after a few strokes he was cumming all over your stomach. Your eyes were on his, and you were biting your finger with a playful smile. It seemed like you wanted to be fucked again, and who was Aaron to refuse you?

[confused-pyramid]

anchor - masterlist | aaron hotchner series

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons. pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader warnings: canon!typical violence (including SA, guns, child abuse, etc.), swearing, slow burn, eventual smut, more specific warnings included in each chapter word count so far: 106.8k status: indefinite hiatus

a/n: I've been rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is the result of that journey lol:) The title is from 'Anchor' by Novo Amor.

SEASON ONE: Coming Up For Air

SEASON TWO: There is More When You Let Go

SEASON THREE: Tell Me Some Things Last

SEASON FOUR: One Step From Grace

SEASON FIVE: You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down

SEASON SIX: I'd Like to Think That You Would Stick Around

SEASON SEVEN: I'll Be Yours in a Landslide

[bau-muffin]

“It’s All Wrong But It’s Alright”

Summary: You and Aaron Hotchner have an interesting relationship. He’s your boss, and you’re one of the agents underneath him.

What happens when you get triggered during a case, and comforting you leads to something more?

Word count: 6,006

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Reader

Read it on AO3

mentions: SA, CSA, it’s implied that reader has a history of CSA, oral sex, fingering

Hotch knew as well as anybody that this case would emotionally weigh heavy on the team, maybe even more than it usually did.

They had successfully apprehended Monica Menzel and her sixteen year old son Jacob, but certainly not before uncovering disturbing details that would more than likely haunt the team for the rest of their lives.

The victims, all of them, were below the age of nine. There were no preferences in boys or girls or hair color, not even eye color, but they were all tortured and sexually assaulted in the same exact way, and then their bodies disposed of and covered with a tarp, as though in remorse. As it turned out, Jacob was losing control and abusing these children while Monica disposed of them quietly.

It made Hotch doubt whether good in humanity ever existed, especially when he thought of Jack waiting at home for him to come back so he could tell him all of the shenanigans he had gotten up to at his Aunt Jessica’s and regale him with the details of classroom drama.

And, he figured, the rest of the team were thinking similar thoughts, their minds all engulfed with the children in their lives and how it only takes a split second for every sense of safety to become compromised.

But as the team left the precinct, neatly separated into SUVs, and caravanned back to the hotel, Hotch looked over at you in the passenger seat and wondered who you were thinking of. When he had opened the door for you, you’d sat down and not even murmured a “thank you,” like you usually did, instead looking as though you were a million miles away. He knew something was turning inside your head. It didn’t take a profiler to see it.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he flipped up the blinker to make a turn.

“I’m exhausted,” you replied, almost too quickly. “We’ve been up and at it with this case since five this morning, and I didn’t sleep very well last night. Probably didn’t get more than three hours

in total.”

When Garcia had booked hotel rooms for you guys, she disclosed that since the town was at the peak of tourist season, she couldn’t book enough rooms for everybody to have a room of their own; which meant that two agents would have to take one for the team and share. You and Hotch had drawn the short straws, but despite being a subordinate and superior sharing a room, it hadn’t been awkward at all. You each had a double bed and made yourselves at home.

Still, he was all too aware that you had tossed and turned into the wee hours of the morning, and more than ever he wished he could have assuaged whatever was bothering you.

“Was the bed uncomfortable for you?” Hotch asked casually, his eyes still on the road.

“Not at all. I was just… thinking, is all. You know how it can be.”

He nodded solemnly, his lips forming a solid line. “I do know.”

You hummed an affirmative noise before turning to look outside the window, though there wasn’t much to look at since it was already almost dark and most of the street lights were still off.

Hotch wished you would open up to him. Heck, even before, you didn’t mind opening up to him, even just a little. But now it was like a barrier loomed around you and your thoughts, forbidding anyone who dared approach.

“For most of this case, I found myself thinking of Jack,” he confided, glancing over at you.

“Yeah? I don’t doubt it. Having kids when you’re in this line of business… it can’t be easy.” For a moment, your tone sounded open and concerned, and he sensed your eyes on his side profile.

“It’s not at all,” Hotch said quietly with his eyes still on the road ahead of him. “It makes me wish I could take Jack somewhere and hide him away from the ugly side of humanity. But… I’m all too aware that’s not feasible, nor is it healthy. So, we persevere together, and all I can hope to do is guide him until he’s ready to step out into the world on his own.”

“I imagine he’s already seen too much of how ugly humanity can be,” you said gently.

“He has. There’s no hiding it from him now,” he admitted softly.

“Once you’ve seen it, heard it… you can’t go back from it. Even that young.”

Something in your voice made him glance your way intensely. Was it… wistfulness? Melancholy?

It was quiet for a few moments as he focused on driving while you turned back to the window and continued staring out. He figured he couldn’t force you to confide in him, so he may as well give you space, but he was still worried; probably more than he’d like to confess.

As soon as you entered the hotel room, you beelined straight for your suitcase. “I’m going to take a shower first, if that’s alright with you?”

Hotch nodded as he began plugging up his devices on his side of the shared side table. “Perfectly fine with me. It’ll give me time to call Jack before we settle down for the night. Take your time.”

You began gathering up your clothes and necessities and toted them to the bathroom, the door closing behind you softly. Hotch had never wanted to wiggle his way into your brain more and find out what was going on in there.

He’s always known you had a soft spot for children, and he was first hand testament to it, just witnessing how you’d interacted with Jack every time Jessica brought him by the BAU for a visit or when he would bring Jack for an event at Rossi’s—you’d always taken time to ask him how school was, you’d ask about some project or another he had told you about before, and often times you’d reach out to ruffle his hair fondly. When he had read up on your files during the hiring process, he also learned you had nieces and nephews, and from how you spoke of them, you seemed to love them and had a good relationship with them; probably a tad bit protective, especially considering what you’d seen on this job.

But something about the way you were withdrawing and reserved now suggested this was personal, much more personal than you wanted to let on.

Still, Hotch felt like it was none of his business, and picked up his phone to call Jack.

By the time he finished an exuberant conversation with his son and Jessica, Hotch heard your blow dryer running. (you always kept an extra blow dryer in your go bag. Derek once suggested you take it out to have more room for clothes, and Hotch thought you’d form daggers with your eyeballs and throw them at him. (Derek never brought it up again.)

Fifteen minutes later, you walked in with your dirty clothes and stuffed them into a mesh bag in your go bag; and Hotch felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

He hardly ever saw you dressed this casually. Your hair was down, fluffy at the crown from blow drying it, and wearing a large oversized t-shirt and shorts, as well as colorful fuzzy socks on your feet. But your face—it made him stop cold. Your eyelashes were wet with freshly shed tears, your eyes were rimmed with redness, and your cheeks were spackled with flush.

Hotch said your name, but he was interrupted.

“Hotch… just—hold me,” you said pleadingly, your voice cracking slightly.

Wordlessly, Hotch opened up his arms to you while he was sitting on the bed, and you fell into him, burying your head into his chest while your body spasmed with sobs.

He didn’t even care if you got snot on his dress shirt. Whatever comfort you needed that he could afford you, he wanted to give it to you. A washable shirt was nothing compared to the weight you seemed to be holding inside.

Soothingly, Hotch rubbed your back while his chin rested on your head and whispered, “Hey, hey.”

You continued sobbing, and tentatively his hand moved up to your hair, stroking it softly. Soon, the shaking and spasming ceased, and you just leaned into him, and the first breath you exhaled seemed like it released twenty pounds of burden from you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently, his hand roving politely over your back. He couldn’t help but think about how the cotton shirt under his hand was the only thing separating him from your skin; probably just as soft and gently dewy if your face was any indicator, but he pushed it away as soon as the thought came—now was not the time.

You were quiet for a moment.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Hotch said quietly, “but I know that talking about it… it can help, getting it out in the open.”

“I don’t want to burden you, Hotch. This case was heavy for all of us,” you all but whispered, almost muffled by his shirt.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed you shutting down after a case. Especially pertaining to child abuse. I’ll respect your privacy, but you need to know you don’t have to bear this on your own.”

You chewed your lip as tears threatened to spill over again, contemplating your options. Lie to your boss and evade the question? Pretend everything was okay? Maybe tell him you’re emotional because you’re on your period?

Finally, you lifted your head away from his chest and looked at him. It was almost breathtaking how much comfort and care you found in Hotch’s face, and it sent a shiver down your back as the kindness in his warm brown eyes melted you.

“Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he urged softly, “call me Aaron. Don’t you think we might be beyond work nicknames now?”

“Aaron,” you tested out the name on your tongue like a foreign object as your tone lowered, “I… I have a history with…. sexual abuse.”

“It’s not in your file,” Hotch said, concern creasing his face, and a little bit of his professionalism seeping in.

You shook your head. “It wouldn’t be. I had it sealed away.”

“But-“

“I knew it would affect how people, especially employers in our field, would look at me, Hotch,” you said, “especially as a woman. I… I’m considered weaker emotionally, at least from the stereotypical level anyways. Swimming with this upstream in my public record would’ve held me back. I hold up, and I save my breakdowns for when I get home. And in my defense, this is only the second one I’ve had since I started working at the BAU.”

Hotch looked at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “That… makes sense. But I still wish you had told me- or at least one of us- about this. We could have helped you reach out to resources. You… didn’t deserve to carry all of this by yourself, especially when you know your cases might trigger you.”

“It’s taken me a while to trust anybody with this,” you said softly.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stilling while it was smoothing your hair. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you every day in the field with my life, Hotch.”

“Aaron,” he reminded you, “You do. But… do you trust me with your past?”

“Yes,” you murmured.

Silence fell between you as you both seemed to become aware of what was happening in that moment.

Your head was on his chest, as it moved up and down with every breath. One of his hands was in your hair while the other was resting on your back. Your hands were splayed on his shoulders. His lips were only mere inches from the crown of your head. Your legs were resting between his. You were in his arms and the shiver of sadness that came with crying was being chased away by the warmth of them around you.

The temptation on Hotch’s part to kiss your head, your nose, your lips, it was almost surmountable. But he didn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability, or his position as your superior. He couldn’t do that to you.

So, you did what any subordinate would spontaneously do when they’re a little fatigued by his politeness- you reached up and kissed his face, only missing the corner of his mouth by half of an inch.

He said your name almost in a gasp.

It was such a simple thing, but it shifted the world underneath you both.

“I’m your superior,” Hotch reminded as much to himself as to you, “we can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“You’re emotionally vulnerable right now. I’m your boss and you’re my subordinate, so there’s also a power imbalance. And I- I’m so much older than you. You could have any man you want, you don’t have to settle for me.” His voice cracked almost minutely when he mentioned settling, but you heard it.

You scoffed as you lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not settling, Aaron. I don’t know who told you that nonsense, but no one is settling by… by being with you. And… I may be emotionally vulnerable, yes,” you admitted before your tone turned soft, “but I’ve… I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

Hotch felt surprise jolt through him and he tried to lean up a little more even with you on top of him, though his hand still cradled the small of your back. “Oh, really?”

“Are you really so surprised?”

“You’re just…” he struggled to find the right way to say what he meant, “you could have anybody you want, you know? I’m a middle aged man headed towards being over the hill, with emotional baggage, and a young son.”

“You’re also emotionally constipated,” you said with a small smile tugging your lips.

He chuckled quietly, and you felt the vibration of it from his chest. “Is that supposed to convince me?”

“It means I’m aware of your shortcomings, Hotch. Or what others may view as shortcomings.”

There was another beat of silence, then things started moving like a whirlwind.

He rolled you over so that you were underneath him, and his nose rubbed the side of your face as he lowered his mouth to your ear. “You really need to start calling me Aaron during these intimate times, don’t you think?”

You gulped as you looked up at him.

“Are you sure you want this?” Hotch asked quietly, “I would feel… so guilty if you ended up… regretting this later. It’s okay to take a bit longer to think about it.”

There was a hint of passion in your voice as you tilted your chin up to him. “You don’t know how long I have been thinking about this, Aaron Hotchner.”

That lit a fire in him that he didn’t know he had a wick for, and his hands slid over the sides of your face as he tilted your head up towards him, inspecting the flush that had formed on your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful. I’ve always been aware of it, did you know that?”

You opened your mouth to answer, and he covered your lips with his own, feasting on you like a man starved. It wasn’t long before his tongue asked entrance, and you granted it, his tongue grazing against yours.

You weren’t sure how you expected Hotch to kiss. Passionately? Without a doubt. Fervently? Definitely. But you didn’t realize “reverently” and “frenzied” were adjectives that could be used together, and yet it was perfect.

You hadn’t realized you were doing it, but you were grinding against him, his slacks rubbing against the cotton of your shorts, eliciting moans from him that you’d never heard before, but felt like music to your ears as it sent a shiver down your spine. In response, his hands slid to your breasts, his thumb rubbing against your nipples through your thin T-shirt in gentle circles as the rest of his hands cupped your breasts.

“Someone didn’t wear a bra,” Hotch said almost cheekily.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to get felt up tonight,” you laughed.

“I suppose not. You really are beautiful, you know that? And seeing you under me… I never thought you could get prettier, but apparently it’s possible.”

“Aaron…”

Hotch continued rubbing your nipples, gently, but with enough friction that it shot pleasure through you. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Aaron.”

“Do you mind doing me the honors of removing my shirt? Please?” You asked.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, kissing your forehead before he gently set about removing your shirt, shimmying it over your head before tossing it unceremoniously on the AC unit under the window.

You watched nervously as his eyes roved over your chest, almost feeling the burn of his gaze on your skin. But then he began leaning down and kissing a path from your collarbones, down to your belly button.

“Sweetheart, your breasts are magnificent,” he whispered before pressing kisses to each of them, “they’re just right for me.”

“Are you so easy to please?”

Hotch kissed your breasts again in answer, slower this time, as he nipped and sucked on the skin, leaving hickies in his wake. He chuckled to himself as he looked at his handiwork.

“I truly hope you weren’t planning on wearing a low cut shirt tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t, but I guess you eliminated that choice for me.”

He smiled, almost deviously, if you could believe he was capable of it. “You could, but I think you would have to answer some… piqued interests. But I also think… one part of you wants to show everyone, that you were marked, by me. And…” his voice lowered, “I can’t say I hate the idea of it.”

Before you could form a reply, he inched down towards your nipples and took one into his mouth, sucking on them gently. He wasn’t at all surprised when he felt your fingers thread into his hair, tugging at them the more he played with your nipple with his tongue.

Before he switched to the other nipple, he looked up at you, almost ironically puppy dog-like. “Are you enjoying this, my dove?”

“Yes,” you panted, “I’ve… I’ve never had this done to me before.”

He froze where he was. “None of your other partners did this for you?”

You shook your head.

“Amateurs,” Hotch muttered to himself before licking your nipple, wetting it.

Before long, he was back at it, sucking your other nipple, far less gentle than the way he had started, and his hand squeezing and kneading the first breast.

“Dear god-”

He completely unlatched from your breast to smirk at you. “I’m afraid God has nothing to say in this little foray.”

Impatiently, you reached up to unbutton his button up shirt feverishly, your fingers clumsily clashing into each other. Hotch chuckled at your excitement.

“You’re so cute when you’re eager,” he murmured to you, his own fingers reaching down to assist you in unbuttoning his shirt.

“Do you know how often I’ve wondered what you look like under here?” You asked as your eyes watched more and more of his chest expose.

“I’m not exactly… Derek in terms of body shape,” he confided. “And maybe at one point, I would have rivaled him. But I’m afraid my abs have… congealed a bit, especially since I became a dad.” He unbuttoned the last button.

“If you think that will deter me one bit, you have another thought coming, Mr. Hotchner,” you said sassily as you began pushing the shirt off of his shoulders. It was your turn to marvel at him and his body- his arms were toned, his chest had polite smatterings of hair and, much like Hotch in every other facet of his life, a happy trail that could only be described as neat and tidy. He was right that he wasn’t built like Derek, but in every line of him, you could tell he held incredible strength even for the average middle aged man, even if he had an adorable hint of tummy that you wanted to press kisses on. The scars from Foyet did not escape you, and you respectfully reached to trace them with your fingers, a ghost of pressure. To know that he endured that, and thrived in spite of it… you felt soft towards this stern looking man.

“You’re sure you still… want a piece of this?” He said almost awkwardly with a smile.

“If I wasn’t sure before, I know I am now,” you assured him as you kissed the underside of his jaw, “you’re beautiful.”

“I’m… beautiful?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me no one’s called you beautiful before?”

“Handsome, sure. Beautiful… no.”

“Well that’s just sad,” you pressed a kiss to one of his pecs, “because it’s the goddamn truth.”

You’d never seen him blush before, but you smirked with satisfaction when he turned red from his ears down to his neck.

“Are you ready to take this to the next level then?” Hotch asked, his hands moving down to the waistband of your shorts, playing with the drawstrings while he waited for your confirmation.

“Absolutely.”

With shaking hands, he began pulling down your shorts, tugging them down until he could discard them across the room, leaving you in your cotton underwear.

“You’re so wet already,” he said with a small smirk as his fingers touched the crotch of your underwear, hooking it to the side before ultimately deciding to just take it off entirely, as He quickly yanked it off and sling shot it.

“Those were my nice pair,” you mumbled, though you were thrilled at being completely exposed to him, feeling the crisp hotel air against you.

“I’ll buy you some more if they’re ruined,” he promised as he moved further down your body.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” Hotch said as he began rubbing your clit. You squirmed but you couldn’t stop the moan that sprang from you.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he praised you, “the noises you make are almost provocative, sweetheart.”

“You’re too good,” you said breathlessly, the tightness in your stomach overwhelming you. Hotch chuckled as he kissed the side of your neck, careful not to leave a mark, knowing you’ll still have to ride on the jet home with the rest of the team tomorrow.

“I’m not sure if that speaks well of me or poorly of the guys you’ve been with before, sweetheart, we’re just getting started here,” he deflected slightly. He continued rubbing your clit, the circular motion sending jolts of what felt like electricity through your body.

Your hands instinctively reached to the side and gripped the sheets when he began sliding a finger in tentatively, his thumb on your sensitive nerves now, keeping the circular motion going. His eyes searched yours, those eyes slightly darkened by warm lust.

“Is this good?” Hotch asked.

“God, yes,” you bit out.

He hummed a noise of acknowledgment while he slid in a second finger, emitting a moan from you.

“You’re so tight, darling,” he murmured, “am I going to need to stretch you out a little before we get to the main event?”

“It’s been a while,” you admitted.

“How long?”

“Before I moved to Quantico.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, surprise registering on his face. “Baby, that was… at least over a year ago.”

“I’m so busy with work that I hardly have time to meander into the dating scene. Haven’t really wanted to either.”

“Maybe we could talk to your boss about that,” he said teasingly.

You were about to respond when you felt his third finger slide in, and you took a deep breath.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed into your ear, his voice low with desire, “taking me so well while I fill you up with my fingers, and taking those deep breaths.”

His fingers pumping in and out of you made you gasp and grasp the bed sheets even tighter between your fingers. You hadn’t, in a million years, thought you would be in a position where Aaron Hotchner was between your legs, pleasuring you with his fingers. Those fingers you had studied for months, fiddling with pens while he listened to others talk, and fantasized what they could do to you. Now you were feeling it, you were finally feeling what exactly those fingers will and can do to you- and the answer was “make you feel fucking amazing.”

The combination of his fingers inside of you and his thumb on your clit was too wonderful to describe. You could write a sonnet and it still wouldn’t completely encapsulate how you felt.

“I think I’m ready,” you whispered.

“Are you sure, baby?” He murmured, “we don’t have to hurry. If it’s been awhile for you, then I think we should take our time. You deserve to be completely ready and comfortable.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” you said, glancing down at where you could feel his erection against your leg. Hotch blushed slightly.

“This isn’t about me, sweetheart. This is all about you. And you make me feel good when you feel good, making all those pretty sounds for me, knowing I’m the one who makes you feel like that, and that I’m the one with my fingers in your pretty pussy.”

You shivered again, but you bit your lip as you looked down at him.

“I still need to put my mouth on you, baby. Do you want that? To feel my lips on you while my tongue finds your swollen clit?”

“I… you don’t have to, I know some guys don’t-“

“Don’t tell me you think it’s an action of sacrifice on my part,” he scoffed with a smile, “like I said before, I want to make you feel good. I would be honored to eat you out, darling.”

Your cheeks were pink from the slightly crass words. “I didn’t even know you knew-“

“Just how old do you think I am?” Hotch rolled his eyes. He gently slid his fingers out of you and you barely stifled a groan as you felt the loss.

“So do I have your permission?” He asked, kissing your neck again.

“Yes sir.”

He smirked up at you as he bent his head towards your core. “You’re calling me sir now?”

“Terrible habit.”

Feeling Hotch’s lips on you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, but the moment his tongue began lapping at your clit, rolling it around and sucking on it, you don’t know where you went. Everything melted away, and all you felt was him.

Occasionally his eyes would flit up from his task and gauge your reaction, but every time, he knew you were more than satisfied. You grasped the bed-sheets tighter still, your head tilted back as a loud moan you didn’t realize you were making left your lips.

As his tongue searched relentlessly, hitting nerves you forgot you had, your legs jerked in response. Without even looking, his hand grasped your hips, stilling them firmly.

“Oh my god-“ you groaned.

Hotch moved away from you, his lips and chin covered in your juices, but a devious smile alighted on his face. “I take it that you liked it?”

You panted a few breaths. “A little.”

“Ah, yes, a little is what got your cum all over my face- imagine if it was a lot?” he chuckled as he moved himself up your body to kiss your lips, your juices meeting your tongue.

“Aaron, I…” you hesitated for a moment. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah?”

“I think… I think I want to do this again. When we get home in Quantico. And… I want to save the… you know, actual sex, for then. In one of our actual beds. Am… am I being too presumptuous?”

He kissed your forehead. “You would’ve been a fool if you thought I was going to risk it all for a one time thing, sweetheart. Of course I want this again, you’re not being presumptuous.”

Hotch moved to climb off of her, but you grabbed him by the belt loop with a hooked finger and a raised eyebrow, emboldened by your arousal.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You asked.

He chuckled. “As much as I loved eating you out, I can’t live with your juice on my face, dove. And… I figured you were signaling to me that we were done for the night, so I was going to clean you up.”

“We’re not done.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow.

She glanced pointedly at his erection, tenting his slacks.

“Oh… darling, we don’t have to-”

“I know we don’t. I want to.”

Hotch leaned back on his knees. “Darling, I-“

“I hate having to keep interrupting you, sir, but perhaps losing the slacks will help us to continue this conversation.”

He reached down for his belt buckle with a laugh. “Bossy, aren’t we?”

Within a few seconds, he had unbuckled and his slacks beside the bed. Through his boxers, the outline of his dick was prominent, and you felt your mouth salivate at the sight of it.

“You did this to me, baby,” Hotch said softly.

You blushed, still looking at him, but your hands reached for the waistband of his boxers, and inched them lower.

“Damn, sweetie, do you have a permit to conceal this large of a weapon?” you drawled as you stared eagerly at his dick, the pre-cum gathering at the tip of it as it stood tall.

He chuckled, his cheeks turning pink. “This one and a few others.”

“How do you want us to do this?”

Hotch hummed. “On your knees on the floor, sweetheart. Do you need a pillow?”

You clambered off the bed and got on your knees, waiting for him to follow suit.

He stood in front of you, almost hesitant, but the moment you gingerly grasped his dick, something in his eyes snapped into action, and his hands grasped your hair, tugging at the roots slightly.

You licked him from balls to tip, and under your touch, you could feel him shudder.

Experimentally, you swirled your tongue around the tip, then eased it into your mouth until you felt him hit your cheek

“Fuck-” Hotch rasped, his grip in your hair getting tighter, “you’re teasing me, doll.”

You looked up at him with arched eyebrows, deviousness reflecting in the glint of your eyes.

“You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? All those times we were on cases and you’d do those cute little mannerisms of yours. You’d tap your finger to your chin, or you’d part your lips when you would lift your head to look at something. Or when you would drink your coffee and widen your eyes at me over your mug. You’re just- fuck.”

Of course, that sudden expletive was because you’d mischievously pulled a bait and switch and taken him all the way to the back of your throat, opening up wider for him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed, “sweetie, you’re marvelous, I- shit.”

You looked innocently up at him, although the slight shift in movement almost made you choke.

“That will teach you, you cheeky- oh god, I don’t know how much longer I can keep…”

Ropes of cum spilled down your throat, and somehow you swallowed it all, though it took a lot of effort to do so. After it dissipated, you pulled away from him, just sitting back on your knees and looking up at the beautiful man before you, his hands in your hair. To the eye that didn’t know anything about him, he was just an average middle aged man, but to hers, before her stood a man who had been through so much, and loved and cared despite the risks involved, and whose strength was unmatched.

Hotch gently pulled you to the bed and laid you down. “I’m going to be right back, sweet thing,” he said as he kissed your forehead before going to the bathroom to retrieve wet wash rags.

Thirty minutes later found you on his chest, skin to skin, and his arms around you gently.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You asked.

“Probably, but what?” He replied before kissing the crown of your hair.

“When you said you noticed all of the cute little mannerisms I apparently do.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating his chest under you. “Absolutely I do. I’ve noticed from the beginning, when you applied for this job and came in for an interview. You kept touching your neck when you were nervous or felt vulnerable.”

Your eyebrows collided. “You were still in the process of divorcing Haley at that time.”

“I can’t say I immediately fell in love with you at first sight,” he admitted, “but I can say I felt like I met someone I thought would be nice to have around.”

“When… did you realize you liked me in a… in a different way?”

Hotch stroked your back. “When you remembered Jack’s birthday and sent home a little present by me to him.”

“God… Hotch-“

“We just went through all of this for you to call me Hotch? Really?” He smiled cheekily.

“It’s a habit! Anyways, you… you’ve known for that long? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to cross any lines that I shouldn’t have,” he said simply.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with the fallout from here, you realize that, right? And Strauss.”

“God, I didn’t think I’d hear Strauss brought up post coitus,” Hotch groaned. You laughed heartily.

“Let’s just… keep it between us. Just for now.”

“For now,” he agreed. You snuggled into his chest, and fell asleep like that.

Of course, you forgot that he left a mark on your collarbone when you had to untangle your limbs from him the next morning to pack up and get on the jet and go home. You couldn’t use the curling iron excuse, not that far down. And it was simply too hot for a turtleneck. So, before you boarded the jet, you made up your mind to gaslight everyone. And you meant everyone.

“Am I crazy or is that a hickey?” Derek pointed out when you sat across from him at the four seater, closest to the window. Hotch lifted a brow and widened his eyes at you from where he was sitting, conveniently facing you at the two seater behind Derek.

“God, Derek, don’t you know anything? This is a birthmark.”

“A… a birthmark?” Derek sounded bewildered. “Girl, I’ve known you for almost over a year now. You didn’t have a birthmark.”

“You didn’t notice? I’m almost hurt, Derek Walter Morgan.”

“That is not my real middle name, you know that, right?” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Where could you have possibly gotten any lovin’ from, hm? I know it wasn’t boss man.”

“You know, Derek is right. I don’t remember you having a birthmark,” Spencer jumped in from where he was perched on the couch across from you guys.

“Oh c’mon, Reid, like you’re the most observant person in the room!” You said with a smile.

“I know an iron burn when I see one and… sorry, but that’s not it,” Emily quipped.

“It’s just a birthmark- have you guys considered concealer exists? What’s next, you guys believe Emily naturally has berry red lips too? Gullible.”

“So… why did you leave it off today?” Rossi asked, obviously suspicious.

“I woke up late. Didn’t have time to do my makeup routine.”

This begrudgingly seemed to suffice most of the team, but Rossi was no fool, and he noticed Hotch’s t-shirt under your flannel, and winked at Hotch, who only rolled his eyes, then glanced at you, a vulnerable smitten woman among profilers.

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

tried to Google aaron hotchner sad accidentally typed aaron hotchner sas

this is what came up

that is, indeed, a sassy aaron hotchner

[kiwriteswords]

The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Part IV in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Here is another part of the Flirty!Female reader storyline I shared last week. This story can be read solo or as a companion piece in this universe! I am beginning to plan future installments of this story and some possible 'flashback' one-shots--all of which could be read individually.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 10.8k

Tags/Warnings: mention of past abusive relationship, fear of commitment, unresolved trauma, mention of SA, angst, romantic tension, mild violence, emotional vulnerability, workplace relationships, slight language, hurt/comfort, power dynamics, manipulation by an ex, sexual tension, sexual themes. Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: After years away from the BAU, you’ve returned, leaving behind a prestigious career as a professor and best-selling author. Once part of the original team, your reunion with Hotch has reignited long-simmering tension. Now, as your relationship begins to unfold, you’re not only confronting your fear of commitment but also the unresolved troubles from your past—including a case tied to your former life as a professor. With emotions and past wounds resurfacing, you’ll have to navigate the dangers of the job and the vulnerability of opening yourself up to Hotch without letting it all unravel.

Aaron Hotchner stood in front of his closet, pulling on a casual jacket, readying himself to head out and pick Jack up from his Aunt Jess’s house. It was a quiet Sunday evening, and the dim light in his apartment cast a warm, relaxed glow. You sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt, your mind wandering as you watched him quietly.

“You’re welcome to come with me,” Hotch said, his tone calm but warm, as he looked over at you. “Or you can hang back if you’d rather stay here.”

You forced a small smile, trying to play it cool, but your mind was racing. "Oh, I think I’ll just head home,” you replied, a touch too quickly. “You know… laundry."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He turned toward you fully, his steady gaze softening as he studied your face. “Laundry?” he asked, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone. “On a Sunday night?”

You let out a nervous laugh, shifting on the bed as you felt the tension between the two of you grow. He could read you like a book—he always could. You’d gotten to know Jack a few times, and honestly, you cared about the kid. He was sweet, and you loved seeing how much Hotch lit up when he talked about him. But now that you and Hotch were officially dating, the reality of being a part of his life—not just Hotch’s, but Jack’s, too—was starting to feel a little overwhelming.

“I just... I don’t want to intrude or anything. It’s your time with Jack, and I don’t want to, you know, mess up the dad-son thing,” you said, waving your hand dismissively, trying to deflect the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could tell he wasn’t going to let this slide. “Y/N, you’ve spent time with Jack before. You know you’re not intruding,” he said, his voice gentle but probing. “And Jack’s shared with me that he likes you there,” He stepped closer, leaning against the dresser, his arms folding across his chest. “What’s really going on?”

Your heart rate picked up, and you could feel your defenses rising. You hated how well he could see through you. 

“Nothing’s going on,” you lied, forcing a smirk onto your face. “I just don’t want Jack to think I’m moving in or anything. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t want to share his dad’s time with someone who’s, you know, kind of irresistible.”

You tossed the joke out there, hoping the humor would deflect the conversation away from the nagging feeling in your chest. But Hotch didn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze remained steady on you, seeing past the joke, past the deflection. He could always see right through the armor you put up, and it unnerved you.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, just watching you, letting the silence hang between you two. Finally, his voice broke through the tension, low and measured. 

“Y/N... do you have issues with commitment?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut, though his tone was gentle, almost too gentle. You blinked, your breath catching slightly as you stared at him, trying to figure out what to say. Your instinct was to deny it, to brush it off like you always did.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head a little too eagerly. “I’m fully committed to you, Aaron. I mean... I just... I don’t have commitment issues. It’s just that... I have to go...you know…”

You trailed off, the lame excuse you were trying to come up with faltering in your mind. You couldn’t think of a single thing that didn’t sound ridiculous. You were backing yourself into a corner, and you both knew it.

Hotch’s expression softened even more, his eyes searching yours as he stepped closer. He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. He never would. But the way he looked at you—the way he could see your fear even when you tried to hide it—made it impossible to lie to him.

“You don’t have to make excuses,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not pushing Jack or any of the family stuff onto you. I want you to be comfortable, and I’ll never force you into anything you’re not ready for. But... I need to know what you’re feeling. If there’s something you’re scared of, you can tell me.”

Your throat tightened as his words hit home. The truth was, you were terrified. You were beginning to love him, and the idea of being part of his life—really part of it, including Jack—was more serious than you ever allowed yourself to get before. But you couldn’t admit that to him. You couldn’t admit how scared you were of the possibility of getting hurt. So instead, you plastered on another forced smile, trying to hide the vulnerability bubbling up inside you.

“I’m not scared, Aaron,” you lied again, your voice betraying the uncertainty you were trying so hard to cover. “I’m fine. Really.”

But even as you said it, you knew he didn’t believe you.

Hotch stood quietly in the doorway, watching as you slipped on your coat, preparing to leave his apartment. He could tell by the way you moved—hurried, slightly fidgety—that something was bothering you. He knew you weren’t being entirely honest with him, but he didn’t press further. Not yet, anyway.

As you reached for the door, you glanced back at him with a tight smile, your voice softer now. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Hotch nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. “Okay,” he said simply, though his mind was far from settled. “Drive safe.”

You gave him a quick wave and hurried out the door, closing it behind you with a soft click. Hotch remained standing in the same spot, staring at the door long after you were gone, the familiar quiet of his apartment settling back around him. His mind, however, was far from quiet.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall, his thoughts churning. He and you had agreed long ago not to profile each other, a mutual understanding that was meant to keep things simple. But right now, he couldn’t help himself. The profiler in him was already working, analyzing every piece of the puzzle that you had left behind.

He knew you cared about him. He also knew you were great with Jack—there was no denying the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you were around. You were patient with him, playful, and you always found a way to make him laugh even after a tough day. Hotch wouldn’t be with someone if Jack didn’t like them, and he definitely wouldn’t have let you into his life if he didn’t think you were good for both of them.

So why were you pulling away now? What was it about commitment that made you so uncomfortable?

Hotch crossed the room slowly, his footsteps soft against the floor as his mind pieced together the details. It wasn’t just about Jack—he could see that much. This was about more than his son. The way you deflected, the way you tried to cover your unease with humor... it wasn’t about being around Jack. No, this was deeper than that.

He thought back to the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when you told him you were fine, the way your laughter was a little too quick, too forced. You were scared, that much was clear, but scared of what? Being in a relationship with him? Or was it the idea of permanence—of letting someone in?

Hotch pressed his lips together, considering. He wasn’t blind to your past. You’d mentioned bits and pieces before, always in passing, never lingering too long on the details. He hadn’t pushed you for more, respecting your boundaries, but now... now he couldn’t help but wonder if those past experiences were what was making you retreat.

Commitment. The word echoed in his mind. It wasn’t just a fear of being with him—it was a fear of what being with him meant. A future. A life. A family.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to the jacket you had left slung over the back of the chair, a small reminder that you weren’t really gone, not in the way his mind feared you might be. You were still here, still in his life. But the hesitation you had around the idea of permanence, of family... it worried him. Because for Hotch, being with someone wasn’t just casual. He was past that. And he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t see something lasting.

He let out another slow breath, his mind running through possible explanations for your discomfort. Was it something from your past? A relationship gone wrong? A family situation that left scars you didn’t want to reopen? He had seen enough in his career to know that fear of commitment usually had roots in something much deeper, something more personal.

And as much as he wanted to respect your boundaries, Hotch knew that if this relationship was going to last, you couldn’t keep running. He wouldn’t push you—not now—but he also couldn’t let this go unresolved.

He made his way to the couch, sitting down and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor. He wasn’t the type to force things. He’d always been patient, methodical, both in his work and in his personal life. But with you... he felt that familiar pull. He couldn’t help but want to protect you, even from yourself. He wanted to know what you were afraid of, and more than that, he wanted to help you face it.

Because the truth was, Hotch wasn’t afraid of commitment. Not with you. He wouldn’t have let you into his life—or Jack’s—if he wasn’t serious about the future. And he needed to know if you were ready to face that with him or if you were going to keep running.

Hotch’s eyes flicked back to the door, his mind still working, still piecing together the small details you had left behind. He could wait. He could give you time. But he also knew that at some point, the truth would have to come out.

He wasn’t going to let you slip away that easily.

The next few days passed like any other—business as usual at the BAU. Cases came and went, paperwork piled up, and the team fell into their familiar rhythm. But you? You were doing your best to stay out of Hotch’s orbit. It wasn’t overt—just little things. Sitting a little further away during briefings, excusing yourself before the team headed to lunch together, or leaving the bullpen just a moment earlier than usual to avoid being caught in conversation.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him. You did. But that was the problem.

Every time you thought about him—about Hotch, and about Jack—your chest tightened with a mixture of affection and dread. The feelings were overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that loving them, both of them, would end in disaster. Because that’s how it always happened, didn’t it? The moment you admitted to yourself that you loved someone, it all fell apart.

You weren’t blind to your own patterns. You’d seen it happen over and over again—every time you let someone in, every time you allowed yourself to love, something went wrong. Past relationships had crumbled the moment you showed vulnerability, the moment you trusted someone enough to share your insecurities. It was as if, once they saw the cracks, they lost interest. They grew tired of you, sick of the very parts of you that you couldn’t hide forever.

And Hotch? He was different. He felt different. You’d built walls for so long, kept people at arm’s length for years because it was easier to be alone than to deal with the heartache of being left behind. But now, with Hotch, the stakes were so much higher. This wasn’t just some casual fling. He had Jack, too, and you’d started to care about him—really care about him. Losing them both would be unbearable.

What if Hotch got sick of you? What if the moment you opened up, told him about the fears that kept you up at night, he realized you weren’t what he wanted? What if he saw all the things that made you unlovable? That thought was like a knife to your chest, and every time it crossed your mind, you could feel yourself retreating, brick by brick, back behind the walls you’d spent so long building.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Hotch. You did, more than anyone. But that didn’t erase the fear—the fear that, if you gave him the chance, he might use your insecurities against you one day. You’d seen it before, how the people closest to you could turn your vulnerabilities into weapons when things got tough. Past lovers, boyfriends... even family had done it. Once they knew where your weak spots were, they treated you differently, and eventually, they all left.

You couldn’t afford to let that happen with Hotch. Losing him... losing Jack? It would break you.

So, you avoided him. Not in any dramatic way, but enough to keep yourself at a distance. Enough to protect yourself. You told yourself it was just temporary, that you needed space to figure things out. But the truth was, you were terrified—terrified of what would happen if you admitted to yourself that you loved him. Because you did. You could feel it, and that terrified you more than anything.

Because loneliness? Loneliness was something you knew how to handle. It was easier to bear than heartache.

You stood in the copy room, staring at the machine as it hummed softly. The bright fluorescent lights overhead felt harsh, too revealing, but you needed the escape. You’d volunteered to make copies—something you never did. It was usually Penelope or JJ’s domain, not yours, but anything was better than sitting at your desk, where you might have to face Hotch.

The door creaked open, and you jumped, nearly knocking over the stack of papers in your hands. You turned around quickly, and there he was—Hotch, leaning in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you with that familiar, steady gaze.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you were sure he could hear it. You scrambled to regain your composure, putting on your usual front as quickly as you could. “Avoiding you?” you echoed, forcing a smile. “No way. I’ve just been... really busy. You know, super swamped with all this copying.”

You gestured awkwardly to the copy machine, as if that would somehow make your excuse more believable. You immediately regretted it. Hotch’s expression didn’t change, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t buying a word of it.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. “You don’t make copies,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt the walls closing in, but instead of admitting anything, you did what you always did when things got too uncomfortable—you deflected. “Well, you know me,” you said, tilting your head with a smirk, “I like to shake things up. Keep things... interesting.”

You punctuated the sentence with a playful wink, hoping the flirtation would steer the conversation away from the real issue. But this time, Hotch wasn’t having it. His eyes narrowed slightly, and though you could see the faintest trace of amusement in his gaze, it wasn’t enough to let you off the hook.

He took another step closer, his voice lowering just a touch. “You’re deflecting,” he said softly, his tone a mix of concern and patience. “I’m not going to let you avoid this, Y/N. Not this time.”

Your heart raced as you realized there was no escaping the conversation. You could feel the tension between the two of you, but it wasn’t the usual kind—the playful, teasing tension that you thrived on. This was heavier, more serious. And the way he looked at you, so intent, so knowing, made it impossible to keep pretending.

“I’m not... avoiding anything,” you lied again, though the words felt hollow even as you said them. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

But Hotch didn’t budge. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could tell he was waiting—waiting for you to drop the act. He had always been patient with you, always let you use humor and flirtation to dodge the hard conversations, but this time... this time he wasn’t going to let you.

He stepped even closer, his presence grounding you in the small room, and his voice softened in a way that made your defenses start to crumble. “Y/N,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to hide from me. Whatever it is... you can talk to me.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You felt the weight of his words settling in the pit of your stomach, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t pushing. He was just... asking you to let him in.

But letting him in meant tearing down the walls you had built for years. It meant showing him the parts of yourself that you had spent so long hiding—the parts that had driven other people away. And that scared you more than anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

But Hotch just watched you, quiet and unflinching. He wasn’t going to let you use your usual tactics this time. You could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way his jaw tightened slightly as if he were holding back his own frustration. He wasn’t asking you to be perfect. He wasn’t asking you to have all the answers. He was just asking you to be real with him.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, all you could hear was the soft hum of the copy machine in the background. You felt your resolve weakening, the familiar comfort of your usual bravado slipping away as you stood there, face to face with him.

“Why are you really avoiding me?” Hotch asked again, his voice so soft now that it felt like a whisper. “What are you afraid of?”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought about lying again. But the way he looked at you—the way he had always seen through you—made it impossible.

You swallowed hard, your gaze falling to the floor as you tried to find the words. “I’m not afraid,” you started, though the words felt fragile. “It’s just... I’m not... good at this. I don’t know how to be...” You trailed off, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to say the things that had been gnawing at you for days.

“I’m not... good at relationships, okay?” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I’ve let someone in, it’s... it’s backfired. I’m scared that if I show you who I really am, you’ll... you’ll get tired of me. Or worse, you’ll see all the things that make me unlovable and... leave.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as they did, you felt exposed, raw. Vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in years.

Hotch’s expression softened even more, his gaze filled with understanding rather than judgment. He stepped closer, his voice steady and reassuring. “Y/N, that’s not going to happen,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before Hotch could say anything more, the door to the copy room swung open, and JJ appeared, her expression urgent but apologetic.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” JJ began, glancing between the two of you, clearly sensing the tension. “But we’ve got an urgent case. We need to head to the briefing room now.”

Hotch straightened up immediately, the shift in his demeanor instant. He was back in work mode, but before he turned to leave, he glanced at you, his eyes softening for just a moment. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” he said, his voice low but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You, of course, couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back against the copy machine, crossing your arms with a defiant smirk. “I don’t know, Hotchner. I might be busy making copies.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought back a smile, his gaze flicking back to you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Knock it off,” he said lightly, his tone still professional but with that familiar warmth. “Don’t be a brat.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening just a little. “No promises.”

Hotch shook his head, clearly not fazed by your antics, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned to follow JJ, already shifting back into his role as Unit Chief. You followed behind, the moment lingering in the back of your mind, knowing that this conversation was far from over.

The air in the briefing room felt thicker as the case unfolded. JJ was going through the details, but your mind was already reeling from what you saw. The university. The professor. The past you thought you’d left behind.

The team listened intently, no one yet aware of just how personal this case was about to become for you. You had worked with these people before, years ago, when you were part of the original team with Rossi, Gideon, and Hotch. They knew your reputation—how you’d left the BAU to teach at an Ivy League university, write books, and shape future generations of agents. But they didn’t know the deeper connections, the ones that were resurfacing now.

JJ clicked to the next slide, and that was when you felt the pit in your stomach form. The suspect’s possible protector: a law professor who had once been the person you thought you’d build a life with. The one you left behind when your priorities shifted.

As the details about the professor emerged, Morgan looked over at you, furrowing his brow. “Wait, didn’t you teach at this university for a while?”

You nodded, keeping your voice steady, though your pulse was anything but. “Yeah. I taught there for a few years.”

Prentiss leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “And this professor... you know him?”

You hesitated for just a moment, the weight of your words settling in your throat. You hadn’t expected to be forced into revealing this now, in front of the entire team, but there was no avoiding it. You glanced at Hotch, and for a brief second, you saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. But it was Rossi’s calm presence that grounded you, reminding you why you had come back to the BAU in the first place. Because he had called you. Because he had known you belonged here.

With a small sigh, you gave a tight nod. “He’s my ex. I was with him for a while when I was teaching there. We broke up years ago.”

The room went quiet for a beat, the team exchanging glances as they processed the information. Nobody had known. You had always kept that part of your life separate from your professional world, but now it was colliding head-on.

“I’m not surprised he’s involved in this,” you continued, keeping your tone as even as possible. “He’s always been good at covering things up, especially when it comes to protecting his students. I’m guessing he’s helping the suspect in more ways than we realize.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t leave you. While the rest of the team focused on the new revelation, he was watching your demeanor, analyzing the subtle shifts in your expression. He could see you trying to keep it together, but he knew you too well. He knew there was more to this than you were letting on.

The timing of it all couldn’t have been worse. Just when he had been starting to understand why you’d been so distant, now this—an ex, the kind of connection that could explain more than just your avoidance in recent days. Hotch’s mind was already working through the implications, but now wasn’t the time to push. Not yet.

“We’ll split into teams,” Hotch said, taking control of the situation and pulling the focus back to the case. “Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, and I will meet with campus security. JJ, Reid, and Y/N—you’ll talk to the students and see if anyone’s noticed anything suspicious about the professor or the suspect.”

You nodded, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up inside you. You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, still watching, still waiting for the conversation you both knew was inevitable. But for now, you needed to focus on the case. You couldn’t afford to let your past get in the way of the job.

But you knew, deep down, this wasn’t over.

The steady hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin as you sat in your usual seat, staring out the window at the clouds passing by below. The rest of the team was engaged in quiet conversation or reviewing the case files, but you had remained silent, your mind elsewhere. Too calm. Too collected. You knew it. But this was the only way you could handle the situation—by shutting it all down, pushing it far enough away that it didn’t touch you.

Hotch sat across from you, his eyes flicking between his file and you. He was subtle about it, but you could feel his gaze. After everything that had come out in the briefing room, you knew he’d want to check in, and you’d been dreading it.

He cleared his throat softly, leaning forward just enough to speak quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear. “How are you holding up?”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady and flat. Too steady. “This is just another case.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat. “You seem... detached.”

You felt your jaw tighten as you flipped through the file in your lap, though you weren’t actually reading it. “I’m not detached,” you replied, too cold. “I’m focused.”

He was silent for a moment, then tried a different approach. “This professor—your ex—was there anything about him that we should know? Anything that could help us?”

You froze for just a moment before you snapped the file shut and finally looked at him, your eyes hard and unyielding. 

“He was an asshole, Aaron. That’s all you need to know.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t stop there. “He was manipulative, controlling, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself. And I was an idiot for staying with him as long as I did.”

Hotch blinked, clearly taken aback, but not by your anger—by the venom in your voice, the way you talked about yourself. He didn’t respond right away, his mind already processing how someone like that could have hurt you. Why you would have tolerated it for so long. But before he could say anything more, you turned away, ending the conversation with a wall of silence.

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of silence and tense focus. Hotch didn’t push further, but you could feel the weight of his thoughts as he processed what you’d said.

When the jet finally landed, and the team moved into action, there was little time for personal conversations. The team split up into teams, like Hotch requested, but there was little to no developments. You spent the day…tense--radiating off of you. 

It was Morgan who broke the tension once things had settled into the routine.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, sidling up next to you as you tossed through the files. “I’m surprised you haven’t given Hotch much hell today. Must be hitting close to home, huh?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Too close.”

Morgan’s grin faded, and he gave you a knowing look. “You okay?”

You shrugged, shaking your head a little. “Honestly? I don’t know how to express that to him—how to say anything to him.”

Morgan leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Hotch? The cold drill sergeant?” He raised his eyebrows. “Come on. You’re his one exception. To most things, actually.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Morgan said, his tone more genuine now. “Look, we trust each other with our lives every day in the field. You’ve got to start trusting him with more than just that. The guy trusts you. I mean, really trusts you—his life, his messy past, all of it. Maybe you should think about trusting him with yours.”

You bit your lip, considering his words, knowing there was more truth in them than you wanted to admit. You hadn’t let Hotch in—really let him in—but not because you didn’t want to. You just didn’t know how. And Morgan was right, it could not be easy for Hotch to let someone in after Haley. Bringing you around Jack, into his life that he once lived with someone who he thought would be there forever? Could not be something easy, yet he was allowing you in anyways. 

Before you could respond, Hotch’s voice broke through the moment. “We’ve got a lead on the professor,” he said, his tone all business as he approached. “I want you to stay back.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly stopped yourself. Instead, you quipped, “Come on, Hotch. Don’t tell me you don’t want me to have all the fun.”

Morgan chuckled and shook his head, walking off with a muttered, “Good luck, man.”

But Hotch didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, but with that familiar look that told you he wasn’t buying your deflection. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he said quietly. “When we get him into custody, I want you to talk to him. You know him, and that personal connection might be an advantage we can use.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Hotch didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on you, his voice lowering just enough so that only you could hear him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re not comfortable—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted softly, the seriousness of your voice surprising even yourself. “None of this is comfortable, Hotch. But I’m learning. Learning how to... express that. Trying. And hoping I can share more. Soon.”

Hotch studied your face for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something softer in his eyes. Something that told you he wasn’t just your boss right now—he was someone who cared about you. Someone who wanted you to be okay.

“Okay,” he said, his voice just as soft. “But if you need to step back at any point, I need you to tell me.”

You gave him a small, almost sad smile. “I will.”

He nodded once, his professional mask slipping back into place as he turned to the rest of the team. But you knew this conversation wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

The interrogation room was colder than you remembered, the sterile fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the table. You stood by the one-way mirror for a moment, watching as your ex—the professor—sat with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression unreadable. It had been years since you’d seen him, and though you had prepared yourself for this moment, it still felt like a punch to the gut.

Hotch stood beside you, silent but present, his gaze fixed on the man in the room. His anger was palpable—another body had been found on campus, escalating the urgency of the case. You could feel his tension in the air, but as always, he kept it under control. For now.

“You don’t have to do this,” Hotch said quietly, his voice low but steady. “If you’re not ready—”

You cut him off, straightening your shoulders and pulling your gaze away from the glass. “I’ve got this,” you said firmly, though your heart raced in your chest. “I need to do this.”

Hotch’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. He gave a small nod, but before you walked through the door, he spoke again, his voice softer. “If he crosses a line, I’ll be right there.”

You met his gaze, grateful for his support, but you forced a confident smile onto your face. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

With that, you stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. The professor looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and you could see the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, casually, like he wasn’t sitting in an interrogation room, suspected of covering up for a student who had committed unspeakable crimes.

The interrogation room felt suffocating, the air thick with tension. He sat casually in his chair as if this were a simple chat. His smug demeanor, the arrogance in his eyes—it all brought back memories you’d tried to bury. But you weren’t the same person who had tolerated him back then. You had changed.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice oozing with that familiar arrogance. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

You remained standing, refusing to sit across from him. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either,” you said coldly, your voice sharp. “But here we are.”

He leaned back in his chair, arrogance radiating from him as he crossed his arms. “You always had a way of getting yourself involved in things that didn’t concern you,” he sneered.

You didn’t flinch. “This concerns me,” you said sharply. “You’re covering up for a student who’s responsible for these crimes. Just like you’ve done before.”

He chuckled, low and condescending. “You’re still so self-righteous. Always thinking you could save everyone. But we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to let him get to you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back again, his smirk returning as his eyes swept over you. “You were always so eager to please. You put up with so much... for so long. I was surprised, actually. Surprised you stayed with me as long as you did. Guess you just couldn’t help yourself.”

Your jaw tightened, the memories of the past pushing forward, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You weren’t going to let him get to you, not this time. “I stayed with you because I didn’t know any better,” you said, your voice low and sharp. “But I see you now. You covered up a sexual assault on campus. A student you treated like one of your ‘bros.’”

For the first time, his expression flickered. You pressed on, your voice cutting through the tension. “I’m not surprised you’re involved in this. You always looked out for the worst kinds of people, because you’re just like them. Terrible. You might not have laid a hand on anyone, but you enabled them. And I’m done letting you hide behind that smug façade.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the cocky façade slipped. He straightened up, his expression hardening. “I protected my students, just like I always did. If one of them did something stupid, that’s on them.”

“Another body was found,” you snapped, your voice suddenly sharper. “So forgive me if I don’t buy that you’re just an innocent bystander in all this.”

The professor leaned back in his chair, a smug grin curling across his face as he sized you up. His eyes darkened, his tone dripping with disdain. “You know, for someone who spent so much time pretending to be better than everyone else, you weren’t exactly a prize yourself. You were so desperate for approval. Clinging to me, hoping to be part of something important, but you were nothing more than a scared little girl. Pathetic, really.”

Your stomach twisted, his words slicing through the air like a knife. The familiar manipulation was back, but this time it was uglier, more personal, and aimed right at your insecurities. For a moment, you felt that old sense of dread creeping in, but you quickly shoved it down, refusing to let him see how much he affected you.

Before you could respond, the door swung open with a loud bang, and Hotch stormed in, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Enough,” Hotch growled, his voice seething with anger. His usual calm, collected demeanor was gone, replaced by a fury you had rarely seen. He wasn’t just angry—he was livid. His eyes blazed with barely contained rage as he glared at the professor, his fists clenched at his sides.

The professor opened his mouth to say something, but Hotch cut him off, his voice rising. “We just found another body on campus,” he snapped, his tone almost a yell. “So unless you want to be charged as an accessory to murder, you’ll stop playing games and start talking.”

The professor paled, his smug attitude faltering for the first time since you’d entered the room. He glanced between you and Hotch, clearly rattled by the sudden shift in the room’s energy.

“I... I’ll tell you what I know,” he muttered, his bravado slipping.

Hotch didn’t move, his dark gaze fixed on the professor. “If you lie, you’ll regret it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, “You have no idea what I’m willing to do to make sure you answer for this.”

The professor nodded quickly, his confidence crumbling under the weight of Hotch’s fury.

Without taking his eyes off the professor, Hotch finally spoke to you, his tone much softer. “You’re done here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You turned on your heel and left the room, your pulse racing from both the confrontation and the way Hotch had stepped in. Once you were outside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

The door closed behind you, and Hotch appeared at your side, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. But when he looked at you, there was something else in his eyes—something softer, more protective.

“You didn’t have to do that alone,” he said, his voice low.

You met his gaze, feeling the tension between you ease just a little. “I needed to.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid hanging in the air. There was something unspoken between you—something that had been building for a while, and you knew this was far from over.

But for now, you were grateful. Grateful that he had been there, that he’d stepped in when you needed him most. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize that you didn’t have to handle everything on your own anymore.

With the information you’d pulled from the professor, the case came together swiftly. The team tracked down the student responsible for the crimes, arresting him without further incident. It was a victory, but there was a lingering bitterness in the air, especially after the confrontation with your ex.

Back at the precinct, as the local PD prepared to release the professor, you kept your distance, standing with the team as they processed the final details. You had just turned away when you heard his voice behind you.

“Y/N,” he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice dripping with false charm. “You still look as good as ever.”

You froze, your blood boiling as the comment hit you like a slap. The arrogance in his tone made your skin crawl, and the fact that he had the nerve to say it in front of the entire team? It took everything in you not to react, but you clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Hotch’s eyes snapped toward the professor, his anger flaring again. That comment—so condescending, so disrespectful—cut deeper than he’d expected it would. It wasn’t just the insult itself, it was the way the professor wielded it, trying to assert power over you even now. Hotch could see the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you were trying to hide your reaction, but he knew that the words hit a nerve.

As much as Hotch kept his emotions in check, this was different. He felt a flash of protective instinct rise within him. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that—no one did. Especially not you, who had held your own in that interrogation, who had stood firm even when the professor had tried to tear you down. But you hadn’t been forthcoming with your emotions, not with him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was why. If your past with the professor—the manipulation, the control—was part of the reason you kept so much of yourself hidden.

Without missing a beat, he turned to the local PD officers. “Get him out of here,” Hotch ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

The officers nodded quickly, rushing to escort the professor out, and as they led him away, Hotch stepped closer to you. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed against your back, a subtle gesture of reassurance, letting you know he was there.

Inside, his thoughts were racing. He had seen you deflect before, using humor or bravado to keep people at a distance, but now he could see how much it cost you. You were strong, sharp, confident—even when facing your ex—but there was something deeper beneath that exterior. Something you were still guarding, even now. And Hotch, who prided himself on being able to read people, knew there was so much more you weren’t saying.

Rossi, always quick with a comment, muttered under his breath, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The team burst into quiet laughter, the tension in the room easing just a little. You couldn’t help but smile, though the weight of the professor’s words still lingered.

“I thought Hotch was going to kill the guy,” Morgan chimed in, grinning. “Or at least rip his head off.”

You glanced at Hotch, catching his dry expression. “He’s lucky I didn’t,” Hotch replied, his tone deadpan, though you could see the spark of humor in his eyes.

Feeling the tension lift, you couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. You leaned a little closer to Hotch, your voice low but playful. “Careful, Hotch. I’m starting to think you enjoy playing knight in shining armor.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. “Only when it’s necessary.”

The team snickered at the exchange, and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as Prentiss grinned. “Alright, you two,” she teased, “get a room already.”

Morgan laughed, nudging JJ with his elbow. “Yeah, for real. We don’t need to see all that.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. Just trying to keep things... interesting.”

Hotch shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation, and for a moment, you could see the corners of his mouth lift in a smirk, but he kept his professional mask intact.

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” Hotch couldn’t help but respond with his own dry sense of humor. “All right,” Hotch said, raising his voice just enough to regain control of the room, though the humor in his eyes remained. “Let’s wrap this up.”

The flight back to Quantico was quiet. The case had been solved, the suspect arrested, and the weight of the entire situation seemed to hang over everyone. Hotch had given you space, knowing that you needed time to process everything that had happened. The rest of the team kept things light, but you remained quiet, lost in your thoughts as you stared out the window of the jet.

Once you landed, the usual bureaucratic routine followed. Paperwork. Debriefs. You went through the motions, wrapping up the final details of the case with the rest of the team. Hotch, always efficient, had finished his reports quickly, but he lingered in his office afterward. He knew you weren’t ready to talk—not yet—and he wasn’t going to push. He had learned over the years that you would come to him when you were ready.

Eventually, the bullpen emptied. The rest of the team had said their goodbyes, eager to head home after the long case. Hotch stayed in his office, reviewing a few last-minute reports when he heard a soft knock on the doorframe. He looked up to see you standing there, peeking into his office.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your tone hesitant. “Can I... go home with you?”

Hotch blinked, surprised by the question, but he kept his expression neutral. “Of course,” he said, his voice softening. “I’d love that.”

He quickly collected his things, and the two of you left the BAU together, walking side by side through the empty hallways. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a heaviness to it. Hotch could feel that you had something on your mind, but he didn’t push. He was happy you were with him, and that was enough for now.

It wasn’t until the two of you reached Hotch’s car, standing alone in the quiet of the parking lot, that you finally spoke. The weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long seemed to press down on you, and you knew this was the moment you needed to say what had been on your mind for days—weeks, even.

You took a deep breath, your voice shaking slightly as you began. “Hotch... Aaron, I know how much you’ve been through. I know how hard it is for you to trust someone after everything. But you still trust me. You’ve been there for me this whole time, and I haven’t been able to show you the same.”

Hotch turned to face you, his eyes soft, patient. He didn’t say anything, just waited, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking a little as the words tumbled out. “I’m scared of losing you. Of getting close to Jack and then losing him, too, if something goes wrong between us. I’m afraid I’m not good in relationships because I’m so independent—to a fault. I don’t know how to let people in, and I’m scared that I’m overstepping by being in Jack’s life.”

You paused, trying to steady your breath. Hotch remained silent, listening intently, his gaze never leaving yours.

“And I’m terrified,” you continued, “that one day you’ll resent me for it. That I’ll hurt you, or worse... that you’ll see the real me, and you won’t want me anymore. That you’ll find me... unattractive, or ugly, or just... not enough.”

Hotch took a small step closer, his expression softening even more. He could see how hard this was for you—the vulnerability, the fear that had been weighing on you for so long. Slowly, gently, he reached out and placed his hand on your arm, the touch grounding you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure, “I’ve already seen the real you. And I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt your heart tighten, the words hitting you harder than you’d expected. Hotch’s eyes were filled with a tenderness you rarely saw, but it was there—real, honest.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of losing me or Jack,” Hotch continued. “We’re here because we want to be, because we care about you. You’re not overstepping. And as for your fears about relationships... you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

You swallowed hard, the tears you had been holding back finally starting to well up. But they weren’t tears of sadness—they were tears of relief. For the first time, you felt like you could breathe.

Hotch’s hand slid from your arm to your back, pulling you into a gentle embrace. He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to. The quiet comfort of his presence said everything.

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

After the emotional exchange outside Hotch’s car, the two of you quietly climbed inside. The drive began in a comfortable silence, but as the minutes passed, Hotch felt compelled to dig a little deeper. He had seen how much your past with the professor had affected you, and though he wasn’t one to push, he also knew that sometimes the right question could help.

He glanced over at you briefly, his voice soft but steady as he broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Depends,” you teased, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “If you’re planning to ask about my ex, I’d be careful. If you want to get laid later, you’re walking a pretty thin line right now.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a subtle smile, surprising you. His wit wasn’t usually at the forefront, but when it was, it always caught you off guard. “Noted,” he replied dryly, his eyes flicking to the road. “But if that’s the line, I guess I’d better make it worth crossing.”

You blinked, surprised by his response, and then burst into laughter. You didn’t expect him to meet you at your level of humor, but there he was, speaking your language, making the tension in your chest loosen just a little more. Somehow, it was easier to talk to him like this—lighthearted, comfortable.

You exhaled, your amusement fading into something more reflective. The joke had disarmed you, and now, the floodgates felt cracked open. You stared out the window for a moment before speaking again, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“I almost let him ruin everything,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “After we broke up, it wasn’t just the relationship that fell apart. It was me. I lost... everything.”

Hotch glanced over at you, his expression softening as he listened intently. He didn’t interrupt, sensing that this was something you needed to say.

“I had a third book deal,” you continued, your voice tightening as the memories surfaced. “It was one of the biggest opportunities of my career. But when everything fell apart between us, I just... I couldn’t handle it. I had to take a leave of absence from teaching. I lost all sense of who I was, of what I’d worked for. I almost lost everything I’d built for myself.” You paused, swallowing hard. “I let him... I let him make me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I couldn’t do it on my own. And the worst part is, I believed him.”

Hotch tensed. “You didn’t lose everything,” he said quietly, glancing at you again. “You’re here. You came back. You built yourself up again.”

You nodded, though the heaviness of the memories still lingered. “Yeah, I did. But it took a long time to get back to myself. I almost let him take everything from me, and the idea of... of trusting someone again after all that, it’s terrifying.”

Hotch was silent for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. He knew exactly what it was like to be broken by someone you trusted, to rebuild from the ruins of a relationship. And he understood why you were scared.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said gently. “And you don’t have to do it on your own anymore. You’ve been through hell, but you came out stronger. And whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I feel kind of stupid, you know,” you admitted, your tone laced with self-deprecation. “Here I am, whining about my stupid ex and my lost book deal when you... you’ve been through so much more. Losing Haley, raising Jack... I’m over here complaining about my ‘trivial’ issues, and you’ve survived all that.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, not out of frustration with you, but with the idea that you would belittle your own pain in comparison to his. He had always hated the notion that suffering was something that could be compared or ranked. The losses and hardships you had faced weren’t trivial, and he could see how much they had affected you. He wanted to tell you that pain was pain, no matter the source. That what you went through mattered.

He glanced at you, catching the guilt in your expression, and a small, dry smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t call them trivial,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ve all been through our own versions of hell.”

In truth, Hotch had never really talked about what happened with Haley in a way that felt... open. Most people treaded lightly around the topic, and he let them because revisiting that part of his life was often too painful. But at this moment, sitting next to you, he realized that maybe you were more similar than he had ever allowed himself to consider. You had both been through losses that had shaped you, and you both carried the weight of those losses in your own ways.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah. Quite the pair, aren’t we?”

Hotch’s smile deepened, a rare lightness settling over him. “We are,” he agreed, glancing at you before turning his attention back to the road. “Quite the pair.”

As he drove, Hotch couldn’t help but feel the subtle shift in the air between the two of you. For so long, he had thought of himself as the one with the heavy burdens—the one whose past dictated his present. 

But hearing you open up about your fears, about the way your past had nearly destroyed you, made him realize just how much you had in common. He wasn’t the only one who had been broken and rebuilt. 

And it wasn’t about comparing whose pain was worse; it was about understanding that, in each other, you had found someone who could shoulder the weight together.

He hadn’t expected to feel this kind of connection, not after everything he had been through. But now, sitting beside you, he felt a sense of hope, the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

After the conversation outside the car, the drive to pick up Jack was filled with a sense of quiet contentment. There was still a lot to process, but for now, things felt... lighter between the two of you. When you arrived at Jack’s aunt’s house, Hotch stepped out of the car first, greeting Jess before Jack came bounding out of the house, his energy immediately filling the air.

“Dad!” Jack’s voice was filled with excitement, but when he spotted you stepping out of the car behind Hotch, his smile widened even more. “Hey, Y/N!”

You smiled back, watching as Hotch crouched down to catch Jack in a hug before turning toward you. “Hey, buddy,” you said, your tone softening as you knelt to greet him. “How’s it going?”

Jack launched into a story about what he had been up to, and you listened intently, smiling at his enthusiasm. Hotch watched the interaction from a short distance, his heart swelling as he saw how natural you were with Jack. It hadn’t taken long for Jack to warm up to you, and now, seeing the two of you together, he felt a deep sense of contentment. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time—someone who could fit into his life, not just with him, but with Jack too.

The three of you spent the rest of the evening together. Dinner was easy and filled with laughter, and afterward, you and Jack played a game he had excitedly explained to you, while Hotch watched from the sidelines, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He could see how much Jack enjoyed your company, and watching the two of you together, he felt more certain than ever that you belonged in his life.

For your part, you were starting to let yourself enjoy it too. Getting to know Jack, laughing with him, seeing Hotch’s softer side as he interacted with his son—it was more than you had ever expected. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel the warmth that came with being part of something bigger than just yourself.

Later that night, after Jack had fallen asleep, you and Hotch found yourselves curled up together in bed, the quiet of the night settling over the house. You had your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

Hotch’s hand gently traced along your arm as he spoke, his voice soft in the stillness. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, your brow furrowing. “For what?”

“For opening up,” he replied, his gaze steady. “Not just to me, but to Jack. He’s... he’s everything to me, you know that. And I wouldn’t bring you into his life if I didn’t think you were someone I saw a long-term future with. Someone I care about. Someone I trust.”

His words settled over you, and though he didn’t say the words outright, you knew what he meant. This was Hotch’s way of saying he loved you, without needing to say it directly. It was in the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, the way he had brought you into the most important part of his life—Jack.

You felt your heart swell, the depth of your feelings for him clear as day. You knew you loved him too. But as the realization hit, so did the familiar fear—the fear that if you said it, if you voiced those words, everything might fall apart. It was an irrational thought, you knew that, but it lingered nonetheless. You didn’t want to lose him or Jack. And sometimes, it felt like admitting how much you cared might make it all disappear.

You shifted slightly, your voice soft but sincere as you responded. “I’m... I’m glad you trust me with that. With him. It means more than I can say.”

Hotch’s hand moved to cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your hair. “You’re not going to lose us,” he said, his voice firm but filled with warmth. He didn’t need to say more—you both understood what was left unsaid.

You gave him a small smile, resting your head back on his chest. The fear was still there, lingering in the background, but in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—everything would be okay.

A few days after the case, the BAU was settling into its usual rhythm, and the team was catching up on paperwork. The atmosphere was light, and you glanced over at Hotch, who was going through some files at Reid’s desk.  

A familiar mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. It had been a while since you’d stirred the pot, and with the team now fully aware of your relationship with Hotch, there was plenty of fun to be had.

You sauntered over to his desk, leaning against it with an exaggerated sigh. “So, when exactly are you going to give us a break, boss? Or are you planning to work us into the ground?”

Hotch didn’t look up right away, but the corner of his mouth curved slightly. “Are you lobbying for the team or just yourself?” he asked dryly, finally meeting your gaze.

You smirked, tapping your fingers on his desk playfully. “Oh, definitely the team. I’m always thinking of the greater good. Right, guys?”

Morgan chuckled from across the bullpen. “Sure, Y/N. You’re always working so hard... at avoiding paperwork.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I’m a very dedicated team member.”

Prentiss chimed in, grinning. “Dedicated to getting Hotch to lighten up, maybe.”

You flashed a flirty smile at Hotch. “Someone’s got to. Imagine how tense you’d all be if I wasn’t here to keep things... engaging.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Engaging?” he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice just enough. “Yeah, you know... keeping you on your toes. Wouldn’t want things to get too boring around here, would we?”

Hotch remained unfazed, though you could see the barely concealed smile tugging at his lips. “If by ‘engaging’ you mean ‘relentless,’ then yes. Inappropriate at times? Yes. Mission accomplished.”

Morgan laughed. “Man, Hotch’s got jokes now. You’ve really rubbed off on him.”

Prentiss rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her away. “Honestly, it’s kind of scary how well they balance each other out.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “Scary? I think you mean inspiring.”

Rossi, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, it’s definitely something.”

You turned back to Hotch, raising an eyebrow. “See? They love me.”

Hotch leaned back, giving you a look that was both challenging and amused. “That’s one word for it.”

You were about to come up with another flirty retort when Morgan, always quick to jump in, added, “Honestly, I’m just impressed Hotch puts up with you.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch deadpanned, “Someone has to.”

The team burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the lighthearted teasing. But beneath the banter, there was a warmth between you and Hotch—a mutual understanding that ran deeper than the jokes. Even though he never said it outright, you knew how much he cared for you, how much he valued your presence not just in his life, but in Jack’s, too.

Rossi, sitting across the bullpen, added with a chuckle, “If anyone needs an HR manager around here, it’s definitely for the two of you.”

You laughed, looking back toward Hotch with a wicked grin. “Please, HR wouldn’t stand a chance with me.”

Reid, ever the innocent one, looked between you and Hotch, furrowing his brow. “I mean, technically, you’re not violating any workplace policies... yet.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, give it time, Reid. She’ll find a way.”

You threw Morgan a mock glare. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Before Morgan could respond, JJ, who had been listening from her desk, suddenly chimed in with a sly grin. “Oh, trust me, she will. After overhearing one of your... conversations, I was this close to putting soap in my ears.”

The team burst into laughter, and you glanced at JJ, raising an eyebrow, grinning shamelessly. “What can I say? When I’m passionate about something, it shows.”

Hotch, ever the stoic, kept his expression neutral but gave you a side-eye that conveyed more than words. “I’m sure it does,” he said simply, his tone cool but with that underlying sharpness.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping just a little closer to him, your voice dropping into a teasing tone. “Careful, Hotch. I might have to make it my personal mission to drive you crazy.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch replied, “You’ve been doing that since day one.”

You glanced back at him, leaning in once more, your voice low and teasing. “You know, for someone who pretends to be all serious, you’re pretty good at this.”

Hotch finally allowed a small smile to break through. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly, brushing your hand lightly against his arm as you straightened up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Prentiss laughed, sipping her coffee. “HR would probably quit on day one.”

Reid, ever curious, chimed in, “Actually, technically, as long as there’s no misconduct—”

Prentiss interrupted, patting Reid’s shoulder. “Reid, it’s just an expression.”

Morgan, still laughing, added, “Yeah, but with these two, who knows? They might break the system.”

The team exchanged knowing glances, still teasing, but there was no hiding the fact that everyone knew how things had changed between you and Hotch. And as you returned to your paperwork, you caught Hotch’s gaze once more, that subtle connection between the two of you always there—steady, unspoken, but undeniably strong.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Hi! could I request a fic where theres a killer that goes after 13-16 year old girls with brown hair and thats Hotchners daughters age and description. She somehow gets taken and when they find her she is like tied to a chair or somthing and Hotch thinks she got SA but she does not! But he goes all dad mode and morgan scoops her up in a blanket lots of comfort!!!

Aaron Hotchner X Daughter Reader

Request: Hi! could I request a fic where theres a killer that goes after 13-16 year old girls with brown hair and thats Hotchners daughters age and description. She somehow gets taken and when they find her she is like tied to a chair or somthing and Hotch thinks she got SA but she does not! But he goes all dad mode and morgan scoops her up in a blanket lots of comfort!!!

Third person pov...

It happened so fast that even Y/N had trouble remembering what happened. She rememberd she had jsut said good bye to her Dad and was on her way to school.

Her dad had been worried, There was a killer on the loose, targeting young girls between the ages of thirteen to sixteen with brown hair. The victims were always found tied to a chair, brutally beaten and traumatized.

Aaron was a part of the team assigned to the case and it hit too close to home. His own daughter fit the description of the victims, making him even more desperate to catch the killer.

The man had been weary about letting his daughter out, but realised he could keep her under lock and key, she had her life to live and had to go to school.

The 14 year old was casually walking to school, her bag on her back and happy walking in the sun, she passed by a suspicious car.

The instant she did she felt the persons eyes on her, it heightened her anxiety but she kept on walking to school. Slowly she got out her phone from her pocket and began tapping on it.

A man then got out of said car, he was tall, kept his head down, he began to follow the teen. Y/N looked behind her every few seconds while tapping on her phone.

She was planning to text her dad and began walking quicker, she heard the man walk faster to catch up with her.

The brown haired girl taps her Dads contact and begins typing, they had a code word for incidents like this she had to be quick.

DADDIO

Y/N

Ech

"Hey there" comes voice from behind the girl scaring her. She turns quickly and hides her phone, the teen looks up it was the guy following her.

She stared at the man, not saying a word. This made the man angry, Y/N saw grit his teeth slightly, she then inches away slightly from him.

The guy keeps a friendly smile on his face as he looks at the young girl. "Sorry for scaring ya. Just wanted to ask if you could tell me where the library is?" He asks the girl, Y/N relaxes slightly, her legs tense she was ready to run if the guy posed as a threat.

She looks at the time on her phone her message to her dad still open. Once seeing the time she looks back up. "Sorry can't help you I'm running late for school" she says to the man soundly apologetic.

She turns to run but her wrist is grabbed, the mans grip was hard and it was painful. Y/N tried to wretch her arm away but it only made the grip on her wrist tighten, he was twisting her wrist a way it shouldn't go.

Tears at the corner of her eyes she tried to yell for help but one look from the guy said 'you scream and I break it' so she kept her mouth shut, with her hand gone she uses her other to try and text behind her back.

She taps on her phone suddenly it falls from her grip. Looking at the ground I  horror her phones screen was horribly cracked, she jsut hoped she was able to send the message.

The man then begins dragging her to his car, unlucky for her know one was around to see her being dragged off. Suddenly everything went black.

With Hotch...

Aaron Hotchner had just arrived at the office after seeing his children off to school, he sighs as he walks into the Bullpen.

The others had already arrived and were standing around Reids desk. Hearing his phone go off he gets it out, upon lookomg at the screen his face goes pale.

Gideon who was walking towards the man noticed the man face instantly and was worried. "Hotch? What's wrong?" He asks the man, drawing the attention off the team.

Soon they all surrounded their unit chief. The man had an iron grip on his phone, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Hotch, man tell us has something happened?" Asks Derek he taps the man's shoudler.

This seemed to jolt the man out of his frozen state. "Y/Ns in trouble" the team act, everyone gathering in the round table room.

Echo was there codeword for danger and Y/N and Jack knew they should knly use if for emergencies, Hotch knows Y/N would never abuse that rule.

Hotch pacing in the corner, Derek and Elle going over the evidence they have, Reid trying to form a geo plan of the unsubs comfort zone, JJ was on call with crime lab, Gideon ws thinking the evidence over while still calming down Hotch the man was wearing a hole into the floor.

"Hotch, you have to stay calm, we need you at your best to find Y/N" reasoned Gideon, the man managed to get the worried man to claim down slightly, he stopped pacing but tapped his finger against his leg instead

"Anything yet?" He asks impatiently. The team all shakes their heads, the man impatience grows as they work. Suddenly JJ gets a call. "Yes hello this is Agent Jareau, you have something" her voice gains the attention of the others.

"They found where Y/N had been taken" she explains to them Hotch visibly relaxes. Then JJs face goes worried. "What's wrong JJ?" Questions the man his anxiety on edge.

JJ thanks the person and ends the call. "Im sorry Hotch, all they could find was her phone. The screen had been smashed" she tells the worried Dad.

Hotch freezes. "What" he whispers as the team watch him.

With Y/N...

The 13 year old was in a dark room, stripped off her skirt and shirt, only in her shorts (she wears under skirts) and her tank top on. Shivers rack her naked body.

Either fear or the cold she didn't know, shivering she slowly looked around her head in pain from the punch she got from the man, she tried to move only her legs and wrist where tied to the cold uncomfortable chair she was on.

"Someone help me,please" she whispers to herself, she wants her dad, she wants to be home and in her dad's arms. "Daddy" she sobs to herself, suddenly a door is opened.

A bright light comes from a staircase she just realised, tears running down her face she sees the man from before walking down and coming towards her.

Shaking again she tries to move the chair away from the freak, she aches to be able to kick the man in the goods. " No go away leave me alone" she shouts to him, the man had a frightening look on his face.

As he got closer Y/N saw something shimmer in the light, it was a knife. E/C eyes widened in terror, her wiggling increased. "No no get away! Daddy daddy!" To her luck footsteps are heard upstairs.

She screams louder hoping to draw their attention to the basement. "Daddy daddy down here hurry" the man gabbed her face harshly to stop her from screaming.

The damage was done "let the girl go you son of a bitch!" Yells a very familiar voice, it was Derek Morgan one of Y/Ns uncle. E/C eyes once again fill with tears at the sight of her Dads team.

She sees the horrified looks on Elle, Gideon and Derek faces as the creep puts the knife against her throat, his face still covering her mouth.

Behind them she sees her Dad his face is angry, he wasn't happy. Taking a chance she bites the man hard, with a cry he let's her go but shoves the girl away making her fall back hitting her head on the wall.

Vision swimming she hears a gunshot, the creeps body falls next to her, muffled shouts are heard, before long she was being untied, then picked up by someone, recognising the scent she realises it was Derek.

She wraps her aching arms around his neck tightly as he wraps her in many blankets, sobbing loudly he tries to comfort her.

Derek rubs the girls back as Hotch gets a few punches in on the Unsub, he hated how long it to them to find him and save Y/N.

The traumatized girl continues to cry as Derek comforts her, once Gideon finally pulled Hotch off the Unsub the man remembers his daughter and goes to her.

Feeling guilty about not comforting her first, Derek puts the girl in his arms and walks away, Hotch shushes and bounces Y/N in his arms.

"Your safe now baby, its Daddy" he comforts, her Y/N continues to cry happy she was saved. "Dad your here your here" she cries Hotch just hugs her tightly not letting her go. "I'm here baby" he whispers.

The end!

Long one for this request.

Hope you liked this oneshot, so sorry for the wait of updating, I've been busy with classes. As usual sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Request are open!

Word count: 1610

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (12)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer gets closer to the truth while she feels suffocated by the situation. wc: 4.3k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: Let me give you a long part as a token of my apology for being a slow writer. I hope this was worth the wait

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"WE BELIEVE WE ARE DEALING WITH A MALE OFFENDER IN HIS LATE 20s TO EARLY 30s," Aaron Hotchner announced, his voice loud and jarring. "Based on the crime scenes, the Unsub doesn't have a lot of experience as they were most likely done in a moment of rage."

The team stood in front of the bullpen, facing a room full of officers and agents scattered along the space. Pens clicked and notepads rustled around them as everyone prepared to add insights to their unfolding narrative.

Rossi, who stood by the evidence board, skimmed his eyes across the room. "It suggests someone who is impulsive and might have difficulty controlling urges. This could also be a sign of an underlying mental illness."

"It's likely that there is some kind of history there, either of abuse or trauma in their childhood," JJ added. "It seems that the Unsub may have difficulty connecting with or relating to others and may be socially isolated as a result. He would mostly like to keep to himself."

Spencer took a step forward and carried on with their profile of the unidentified suspect. "The Unsub might also have grown up in a deeply religious environment. Their beliefs may have become twisted and distorted, leading them to believe that they possess a unique calling to carry out their crimes as a way of punishment."

"Based on the victims, the Unsub has targeted specific people whom they believe have harmed one of our witnesses," Morgan added, his voice seeming to turn deeper as he continued, "Y/n L/n."

A jolt of electricity surged through Spencer's consciousness. The human mind really was a powerful thing. Somehow the simple sound of her name projected the memories he had of her and suddenly he was seeing her face, her radiant smile, her beautiful eyes—he was seeing her so clearly as if she were standing right before him.

But then Emily moved past him, jolting him awake from his reverie as she bumped against his shoulder. "The Unsub has a sense of loyalty to her that they are acting out these crimes as a desire for retribution on her behalf. They might believe that they have a connection or some kind of relationship with Ms. L/n."

"We believe the Unsub might know her personally," Hotch addressed, his eyes, sharp and penetrating, scanning around him. "Go through places where the witness is most likely to go. This could be her neighborhood, workplace, daily commute, and so on."

The atmosphere seemed to shift as he finally dismissed the room. Everyone rose from their seats, each one heading to their respective posts and assignments. It didn't take long for the phones to ring in the background, followed by the constant shuffle of feet as the entire space started to come alive.

And as Spencer turned back to his desk, a familiar man pushing the glass doors of the office suddenly caught his attention. His steps faltered while the man looked around the room as recognition hit him. Spencer walked over, addressing him as one of the witnesses. "Mr. Adler?"

The other man blew out a sigh of relief. "Eric, please." He entered the office and gave Spencer a look. "The people downstairs told me I could find you here."

"You were looking for me?" He frowned. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I hope so," Eric replied. "Has there been any missing person report lately?"

The confusion on his face grew prominent at the question. "Not that I know of. Why? Is someone you know missing?"

"A coworker of mine hasn't shown up to work and I can't contact any of his family members," he explained. "I'm starting to get worried."

"What's his name?"

"Oliver Walsh."

Having an eidetic memory helped him recall the name easily. His mind went through all the information he gathered these past few days and remembered the exact name written on the list of employees. "When did you last see him?"

"Three—no, four days ago. He left work looking very troubled."

Spencer's brow was furrowed, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Eric's. "Troubled?"

Eric nodded. "He seemed distracted."

"Do you have any idea why he acted the way he did?"

"No," he responded. And then it suddenly happened. His eyes, previously engaged in maintaining eye contact, drifted upward for a fleeting second. It was as though a switch had been flipped in his mind and the gears of his memory whirred to life. "Although he did seem to act different that day... especially towards Y/n."

His stomach churned. A subtle tremor coursed through his limbs, betraying the unease that was slowly but unmistakably creeping into his consciousness. "...Y/n?"

"You remember her, right? She was with me the night it happened."

Remember her? She was the only person he couldn't stop thinking about. Spencer cleared his throat and leaned forward. "I'm aware Ms. L/n was also a witness."

"Well, Oliver has been fixated on her for so long, everyone in the office knows this. Y/n mostly thinks of it as a joke but I don't think Oliver sees it the same way as she does."

"And something happened between them on the day you last saw him?"

"I'm not sure." Eric sighed. "I saw them talking after work hours, and by the looks of it, I think Y/n was pissed at him." He then crossed his arms, his brows in deep concentration as he seemed to be recalling that day. "She looked like she was under a lot of stress, actually."

"Did you hear what they were talking about?"

"No. But after that, Oliver didn't seem like himself anymore. Then he didn't come to work the next day..." Eric trailed off, his eyes casting down before he mumbled, "I still don't know where he is now."

Spencer's mind suddenly became a whirlwind of calculated chaos, connecting the dots with lightning precision. His heart raced in his chest, pounding out a rhythm of urgency that echoed in his ears. There was no room for hesitation, no luxury of second-guessing.

He needed to move fast.

"Emily!" He called out as he saw his friend walking past them, quickly stopping her pace at the mention of her name. "Can you help Mr. Adler file a missing person report?"

"Uh..." she looked between the two men, uncertainty written across her face. There were questions lingering at the tip of her tongue but she stopped herself when she saw the urgent look Spencer was throwing at her. "Of course," she decided to agree, her attention shifting to the other man. "Right this way."

With a swift, purposeful stride, Spencer left them behind, his footsteps echoing the urgency that had taken hold of him. His heart was still racing when he walked down the corridor, quickly making his way to the room down the hall.

The door swung open with a resolute push, and he entered the room, his senses on high alert. "Garcia."

"I wasn't doing anything!" The woman sitting before him shrieked, closing the window tabs on the screen in front of her. Usually, Spencer would tease her on how unprofessional it was to be doing something else that wasn't related to work, but he didn't have the time to engage in playful banter.

Spencer stepped behind her, placing a hand on the back of her chair. "Garcia, I need you to find Oliver Walsh for me."

She wasted no time. Her fingers danced across the keyboard with a rapid, almost feverish intensity. "Oliver... Walsh..." The soft clatter of keys echoed in the room as she navigated through files and databases. "There are too many Oliver Walsh in this country."

"He works at the same company as Y/n."

"Should've mentioned that sooner." Her eyes scanned lines of text, images, and documents in front of her. "Bingo. Oliver Conrad Walsh was born on 18th December 1991 as an only child—wait, look at this. His family was part of The Haven Hill... a sanctuary of unwavering faith and profound tranquility?"

"Is it some kind of a cult?"

"I don't think so." Her eyes landed on an old article buried within the archives and clicked on the link before a picture of a worn-out brochure greeted them. "Prospective members are welcomed into Haven Hill, a secluded and serene enclave where faith and tradition unite. It seems like a very tight-knit community with a very religious belief—oh!"

Her fingers moved as she navigated through digital records. "Reid..."

"What is it?"

The screen suddenly displayed a grim history of illicit activities and misdeeds, a virtual breadcrumb trail leading them closer to the truth.

"Oliver Walsh was far from being a saint albeit growing up in a religious environment. Along with his group of friends, he was constantly rebelling ever since a very young age. He had to do a lot of community service for it too; underage drinking, burglary, public disturbances—oh dear."

"Attempt sexual assault?" Spencer read out loud.

"...a group of underage boys was proved guilty of trying to violate a fourteen-year-old girl on school grounds—"

"Garcia," Spencer stopped her, not wanting to listen to the rest of the story. "Give me his current address."

"Already on it," she responded, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe this, the suspect was no longer a shadowy figure; they were becoming real, tangible, and within his grasp. Then his eyes caught the shot of the man on the screen. A jolt of recognition surged through him as he scrutinized the suspect's image on the screen. The face staring back at him carried a haunting familiarity.

Memories raced through his mind like flickering images from the past. He remembered him, he always remembered people's faces, and that man right there was the same man he had seen in Y/n's house that afternoon. There was a huge chance this was all a coincidence.

But there was also a possibility of Oliver Walsh being the Unsub.

He didn't know which one was true, but what he did know was that he needed to find out the truth.

The sudden, shrill ring of his phone shattered the intensity of the moment. It was a jarring intrusion, snapping him back to the present. With a swift, almost automatic motion, Spencer reached for the device and answered the call without looking away from the screen. "Yes?"

"Agent Reid," the person on the other line greeted, their words rushed in a moment of panic. "I can't find her."

Spencer pulled his phone away from his face and glanced at the caller ID. Officer Anderson. A sense of relentless panic coursed through him as the realization hit like a lightning bolt. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a visceral reaction to the gravity of the call.

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

"I—" There was a sigh. "I-I was watching inside my car and I somehow ended up sleeping. She's nowhere inside the house now—"

"Did you call her?"

"She left her phone in the kitchen."

At that moment, he was acutely aware of every heartbeat, every pulse of blood coursing through his veins. Panic resounded through his thoughts, casting a dark shadow over him. It was a visceral, gut-wrenching sensation that threatened to paralyze him like the ground had suddenly shifted beneath his feet.

"I apologize, Agent Reid."

But then anger coursed through his body. He was suddenly angry—Angry at the situation, angry at the Unsub, angry at the officer who couldn't seem to do his one simple job. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone tighter, and his eyes flashed with fury.

"Being sorry isn't going to help you find her," he snapped. He then straightened himself. "I'll be there in ten."

"What happened?" Garcia whispered, noticing the sudden tension in his shoulder.

Spencer shoved back his phone and turned to her. "Garcia, I need you to inform the others, I have to go."

"What?!" She yelped, watching as he turned away from her. "Right now? Where are you going?"

But her question was left unanswered as he bolted out of the door.

There was no other way to explain what being followed by a disguised officer felt like. It was suffocating. Even everything felt suffocating these days, and when she meant everything, Y/n really meant everything.

At first, the idea of protection had offered comfort, but now it was an oppressive weight that bore down on her shoulders. Everywhere she turned, a shadow loomed, an unwelcome reminder of the loss of her freedom. The suffocating sensation was inescapable, restricting her every movement.

The constant surveillance had pushed her to the brink of stress and manifested in the form of tension that coiled within her, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Her patience wore thin and the weight of anxiety rested heavy on her chest. One moment she was on the verge of tears, the next, she was snapping with sharp words, irritable and sullen.

She really needed a break.

"You should go to the gym," Sandy had suggested the other day. "It might help relieve the stress."

After debating whether it was a good idea to visit the gym when she couldn't even remember the last time she stepped foot on a treadmill, she finally decided to slip out of the house. She walked over to the black car she already grew familiar with and stood by the window—only to find Officer Anderson fast asleep behind the wheels.

A pang of guilt tugged at her, but the allure of temporary freedom was too strong to resist. It was an unexpected opportunity, a rare moment of freedom dangling before her like a tempting prize. Was it wise to leave without informing him? Probably not. But she couldn't imagine herself working out—all awkward, tired, and sweaty—with Officer Anderson watching her from the corner.

So silently, she retraced her steps. Her pulse quickened with a mix of trepidation and exhilaration as she walked away. It would be fine, she had assured herself. She would be back before he realized she was even gone. And with that thought in mind, she quickly made her way to the closest gym around the corner.

The place felt both familiar and foreign as she navigated the equipment, but she finally found her place in an exercise routine. Her muscles protested the unaccustomed effort, but with each movement, she could feel the tension slowly dissipating. It wasn't until she could barely feel her limbs anymore that she stopped and left the place.

Even though her body was aching from pushing her body to its limit, she did feel slightly better. Her steps also did feel lighter when she walked back to her home, and her mind felt calmer, and less chaotic than it did when she left her house. But as she approached her street, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach.

The evening's fading light cast long, ominous shadows that seemed to reach out and embrace her front door, which stood ajar. It was an unexpected sight, one that sent a chill down her spine. Two things flashed into her mind at that very moment. One, she realized Officer Anderson was nowhere in sight. His usual parked car looked very much abandoned with no one inside the vehicle. Two, she could probably die if she entered her house alone in this state.

Maybe she should call the police. Maybe she should call Spencer... Yeah right, she didn't even have his number. Maybe she should just call Agent Jareau. Or Agent Prentiss. Yes, that would be a wiser option than to—shit. She clutched her empty pockets.

She didn't even bring her phone to begin with.

She cursed to herself. This was a bad, bad decision. She was probably going to regret this, but she couldn't just stand there and do nothing. So very cautiously, she approached her house, her senses on high alert.

As she pushed the door open wider, it revealed a slice of the dimly lit interior. She couldn't help but hold her breath as she stepped over the threshold, her footsteps hesitant, almost reverent, on the creaking floorboards.

She stepped deeper into her home and slowly entered the dimly lit kitchen. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a figure standing shrouded in shadows, a silhouette in the gloom. A gasp of shock emitted through her lips, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, recognition washed over her like a tidal wave.

"Officer Anderson!" She yelled, placing a hand over her heart. "You scared me!"

"Ms. L/n," he breathed out, his expression softening when he saw her. "Where have you been?"

Guilt washed over her as she noticed the concern in his eyes but she quickly dismissed it, stepping further into the room, and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "I went to the gym."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm supposed to accompany you—"

"You were asleep, I didn't want to wake you."

"You should've woken me up, Ms. L/n."

"You looked like you could use some sleep," she mentioned before glancing at the clock perched on the wall. "I was only gone for like an hour, it's not a big deal."

Officer Anderson looked like he wanted to argue with her, but stopped himself before letting out a sigh. "Can you please inform me whenever you step out of the house, even when I might be asleep?"

His concerned gaze met hers as he turned to her, a mixture of relief and worry in his eyes. Guilt twisted in her chest as she nodded. "Alright, I will."

"And please bring your phone with you at all times."

Her eyes snapped towards the device sitting on the counter. "I did forget to bring it with me, I'm sorry."

With a nod, the officer excused himself, giving her a moment of privacy to collect her thoughts. She watched him go, his retreating figure a testament to his dedication, despite the surprise of her brief absence.

Feeling overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—being scrutinized by an authority, being a potential target of a serial killer still on the loose—she retreated to her room, seeking solace in the familiar confines of her private space. She quickly peeled off her clothes which clung to her body from all the sweat and stepped into her bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room as she turned on the shower, its warmth a soothing embrace. Steam enveloped her, and as the water cascaded over her body, the tension that had coiled within her began to unravel. Under the gentle caress of the water, she closed her eyes. Her shoulders trembled with the tension she had carried for so long, the weight of guilt, responsibility, and emotions too complex to unravel.

How had things turned the way it did? A few weeks ago her life seemed normal, yet now she was linked to a crime with her name at the center of it. This felt so unfair. Why her? Why now? Wh—

Bang!

She opened her eyes.

What was it now?

It sounded... it sounded like a thud coming from somewhere in her house.

The sudden interruption jolted her from the sanctuary of the shower. Her heart raced as she hastily wrapped a towel around herself and emerged from the bathroom, water droplets glistening on her skin. The door to her room suddenly wrenched open with force before a figure she last expected walked in.

"What the—Spencer!" She gasped, not believing who she was seeing. "What the hell?!"

His gaze met hers, and she saw something in his expression that sent a shiver down her spine. It was an anger she hadn't seen before, a storm brewing beneath the surface of his usual calm demeanor. His jaw was clenched, and his normally warm eyes were steely and cold.

"Are you crazy?" He suddenly snapped.

"Me?" She wailed, tightening the towel around her body. "Are you crazy? What are you even doing here?"

"What were you thinking going out without notice?" Spencer's tone was incredulous, his anger unabated. "Without informing Officer Anderson?"

So this was why he was here? To confront her reckless action perhaps?

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "He looked like he needed the sleep after constantly watching me with little to no rest."

Spencer's frustration deepened, his brows furrowing. "He's assigned to you to keep you safe. You can't just disappear like that, it's irresponsible."

"Well excuse me for being considerate," she retorted.

"You were being reckless."

"No," she argued. "I was being thoughtful."

"Why are you not taking this seriously?" His voice grew sharper, a desperate attempt to make her understand as he stalked towards her. "Can't you understand you were putting yourself at risk?"

"I was only gone for an hour."

"Something could've happened!"

"But nothing did!"

She met his frustration with a defiant glare, holding her ground as he approached her, his tall, intimidating frame only stopping when he was directly in front of her. She saw his eyes drift down her body before pinning his gaze on her face again.

"Y/n, I need you to be safe."

"I am safe! I've been safe ever since you guys put someone to watch over me. I've been safe ever since the same person has been following me everywhere I go, which if you haven't caught on my sarcasm, has made me feel more like in prison than actually feeling protected." Her voice was tinged with frustration as she squared her shoulders, refusing to back down. "It's like I'm being controlled."

"It's not about controlling you, it's about ensuring that nothing bad happens to you."

"I was simply gone for an hour, Spencer," she reminded him again. "No need to go all dramatic over it."

Then in the blink of an eye, the heated tension that had filled the room seemed to snap, leaving them both breathless and disarmed. But instead of reacting with anger or shouting, Spencer's frustration found a different outlet.

"Why are you not fucking listening to me?"

And in a sudden and unexpected gesture, he cupped her face in his hands. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, filled with a mix of emotions too complex to name. And then, in a burst of raw and unspoken desire, he leaned in and crashed his lips on her.

She was too stunned to speak, too stunned to respond. There was nothing else she could do but to give in his advance, because dear god, it felt too good to have his mouth moving against hers again. Spencer had kissed her many times before, but not like this. Not this rough. She could even feel the frustration seeping from his body as his lips moved against hers with urgency.

He continued to kiss her, biting hard at her bottom lip, teeth gnashing against the soft flesh of it as a rumbling noise vibrated deep in his chest. Each time she gasped in response at his teeth, his tongue forced its way into her mouth and lapped so mercilessly that she was left desperate for air each time he returned to assaulting her with his teeth and lips.

"Is this what it would take for you to listen?" He growled against her mouth. "Is this what you want?"

Speechless, she responded to his ardor with a fervor of her own, her body leaning into his, fingers tracing the contours of his face. She continued to stare up at him, trying to quickly piece together what was going on, though she nevertheless found herself aroused. It was as if their desire, long suppressed by their arguments and differences, had suddenly ignited, leaving them both powerless to resist the pull of passion.

"Answer me," he barked out.

"Yes," she finally breathed out. "Yes."

Releasing her face, his hands rose in between them. Her eyes dropped down, watching as he gripped her towel with so much force before he ripped it off her body in one swift movement, throwing the material onto the floor.

His eyes roamed over her body, tracing every curve and contour with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His hands traced over her sides before he gripped onto her hips, tugging her towards him desperately. "I won't be able to restrain myself."

She knew what he meant. She was acutely aware of the tension seeping from his body, all the anger, all the frustration. She understood how hard these past few days had been for him, she could even feel it from the taught in his muscles. He was tensed and from the way he was looking at her with hooded eyes, he needed a release.

And so did she.

The intensity of the moment had ignited a different kind of fire within her, and her previous anger and frustration began to fade away, which was why she found one of her hands caressing his cheek, pulling him closer as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Then don't," she whispered. "Use me."

His eyes snapped to her.

"You can use me, Spencer," she assured him. "Use me in any way you want."

There was a moment of silence as he contemplated her words. "Do you mean that?"

She nodded. She missed this—dear god, she missed him so much. She hadn't realized how much she missed being close to him until she was standing naked underneath his heated gaze.

She pressed her lips against his softly. "I'm all yours."

And then he deepened the kiss and she melted into him, her tongue dancing with his. He slowly loosened his grip on her hips and found its way onto her hand resting against his cheek. He pulled away from her, tugging her hand towards him, his mouth hovering above her wrist.

"In any way I want?" He asked, gently brushing his lips over her pulse.

"Any way you want."

He smiled at her then, the first smile she saw on him ever since he barged into her room unexpectedly. But there was something about his smile that sent her into a frenzy of nerves. It wasn't genuine, it wasn't gentle.

It wasn't until his other hand reached behind him that she finally understood what his smile meant. Because right at that moment, to her surprise, he retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and with a soft click he carefully bounded one of her wrists, the steel bracelets feeling cool against her damp skin.

And then his smile morphed into a more dominant edge as he leaned closer, his eyes burning with need.

"Any way I want."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: Did you think I wasn't going to insert another smutty scene in between all the chaos? You thought wrong!

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