#same thing i do with hotch and reid and prentiss and jj and morgan and literally every single member of the core bau team | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 7 months ago

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dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake.

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point.

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel.

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there.

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always.

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.”

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?”

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.”

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.”

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says.

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says.

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.”

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.”

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.”

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file.

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene.

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house.

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt.

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control.

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics.

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it.

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything.

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect.

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.”

“What has he been charged for?”

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs.

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind.

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive.

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh.

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising.

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock.

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford.

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.”

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?”

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?”

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says.

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…”

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house.

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all.

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub.

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?”

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.”

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.”

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.”

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him.

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things:

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be.

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school.

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts.

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says.

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.”

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.”

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?”

You nod. “He lives with me.”

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too.

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going.

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.”

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.”

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?”

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you.

“Really?”

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him.

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her.

And he didn’t even know when she died.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad.

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says.

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.”

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.”

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even.

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.”

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.”

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“…No.”

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.”

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.”

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.”

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says.

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.”

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.”

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door.

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again.

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?”

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.”

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret.

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.”

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case—

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him.

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind.

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!”

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.”

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts.

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief.

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused.

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss.

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.”

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.”

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses.

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once.

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on.

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity.

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs.

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air.

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it.

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing.

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people.

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong.

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you.

Because god— what are the odds?

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother?

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time.

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you.

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.”

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties.

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?”

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.”

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now.

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face.

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.”

“And home is?”

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.”

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says.

“Sources can lie.”

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.”

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up.

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had.

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened.

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”

“None of those sound like questions,” you say.

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.”

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?”

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You didn’t tell him—”

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?”

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse.

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.”

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply.

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly.

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken.

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.”

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you.

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.”

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.”

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least.

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.”

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.”

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.”

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You know th—”

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.”

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.”

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking.

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.”

“The profile—”

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly.

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this.

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right.

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do.

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him.

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie.

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.”

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands.

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor.

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.”

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.”

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him.

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him.

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things.

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.”

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again.

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.”

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.”

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.”

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation.

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.”

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego.

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.”

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside.

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch…

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore.

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you.

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual.

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation.

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time.

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks.

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says.

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong.

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier.

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once.

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron.

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard.

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you.

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round.

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed.

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?”

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly.

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully.

Your eyes open and you frown.

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.”

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?”

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron.

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction.

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up.

“Go for it,” you finally say.

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?”

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.”

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.”

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything.

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.”

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third.

No one expected this to happen so soon.

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt.

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work.

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation.

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved.

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it.

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press.

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.”

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.”

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.”

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on.

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.”

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight.

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city.

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information.

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.”

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says.

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.”

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.”

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.”

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.”

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?”

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.”

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully.

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.”

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“And?” Hotch asks.

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.”

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.”

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again.

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.”

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.”

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up.

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.”

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.”

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.”

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.”

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.”

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.”

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.”

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.”

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.”

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says.

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods.

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him.

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says.

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks.

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.”

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him.

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?”

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.”

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?”

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—”

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.”

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up.

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him.

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze.

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind.

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”

And he does.

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear.

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale.

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame.

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner.

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff.

Of course you have to deal with this now.

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down.

“You’re already packed.”

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning.

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask.

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks.

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?”

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.”

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit.

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head.

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open.

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.”

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail.

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests.

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.”

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops.

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff.

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.”

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.”

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up.

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.”

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.”

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?”

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to.

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.”

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.”

“What have they said about me?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…”

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.”

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.”

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.”

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.”

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home.

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard.

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at.

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims.

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that.

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him.

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that.

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?”

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.”

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.”

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching.

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up.

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night.

And now…

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not.

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?”

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it.

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.”

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him.

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.”

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words.

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why.

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes.

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs.

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze.

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.”

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.”

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body.

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life.

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.”

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?”

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.”

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.”

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.”

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say.

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.”

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises.

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided.

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?”

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.”

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.”

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to.

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget.

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out.

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here.

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now.

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.”

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.”

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.”

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.”

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says.

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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reidsdimples · 7 months ago

Text

Strictly Professional | Part 1

Spencer Reid x Reader

18+🔥

You’ve been hooking up with your coworker Spencer Reid. Does the rest of the team know? 👀

After a long case, the two of you can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

“Dr. Reid, a minute?” You ask him as the team makes its way into the bullpen. The flight from Seattle was long and everyone’s ready to wrap up their paperwork and get home.

“What’s up?” He steps aside into the small kitchen with you.

“What was the true probability that Morgan wouldn’t have had to shoot that unsub?” You ask him.

“Given his devolution, the desperation of being trapped, and the lack of control he had, he wasn’t coming out of that apartment alive. I’d say based on what we know, only about a 5% chance of one of us not having to shoot him,” he answers quickly.

“Right,” you sigh.

“We saved the girl, it’s still a victory,” he places a hand on your shoulder. The touch diverts your train of thought to him, to the electricity that just surged between you.

He meets your eyes and swallows hard before dropping his hand.

Those hands, those damned hands. In the last month they have been all over your body, his long fingers inside of you, down your throat, pinching your nipples…

“Reid, Y/N, a word?” Hotch pulls you out of your thoughts.

Did he know what the two of you had been doing? That two of his agents have been sleeping together secretly? You look to Reid whose face gives nothing away. He wouldn’t show concern, he’s way better than you at masking things from other profilers.

Shit shit shit.

Hotch leads the two of you to his office, JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss exchange looks of curiosity. Your heart hammers in your chest, heat creeping into your throat and ears.

He doesn’t know, there’s no way he knows. You two were careful.

“I got a complaint that you snapped at one of the witnesses,” Hotch starts with Reid.

Relief floods you but worry for the verbal beat down creeps in. Reid had snapped at a witness, right next to you.

“And you didn’t tell me it escalated,” Hotch turns to you.

“Sir, I…” you stammer.

“That witness was out of line, Hotch. She agressed us first,” Reid reasons.

“And as soon as Reid got snippy, I shut the interview down,” you bud in.

Reid grips one of the arm rests and you remember that same tight grip on your ass. You jolt upright and adjust in your chair, catching Hotch’s attention.

“Reid you are brilliant and you are an asset to this team but you have to be more patient with these people. They are victims too,” Hotch leans on his desk and crosses his arms. “Y/N, you did the right thing by shutting it down but next time run it by me so I’m not blindsided by a complaint. Understood?”

You both nod.

“If it happens again, I’m documenting a disciplinary action,” he says with finality. Reid clears his throat, red on his cheeks.

You both stand in unison which Hotch takes a mental note of.

“Great work this week nonetheless,” Hotch says as Reid gets the door for you.

Leaving his office feels like stepping out of tar, you slow your breathing and purposely walk away from and ahead of Reid.

Shit. Hotch is reading the two of you, he’s picked up on something.

An hour passes and no one on the team has left, everyone still lost in their paperwork and conversation with one another. It’s one of your favorite things, time together after the storm of a case.

You leave your desk to go to the restroom before heading to the intel room to grab some more files which are kept in a large closet connecting to Garcia’s office.

You’re fumbling through paperwork for a while, taking out boxes and placing them on one of Garcia’s desks. You make a mental note to clean it before she gets to work in the morning.

You turn suddenly at the feeling of a presence behind you at the entrance to the closet.

“Shit Reid, you scared the hell out of me,” you sigh.

He’s leaning against the door frame, watching you with a conflicted expression. Strands of hair fall around his face, messy and untamed. He’s removed his cardigan and rolled up the sleeves to his light colored button down. It the dim light he looks gorgeous, mouth watering even.

“You think Hotch is onto us?” he steps forward and pulls the closet closed behind him.

“It’s possible,” you answer honestly.

But then he’s right on top of you, his fresh scent invading your lungs, his body heat warming you.

His hand grips your hip, pulling you closer to him as he starts to nip at your neck.

You pull on his waist band, need buzzing between your thighs. These meetings, these moments where heat and need build to an impossible level are what you live for.

“Then we better be quick,” he snakes a hand up to your jaw and kisses you quickly, desperately.

You’ve never done this with so little people in the office, what if they notice your absence? What if they notice both of you gone together? You’re about to say something when you become aware of the taste of him, his cock straining against his pants, and just how acutely you need him inside of you.

“This is a bad idea,” you hum while hurriedly pulling his cock free from his pants. You pump it slowly, causing him to grunt under his breath while he hikes your skirt up.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you put this little skirt on,” he smiles and rips your panties to the side. You giggle but bury your face in his chest so the sound doesn’t travel.

He sinks a finger into you, his finger immediately soaked and it pleases him. He bites his lip knowingly before pinning you against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he says when you screw your eyes closed to revel in the moment he enters you.

He stretches you around him, gravity forcing you all the way down onto his cock. You grip onto his shoulders as he starts to move, one hand on your hip, the other in your hair. The tip of his cock strokes the nerves inside of you so deliciously that your eyes roll back in your head. It had been too long since you had him and the possibility of getting caught is a thrill that heightens the experience.

“So good,” he whispers, sweat beading on his forehead.

The sounds of him moving inside of you and both of your controlled panting brings you to your climax fast and hard as he continues his rhythm into you. He’s focused, he knows exactly what you like and how to get you to cum for him. That eidetic memory will not let him forget precisely what you like.

“Reid,” you whimper and he clamps his hand over your mouth. You bit into his palm as you clench around him and he fucks you through your orgasm.

“That’s right, keep coming on it,” he urges. The low moans in the back of his throat are ecstasy and you know you’re going to cum again.

He drags his cock out and pushes back in, torturously slow. If he had time, he would tease and drag this out until you were crying. Your legs shake around him as he hits your gspot repeatedly, now rushing the two of you to finish before you get caught. Fuck.

“You’re going to finish with me and then you’re going to go back out there and pretend you aren’t filled with my cum,” he growls against your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders and you can’t take it anymore.

You come undone around him in waves as he pumps you deep and fills you with his cum. He shudders against you, steadying himself on the wall. His cock pulses inside of you and you’re reeling with pleasure.

There’s no time to revel in it though because you both hear Morgan and Prentiss talking outside of Garcia’s office.

He jolts back, you drop to the floor and pull your skirt down while he fixes his pants. Both of your are panting but trying to control it. The room is hot and alive with what just happened.

“Go out there,” you shove him. “Wait look at me,” you say. You realize that you left a claw mark on the side of his neck, the scratches angry and red. So instead you rush into Garcia’s office from the closet just as Morgan enters it.

“Reid in here?” He asks when he only sees you in the office chair with a folder. You’ve stopped breathing. You hope your hair doesn’t give you away.

“I think he’s in there looking for a file,” you say quickly.

“This the one you need?” He asks Morgan, handing him a file.

“Yeah,” he takes it and turns to leave. “Come look at this,” he tells Reid to follow him.

Reid glances at you with a small smirk as he follows Morgan out of the room, one hand resting on his neck to cover your scratches.

Fucking hell, you’ll never get enough of him.

#mgg #spencer reid #spencer reid one shots #mgg pics #criminal minds #bau #Hotch #aaron hotchner #derek morgan

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darkmatilda · 29 days ago

Text

ׂ╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 1: first day of investigation

part 2 here!

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mental illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 4k

“And how's school?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“It could be worse,” said Jeremy after a moment, in an indifferent tone. You sighed, wondering if, as a teenager, you also answered everything, even more serious, open questions with vague remarks, driving the person asking how you were doing to frustration.

Answering that question, no, you didn’t do that. When you were a teenager, you didn’t have anyone who cared about you. Precisely for this reason that you practically tormented your brother with phone conversations, feeling immense guilt for leaving him with your parents. The same parents with whom you ultimately decided to cut off contact. You had never faced a more difficult decision — cutting them off or continuing a relationship that tragically affected your mental health? After each interaction with them, you felt weak, defenseless, insignificant, and above all, exhausted. It wasn’t even about your mother’s illness. They were just terrible people.

Your sixteen-year-old brother didn’t have that option. He had to deal with them until he turned eighteen and moved out. You regularly made sure he was okay. However, lately, you had the impression that his voice was becoming more and more devoid of emotion. Depressed. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Prentiss appeared right in front of you. She noticed you were on the phone, so to avoid interrupting you, she tried to convey something silently. With her thumb, she pointed toward the main deck of the jet. From the movements of her lips, you were able to read, “Hotch is calling everyone.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let this topic go,” you said again to your brother. You could imagine him rolling his green eyes. “I have to get back to work; I’ll call as soon as I have time. Don’t get into trouble and take care. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and noticed a smile on the brunette’s face. Together, you joined the rest of the team.

“I heard part of your conversation,” she confessed. “Don’t tell me you have a kid that you’re hiding from us?”

“Who’s hiding what from whom?” Morgan chimed in as he walked in, holding two huge cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Reid.

Prentiss nodded in your direction.

“Did you know that y/n has a kid?”

You nudged her.

“I don’t have any kids. I was just talking to my brother,” you explained briefly. You didn’t like discussing your family, even with friends. In fact, you were often accused of being too secretive.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Reid added, frowning.

He, along with the rest of them, looked at you with mild surprise. You muttered something under your breath, shrugging. You felt a bit embarrassed that your family was the center of the discussion. You were saved from the awkwardness by your own boss.

“Can we start?”

JJ handed out the case files. As soon as you opened yours, you were met with an exceptionally graphic scene.

“ The bodies were discovered by someone from the forestry service, but according to the local police, anyone could have found them. It wasn’t hidden very carefully, as if someone didn’t care about it being discovered. A man and a woman, both decapitated. Before you ask, the heads were found in the same place as the rest of the bodies. Except for that, no serious injuries, just a few minor bruises and scratches. As if they were trying to defend themselves while they still could. “

No one spoke; the only sound was the turning of pages as the whole team focused intently on analyzing the photos. Your brows lowered in concentration, your entire face tense. Maybe you looked at things like this every day, but that didn’t mean it had become pleasant or that it didn’t disgust you. Sitting across from you, Reid was the first to speak.

“What do we know about the victims?”

At that same moment, as JJ spoke up again, you flipped the page and were met with two photos that looked like they’d been pulled from a social media account. Both people were alive, happy. The man was crouching next to a young boy who seemed to be pulling away, unwilling to be in the picture with his father. In the background, there was a garden, a tall white fence typical of American suburbs, and a slide. You barely stopped yourself from glancing at Hotch — he had a son around the same age, and this case might hit him particularly hard. The woman in the photo wore square glasses, with a cheerful, friendly gaze peeking out from beneath them. Round cheeks, a wide smile.

"Andrew Ward, 37 years old. He was one of the city councilors. He had a wife and one son, and he’d lived in this town his entire life. Then there's Jessica Larsen, the deputy mayor—she and her husband were both heavily involved in public life."

“A city councilor and the deputy mayor?” Prentiss repeated, thoughtfully resting her elbow on the arm of her seat. “Does anyone else feel like this could be some kind of score-settling? Revenge? Maybe from someone who was wronged by the city council over… I don’t know…”

"Higher bills," you said absentmindedly, blurting out the first thought that came to mind, immediately wincing at your own foolishness. You were still distracted by the conversation with Jeremy. You pinched your arm, trying to force yourself to focus on the case.

"Raising bills doesn’t typically drive people to murder," Reid corrected, pausing to glance at the files again. You never felt embarrassed when he pointed out your mistakes—he had a way of doing it so skillfully and politely. "Prentiss is on the right track; it could be revenge. Our UNSUB might hate authority due to some personal experience, maybe sees themselves as an anarchist, though it's hard to lean in that direction with so little information. Garcia, have you checked if the victims were connected in any way?"

The blonde woman on the laptop screen nodded.

"I’ve checked everything I could find about them, but unfortunately, I couldn’t uncover a single connection that might move the case forward."

Hotch raised a hand, stopping you from further speculation.

"That’s not all," he began, looking at each of you in turn. "Right after those two bodies were found, three more were discovered."

Morgan raised his eyebrows high.

"Five bodies? No wonder they called us in."

"And here’s where our biggest problem arises," your boss continued “Look at the photos. These three bodies were also decapitated but except for that, treated in a completely different way”

You turned the page again, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Other victims were killed with much more brutality, all covers in cuts and bruises. It was even hard to define their gender, but when you looked at the description you knew that this time, they were all women."Were two different people responsible for this?" Prentiss asked.

“Two murders cutting their victims' heads in such a small city?” spoke up Rossi, skeptically.

"I don’t think it’s two different killers," you said hesitated, unable to look away from the photos. As you studied them, you absorbed every detail, trying to imagine the murderer inflicting these injuries. If anyone could have peered into your mind at that moment, they might have gotten serious PTSD. “Just…take a look at the wounds. There’s much more on these women and are visibly more brutal. But they look like they were inflicted by the same hand, the same person. The placement is often consistent," you noted. "How much time passed between the murders?"

“We haven’t gotten this information yet" said Hotch. "But based on my experience, I can say we’re looking at a matter of weeks."

You noticed that Reid was watching you closely. It seemed he was doing it unconsciously. When you sent him a questioning glance, he slightly blushed and immediately cleared his throat.

“I’m curious about what y/n said,” he admitted. It was clear to see the many calculations and analyses happening in his mind. This was evident in the increasing pace of his speech. “It really does look like the same person, but in different circumstances, perhaps influenced by different emotions. Maybe even with different motives. I realize the possibility of that is close to zero, but what if we’re dealing with a murderer with multiple personality disorder?”

A silence fell as everyone contemplated Reid's words. You made eye contact with him again — your tracks of thought began to overlap, your conclusions intertwining. Looking at his face, you felt, in a way, smarter and understood; it became easier to connect the fragments of ideas that had surfaced in your mind.

You shook your head.

"No... I'm not sure. I understand what you're saying, but it seems to me that this isn't entirely true in our case. Your theory would suggest that two different personalities of our UNSUB committed these crimes, but in such cases, the crimes usually contrast more with each other. It's much harder to connect them, and here... I immediately noticed that this was the work of the same person."

Reid leaned in with interest over the table. Everyone seemed to look at you encouragingly, waiting for you to continue your theory. Yet you only took on a resigned, apologetic posture — nothing else came to mind. Any potential ideas felt too chaotic; some instincts accompanied you, but it was nothing you wanted to share out loud. You felt that they wouldn't help at all.

"We'll definitely know more after seeing the crime scene," Hotch stated, closing his files. With that, he ended the official discussion, giving you time to review the photos alone and think everything over one more time.

That’s exactly what you focused on for the rest of the meeting. You sat with one leg crossed over the other, a closed folder resting on your lap. You didn’t need to look at the photos anymore; you just needed to close your eyes and listen to your intuition. It definitely had something to say about this case. You just weren’t sure what…

Just before arriving at the scene, Hotch asked to speak with you privately. You couldn't hide it; you felt a bit anxious.

Maybe it was about your recent distraction. Of course, it was about your worry for your brother, but that shouldn’t have been an excuse; nothing should be distracting you. Or maybe he wanted to discuss something completely different, and you had just imagined this whole scenario in your mind. Knowing you and your tendency to overthink, both options seemed equally likely.

"As I mentioned, y/n, I need to talk to you about something. It’s regarding your accommodation."

First, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious. Then, your eyebrows raised in surprise. Accommodation?

"There have been some issues with the hotel we’re planning to stay at," Hotch continued. "We couldn’t secure separate rooms for each of you. You’ve been assigned to share a room with Reid. If that’s a problem for you, we can always look for another place, but that would mean you'd be away from the rest of the team..."

“No, it’s not a problem,” you assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. You were relieved that the conversation didn’t involve any serious issues, just a trivial problem with the room. Besides, why would it bother you to share a room with Spencer? It was only for a few nights. "I was afraid you wanted to talk to me about something else," you blurted out.

“About what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing,” you replied quickly and somewhat squeakily.

Hotch smiled slightly at your reaction, but his gaze seemed to analyze you closely.

Oh you idiot, why couldn’t you just shut up? you thought to yourself as you walked away.

The weather decided to play a trick on you.

As you were driving to the crime scene, the waterfall was sliding down the windshield, almost making it impossible to see anything. In any case, there wasn't much to look at. After passing the main part of the town, you were surrounded only by forest — trees shimmering in shades of orange.

The view didn’t impress you much. You definitely preferred warm, sunny weather and lounging in the sun, rather than freezing every day after stepping outside and dealing with frizzy hair from the humidity. You liked the town better. It felt small and cozy, as if it were taken straight out of Gilmore Girls.

Prentiss was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, while JJ was your navigator. The boys took a different car.

“So,” Emily began, turning left at the intersection with her eyes fixed on the road. “You care a lot about your brother, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, sinking deeper into your seat. Why did she have to bring this up again? It wasn't that you didn't trust them; you just didn’t like talking about your family. It wasn't even about being ashamed — why dwell on unpleasant topics? Besides, as was well known, you were private. You had to be incredibly close to someone to open up, and even then, you didn’t lay all your cards on the table.

Together with JJ, they looked at you kindly and encouragingly. You acted like you were fascinated by what was behind the glass. Soon, you arrived at the crime scene.

That means, before you reached your destination, you had to walk quite a distance into the forest. Since it was late October, the days had grown particularly short, and you could already see the first streaks of darkness between the enormous trees that seemed to watch you with their ancient gaze.

If you hadn't had the girls with you, you would have felt a thrill on your spine.

The location where the bodies were found had been secured very thoroughly. Local police cars gathered there, and soon the rest of your team arrived. You glanced at your muddy shoes and made a mental note to start dressing more appropriately for the weather from tomorrow on.

The rain intensified. Emily pulled her hood tighter around her head.

“Working in these conditions...'"

Her sentence was interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly tall man, somewhat resembling a bear. Long hair protruded from under his sheriff's hat, and he seemed to be about the same age as Hotch, with whom he immediately shook hands.

“Agent Hotchner, we're from the FBI.'"

"Sheriff Russell” he introduced himself, pressing his hand to his forehead with concern. 'I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot. I can't believe anyone from this town could do something like this; I know these people and...'"

“Can we see the bodies?" you asked. It was getting dark, and you wanted to get as good a look as possible. There was something intriguing about this case that had unsettled you since the moment you first opened the file.

Without waiting for an answer, you and Emily moved toward the secured area. Despite the circumstances, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"God, I hate this chatter," she sighed in annoyance. "I know these people; they’d never do something like this," she mimicked the sheriff’s deep voice. "Neighbors of serial killers always say that. Someone can be polite in conversation and keep five bodies in their basement — it’s not mutually exclusive."

You stifled a laugh.

"Don’t forget the how could he have done it? He always said good morning in the hallway!"

“Or about kids. Sure, he was killing small animals since he was four and had a knife collection, but deep down, he was polite! I can't believe he shot up half the school…”

Hotch appeared right next to you, so you cut her off with a firm elbow jab. You accidentally hit her in the ribs, causing her to let out a groan. This only intensified your incredibly inappropriate amusement. Your boss was standing so close, so you covered your mouth under the guise of a cough.

In the next thirty minutes, the laughter faded away.

You began by examining the bodies of the first victims, in chronological order. These were the three brutally murdered women. The whole scene seemed to be waiting for your arrival. Not a single detail had been altered, making it easier for you to connect emotionally with the situation. Most of the profilers you knew were meticulous about keeping their feelings detached from their work. It was the only way to endure this job for more than a year without committing suicide. You applied that strategy yourself, but not entirely.

When investigating a case, you tried to imagine yourself in both the shoes of the perpetrator and the victims. Often, you would close your eyes, attempting to visualize and feel it all in vivid detail. To step away from pure theory and let intuition take over.

It was likely the reason that, for the past year since you started this work, you hadn’t imagined a day without at least one tranquilizer and a sleeping pill.

After thoroughly examining the first crime scene, you drove to inspect the next one. This time, the victims were two people connected to the city council. The previous victims had been a teacher, a former resident of the orphanage, and a social worker. When you learned this, a heavy feeling settled at the back of your mind. You were certain there was a connection between these victims.

"Let’s consider what drives the unsub to remove the victim’s head" Rossi suggested.

Before you could even define the meaning of the question, Reid rushed to answer.

"Decapitation is one of the most symbolic acts of violence. The head represents thought, intellect, and control. By removing it, the killer may be expressing a need to destroy those aspects. It could also be a form of humiliation, a metaphorical stripping of their power and authority," he explained in a slightly robotic tone, as if reciting from a Wikipedia entry.

You smiled subtly at the thought. He noticed and gave you a questioning look, which you chose to ignore.

“That would fit for the two later victims," Morgan said, resting his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "They were on the city council — the unsub might have felt he was stripping them of authority and power. But how does that apply to the others? A social worker, a teacher, and an orphanage employee?"

You fixed your gaze on your dirty shoes, Derek’s question echoing in your mind.

What was it all about?

You’d forgotten your sleeping pills.

Once more, you searched your toiletries bag, where you usually kept them. Not a trace.

You pressed your lips tightly together, angry with yourself. Your sleep problems weren’t that serious — were caused mainly by overthinking and constant worry. You didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself in that regard. It was much easier to rely on the medication, and as long as it worked. Sometimes you forgot that you were even struggling with it at all.

“Is something wrong?” Reid asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Following Hotch’s words, you were sharing a room with him. “You seem upset.”

You shook your head dismissively.

“I just forgot something.”

Only then did you look at him. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. You realized it was the first time you’d seen him in such casual, everyday clothing. He usually wore shirts, blazers, and vests — somewhat grandpa-like, but you thought it suited him well.

You realized you had been staring at each other in silence for quite some time. To break the awkwardness, you cleared your throat and decided to return to one of the exhausting topics.

“There’s something strange about this case. You know, I’ve thought a lot about your theory regarding personality disorder, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Aside from the fact that it’s very, very rare, it’s just… my intuition doesn’t agree with it. I hope I don’t sound like a shaman.

Spencer bursted out and sat on the edge of his bed. In your room, only the standing lamp illuminated the space, casting a dim orange light around. Despite that, you could see the thoughtful expression on his face.

“We once dealt with a case where the unsub was struggling with that very disorder. He was abused as a child and developed a separate personality, Amanda, who harmed men similar to his abuser,” he shared in a quiet, less confident tone than the one he used on the jet. He must have been tired after a long day at work, and like you, frustrated that you hadn’t found anything.

Above all, the circumstances were different. Your conversation had shifted to a more personal level, concerning two friends rather than coworkers.

“Do you see any similarities between these two cases?” you asked, intrigued since you had never dealt with a similar case yourself.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “At one time, I read a lot about that disorder. There was another instance where we had an unsub who…” he trailed off, a visibly tense expression crossing his face.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassured him. You didn’t know what was bothering him, but it was clear he regretted bringing it up at all. You had never been one to push for more; you often felt uncomfortable with certain topics, and you were incredibly grateful when someone recognized your withdrawal and changed the subject. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks” he whispered. But I think there’s something to your intuition. This whole case is exceptionally peculiar.”

““Well, you can call me a shaman now. By the way, are you planning to go to bed already?”

“And you?” he replied with a question of his own. “Actually, I’d prefer to read for a while, but I don’t want to disturb your sleep…”

Your broad smile clearly surprised him.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to spend some time with a book too”

In fact, it didn’t stem from your desires at all. You loved reading, but your brain was usually too tired for it in the evenings. However, you were aware that falling asleep would take you an unusually long time, and you preferred to make use of that time rather than stare at the ceiling.

You pulled out the only novel you had brought, Kafka on the Shore. You were about halfway through. Then you remembered you had meant to call your brother, but when you glanced at the clock, you realized that due to the time zone difference, it was already late at night for him. You sighed with a pang of guilt. You promised yourself you would do it tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said when you both agreed it was finally time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, shaman” he responded.

You smiled in your pillow.

part 2?

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal mind #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

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dingusfreakhxrrington · 2 years ago

Text

A Test Of Faith

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: to test the BAU, a bold unsub abducts one of their members and sends the team on a wild goose chase. with reckless decisions and personal feelings taking hold, will the team be able to save one of their own or will their faith in each other come crumbling down?

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, mentions of drugs, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of injury, angst, 3rd person, slight fluff, minor cursing

word count: 7k

a/n: this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry for any mistakes!

part two (coming soon)

read on ao3

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

“Hey, has anyone seen y/n this morning?” Reid asked with a frown as he entered the bullpen, hanging his bag over the back of his chair.

“She’s not here yet, why?”

His face only scrunched up further at Morgan’s words. He knew it was unusual for her to be late to work, let alone skip out on plans at the last minute. “It’s just, we were supposed to get coffee this morning but she didn’t show.”

Morgan shrugged. “Maybe she overslept?”

“Maybe…”

He wanted to believe it because the alternative, which had already begun to play on his mind, was much worse. Still, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that was starting to settle into the bottom of his stomach. That uneasy feeling which had taken hold before he’d even left the coffee shop where they were supposed to meet.

Something was wrong. He knew that even before the box arrived.

It was delivered by courier directly to the office. The only indicator of who it was for was in thick, red marker across the top of the box which spelt out nothing but ‘BAU’. The handwriting was neat but unnecessarily large.

Morgan held the box, inspecting it as Reid and Prentiss peered over his shoulders.

“What is it?” Emily questioned, waiting for Morgan to open the package.

“Nothing good.” All eyes turned to their superior as he approached, holding up a letter written in the same red ink that decorated the box.

Hotchner passed the note to Prentiss, allowing her to read it to the rest of the team. “‘For Agent Hotchner at the BAU. A package will arrive not long after you read this, I suggest you gather your team and prepare for the game’?”

“Game? What game?”

Reid furrowed his brows at Morgan’s question, already trying to piece together what was going on. “You don’t think this has anything to do with why y/n is late, do you?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we’re going to need the whole team on this. Reid, try to get in contact with y/n and find out where she is. Prentiss, gather the others. I want everyone in the briefing room within the next five minutes.”

Just like that, the group dispersed and, within minutes, they assembled again for the briefing.

“Still no y/n?”

Reid shook his head as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. “She isn’t answering her phone.”

“No matter, we’ll have to catch her up when she gets here. We can’t waste any more time, we need to know what’s inside the box,” Hotch sighed and signalled for Morgan to finally open it up.

The team watched on anxiously, worried about the contents of the package they’d received. More often than not, packages with notes such as the one they’d received were a little more than unpleasant.

The one thing that gave them hope, was the fact that no blood seemed to be staining the cardboard from the inside. Although that didn’t mean there wasn’t a victim’s body part inside

“A CD?” Morgan frowned when he revealed its contents, only growing more curious as he checked both the front and back of the case.

It was Electra Heart by Marina and the Diamonds, not that anyone thought that detail was of any particular importance.

“Could just be a case the unsub is using to protect the disc. It’s most likely a video,” JJ gave her input as she reached out for the disc before moving to play it on the screen.

The room was silent as she prepared the video, nervous to find out what was on it.

Would it be a video of the unsub? Perhaps a video of them committing a crime? Murder? Torture? Assault? Something else altogether? Or had it really just been a prank? Was it really just an album?

“Oh god-” Garcia gasped, hands moving to cover her mouth the moment the video began to play, tears already pricking in the corner of her startled eyes.

That uneasy feeling in Reid’s gut only grew stronger, twisting and turning until it became all that consumed him. It had never been this bad before, not even when he himself was the one in danger. He was terrified.

Terrified for her.

There she was. Y/n, the agent who had not been late to work but abducted by their unsub. Taken in the dead of night to become a pawn in his sick game.

She was standing, just barely, with nothing but the chains around her wrists holding her up. Half-dried blood stained her forehead and matted her hair. The video only lasted for fifty-five seconds. Fifty-five seconds of nothing but her hanging there, feet barely on the ground. She was conscious but only just, likely concussed from the wound on her head.

“She’s been struck around the head, likely to incapacitate her before she could fight back during the abduction,” Morgan identified, eyes trained on the video.

“The unsub knows what he’s doing. There isn’t anything in the video that could indicate where she is,” Rossi added as he perched down on the end of the table to examine the paused video further.

Hotch hummed as he too was glued to the screen. “She can’t be far, she must have been abducted sometime since leaving here yesterday and this morning. Most likely during the night.”

JJ turned from the screen, unable to watch any longer. “We left at the same time last night and it’s unlikely she would have stopped on her way home.”

“Can we stop talking about her like she’s some random victim? This is y/n we’re talking about,” Reid snapped, drawing all eyes to him.

Each new comment in the discussion had been piling up until he just couldn’t take it anymore. This wasn’t just some case, nor was it any other victim. This was y/n — their friend.

“Reid, we know she isn’t just any victim but we have to look at this like we would any other case. It’s the only way we’re going to find her,” Morgan reminded, hoping to ease Reid at least a little.

“JJ, play the video again. We need to look for anything that could help us figure out where they are and Reid, I need you to focus. We’re going to need your brain on this.”

The youngest of them nodded, heeding Hotch’s words. This was just a game to the unsub — a game he’d made specifically for the BAU team. They were the only ones who could save her, he knew that.

“Hey, there’s something else in here. Looks like a note, taped to the inside of the box,” Prentiss announced before JJ had a chance to replay the video.

“What is it?” Reid was the first to jump at the new information, hoping it would be a better indication of where their missing friend was than the video.

Prentiss carefully tore the note from the box and began to read it out loud, “It’s a riddle. ‘I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains but no trees. I have water but no fish. What am I?’”

“A map,” Reid concluded after only a brief moment of pause, “It’s a map.”

“A map? I don’t see any kind of map here.” Morgan gestured at the now empty package before crossing his arms over his chest. He knew the wonder boy was right but he still couldn’t understand what the riddle could mean.

Hotch too seemed to be running circles in his head, unsure of what their unsub was trying to point them to. “Does it say anything else?”

Emily looked up from the note with troubled eyes as she voiced the final part, “Find her by midnight and she’ll live. Good luck, Agents.”

As if on cue, Reid vocalised the conclusion he had come to in his head, jumping to his feet like he was about to rush there himself without a second thought. “The Marina.”

“You think the unsub is holding her at the Marina?”

“I think it’s the only indication of a map I can find in all this. Marina and the Diamonds? The unsub didn’t choose that album without reason.”

Hotch hummed, seemingly agreeing with Reid’s deduction, and began to give directions. “Okay. Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi will come with me to the Marina. JJ, I need you and Reid to watch the video again. Look for anything we might have missed in case we’re wrong. And Garcia, I need you to track down exactly who delivered the package and where they delivered it from.”

Everyone got to their feet, springing into action as they would on any other case. They all knew their part to play and knew it was vital in locating their missing team member. Everyone other than Reid, who was less than happy to have been told to stay behind.

“No, I’m going with you.”

“Reid…” Hotch turned to him with a hand to his brow, already anticipating the headache that was to come if he continued to clash with the young doctor.

“No,” he cut him off again, “This is not negotiable. I’m going to the Marina with you.”

With a sigh, the unit chief gave in, knowing there was little he could do to keep Reid in the office. “Okay, Reid you’re with us. Prentiss, you stay here with JJ. Call us the moment you find anything.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Spencer had been restless the entire ride there. His hands were fidgety in his lap, his nails occasionally digging into the skin of his palms. He was stressed and more on edge than the rest of the team, not that anyone had expected any less.

Everyone knew that Reid had had a budding crush on y/n since she joined the BAU. Not that he’d ever acted on it. Morgan teased him about it constantly, comparing it to a schoolboy crush. Only, it wasn’t just a schoolboy crush. Not anymore.

The longer they had gotten to know one another, the closer y/n and Reid became. He felt as though she was the only one who really saw him, not that the rest of the team didn’t care greatly for him. She just understood him better than anyone else.

So, to say it was a simple crush would be a lie. He was in love with her. How couldn’t he be? She was pretty and funny and kind and a great agent. She saw him for who he really was and accepted every part of him. She stood up for him when the team teased him about his rambling. She always listened so intently, never once cutting him off no matter what it was he was talking about.

He was in love with her but now, he feared more than ever that he was about to lose her.

“She’s going to be okay, Reid,” Morgan comforted from the seat beside him, squeezing Reid’s shoulder as if the gesture would ease his fear.

Nothing would ease it. Not until she was safe.

It wasn’t like Reid to doubt himself. He knew he was right about the riddle, he had to be, yet he was still starting to wonder what would happen if he was wrong.

They only had until midnight. There was no time to spare and if he was wrong about this they might just lose her.

“I know,” he lied, trying to mask his true feelings.

Morgan sighed, seeing through Reid’s weak façade. No matter what he said or did, it hadn’t stopped his legs from bouncing or his hands from shaking.

The moment they arrived, Reid was fast to get out of the van. Too enthusiastic about rushing in headfirst to save her. He glanced around, taking in the fresh air as if his lungs had been deprived for hours.

“Spread out and search the area,” Hotch ordered and the team nodded, checking their vests one last time before pulling out their guns for the sweep.

They searched almost everywhere but found nothing. No sign that y/n or the unsub had ever been there. It was just a Marina and none of the boats there were big enough to fit the room they’d seen in the video.

Reid was beginning to believe that he really was wrong, that he had just wasted time they didn’t have on a hunch. Well, he was beginning to lose hope until Rossi called the team over to his location.

With a fast-beating heart, Reid ran as fast as he could manage to see what Rossi had found. He prayed it was her and that she was safe — that it was over.

Disappointment was not quite the right word for his feelings when he arrived and saw she wasn’t there because something was there. Another note, written in that same red marker.

“‘So you figured it out. Well done, agents. I hate to disappoint but your missing agent isn’t here but I hope this gift will help keep you on the trail’?” Rossi read the letter aloud before turning it over to find a USB taped to the other side.

“He’s playing with us.” Morgan shook his head, already growing tired of the unsub’s game.

“Or testing us,” Reid argued, “He’s referred to us as ‘agents’ in every note so far. It’s like he’s-”

“A part of the bureau,” Hotch finished for him, drawing the same conclusion, “Likely an ex-agent or even an ex-recruit.”

Morgan’s brow creased and he asked, “By why us? Why is he testing us? And why did he take y/n? He could have taken any one of us, why her?”

“Because she’s the newest member of the BAU. Maybe he doesn’t see her as an official member of the team yet?” Queried Reid.

“Or he just thought she’d be the easiest to abduct because she’s less experienced,” Rossi added.

“Whatever the reason, we don’t have a lot of time. The unsub must have had base access to use the marina. Reid, Morgan, I need you to speak with the workers here. See if they’ve seen anyone strange and ask for records to find out who owns this boat. We’ll head back to check in with the rest of the team and get this to Garcia.” Hotch held up the USB, knowing Garcia was the safest person to give it to as there was no way to know what would be on it.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Anything?”

“No, you?”

Reid shrugged. “Not much but I did get a name for the boat owner. Rudd Richardson.”

“Did you run it by Garcia?”

“Yeah, Rudd Richardson died three years ago.”

Morgan hummed in thought. “So our unsub is using a dead man’s name?”

“Maybe. Garcia is looking for any other property that is still registered in his name but she hasn’t been able to find anything yet and it doesn’t look like the unsub has taken Richardson’s identity.”

Their discussion was cut short when Reid’s phone began to ring.

“Garcia?”

He shook his head, looking up from his phone in disbelief. “No. It’s y/n.”

Right away Morgan pulled out his cell to call Garcia. If it really was y/n or even the unsub they would need her to trace the call.

“Y/n?” Questioned Reid as he put the phone on speaker, his voice already settling into a tone of urgency.

The line was silent but the trace had already begun, all they needed to do now was keep them on the phone.

After a brief moment of static, a weak voice finally spoke from the other side, “Reid?”

“Y/n! Y/n, can you tell us where you are? Are you alright?” He spoke at a hundred miles a minute, desperate to know she was okay.

Static again as the phone on the other end seemed to move from one ear to another.

The young doctor gulped as another voice began to speak, “She knew you would figure it out… The first clue. Let’s see how quickly you figure out the rest. The sands of time are forever slipping…”

The voice was dark and warped, spoken through a voice-changing device. Its sinister vibrations sent a chill up Spencer’s spine.

“Wait! Y/n!”

“Dammit,” Morgan spoke bitterly, knowing the call had not been long enough to give them any hint on their location, “He’s taunting us.”

“We need to get back to the others. He said this was the first clue, the USB must be the next.”

Morgan sighed. “We have to play his game. Or we may never find her…”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Please tell me you guys have got something,” Morgan asked while looking down at his watch.

There was still time but there was no way to know if the unsub would stay true to his word.

“Nothing yet. The USB locked Garcia out of the system the moment she plugged it in, she’s trying to regain access now,” JJ explained with a sigh before turning her attention back to the files in her hands.

Reid was only growing more anxious and began fishing for anything else that could be of use. “What about the video?”

“Nothing. We’ve watched it a hundred times but there’s nothing in it that could tell us where they are.” Prentiss chimed in as she too walked over with a new batch of files.

“So what do we do? We can’t just sit around and wait for Garcia to get the system up and running again.”

JJ split the files he was holding into three before passing a pile out to Reid and Morgan. “I know you’re worried, Spence. We all are but there isn’t a lot we can do right now. Until she gets back in all we really can do is look at these files to see if anyone fits the profile.”

“Profile? We’ve got a profile?” Morgan questioned as he began to flick through the files.

“Well, Hotch told us you think it’s an ex-agent or recruit but other than that we don’t really have a lot to go on so right now we’re just looking for anyone that sticks out.”

Reid dropped the files down onto the desk with a scoff, “We’re looking for a needle in a haystack. This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“It’s better than sitting around twiddling our thumbs.” Morgan shrugged.

“Look, Reid, if you don’t want to look through the files then go help Hotch and Rossi. They’re looking for anywhere she could be being held. Warehouses, storerooms, abandoned homes. Look for anything and everything and start making it down.”

He only grew more frustrated as he listened to Prentiss. “So if we run out of time we’re just going to start knocking on doors until we find her?”

“We don’t really have any other choice right now. Not until Garcia gets back into the system. He’s testing us, right? So this is probably just another test. She’s got this.”

Like Morgan, Reid also had full faith that Garcia would get back into the system but he was worried about how long it would take her to do so. They were on the clock and every second they spent sitting around waiting for her would only bring them closer to their deadline.

So, to try and ease his mind, Spencer decided to go help Hotch and Rossi in the hope that it would help bring them closer to finding y/n.

𓆩♡𓆪

“I’m back in. I’m back in!” Garcia cried out and soon the team were rushing into her office.

It had been no longer than an hour but that was still an hour they didn’t have to spare in the first place.

She tapped away on her keyboard, eyes flickering across the screen at the speed of light as she searched for any trace of what the unsub had tried to achieve by locking her out of her own system.

“He’s watching us,” she announced when her tapping fingers finally began to calm down, “I don’t think I can remove him from the system, not from my end anyway. I had to reboot the whole thing just to get back in. It’s amazing he’s even still here.”

“So he can see everything we do?” Rossi questioned, wanting to know exactly what the unsub was able to do with his access to the system.

Garcia hummed, “Yep. Well, he can see through our webcams but he doesn’t have access to my screen. That was a nasty piece of malware but it won’t give him access to any of my files.”

Just as Hotch opened his mouth to speak, a notification sound rang from the speakers and a message popped up on the screen. It was typed out rather than written but the red colour still prevailed.

‘Well done, Agents. You’ve cracked the code and earned your next clue: I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?’

“Love… the answer is love,” Reid announced with a tightening heart.

“But what does that mean? Love, what kind of a clue is that?” Morgan complained, once again growing tired of the game they were being forced to play.

Prentiss hummed in thought for a moment before asking, “What about wedding venues? A church maybe?”

“Or some kind of date spot? A restaurant?” JJ added.

Before long, everyone was throwing out ideas but nothing was clicking.

Hotch was the first to catch onto the lead again. “Garcia, see if Mr Richardson was married.”

“Okay.” The tech-whiz complied and began tapping away on her keyboard again.

Within only a few short seconds she had her answer. “He married Triss Anderson in 1984 but she died during childbirth over twenty years ago.”

“What about their child?” Morgan prompted, drawing at any loose threads.

Her eyes flicked over the screen again as she searched for the information. “They had a daughter. She’s living here in Quantico, only a few blocks away from here actually.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

𓆩♡𓆪

“No car,” Prentiss stated as they approached the house.

Rossi stepped up to the door while Reid and Morgan peered in through the windows.

“Look’s like no one’s home,” Morgan sighed.

Still, Rossi tried the door. “Miss Richardson?”

When no response came, he banged again.

“You’re looking for Jen?” They turned around to the neighbour, eager to hear what she had to say. “She left for vacation just over a week ago. I’m Michelle, I live across the street. Maybe I can help you?”

“Do you know when she’s supposed to come home?” Reid questioned, worried they had wasted their time.

Michelle thought for a moment before replying, “Actually, now that you mention it I think she was due back last night.”

“So she hasn’t come home?” Asked Prentiss as she hurriedly pulled out her phone.

“No, I guess not. You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?”

As Rossi began to reassure Miss Richardson’s neighbour, the others quickly headed back to the van.

Prentiss held her phone to her ear, exchanging a worried glance with Morgan as she spoke with the unit chief, “Hotch, we might have another missing person on our hands.”

“Are you Spencer Reid?”

Spencer turned from the van just before opening the door to find a young boy standing behind him.

“Yeah, you know me?”

The child shook his head and shyly held out a piece of paper and pointed down the street with his free hand. “That man over there told me to give this to you.”

As he took the paper, Spencer quickly looked in the direction the boy was pointing but whoever may have been there had long since gone.

“Thank you, kid. Get home safe now, okay?” Morgan had to speak for him while Reid examined the note.

“It’s an address, Morgan. He’s given us an address.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Wasting no time, the group headed for the address on the note. Garcia ran it through the system and found it to be an empty home, one currently up for sale.

It was the perfect place for the unsub to hold them, although Morgan still doubted the nature of the note. It didn’t make sense for him to just give them the answer now. Not after making them jump through hoops to so much as obtain a single clue.

“Reid, wait,” he reached out for the youngest, holding him back from rushing straight inside, “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there.”

“We can’t wait, what if y/n is in there?” Reid was quick to shake him off, desperate to find her.

Morgan sighed as he pulled out his gun. “The unsub could be in there too, just don’t do anything rash.”

Spencer was the first to the door. He stood ready as Morgan exchanged one quick, affirmative glance with Rossi before kicking down the door.

In the blink of an eye, all four agents infiltrated the home and began to cautiously clear each room.

“Clear!” Prentiss called out from the bathroom as Morgan and Reid began to scale the stairs.

She slowly approached the bedroom, knowing it was the last room to check. If they were going to find anything, it was going to be in there.

When Morgan and Reid were close enough behind her to have her back, she reached for the handle and quickly opened the door.

She checked every corner of the room before giving the all-clear but something was wrong. Her voice was quiet, choked even, as she entered the room.

Morgan turned to Reid, not knowing what to do other than keep him away to stop him from looking inside but he was too late, he’d already caught a glimpse of what was waiting for them inside.

“Y/n? Y/n!” he cried as he rushed towards the room, shoving past Morgan who moved to stop him.

In the middle of the empty room was a body. A woman wearing clothes Reid recognised. She was lifeless and stained in blood. When his hands shakily reached out to her, he felt the coldness of her skin on the tips of his fingers.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe.

He got back up, unable to bring himself to look at her face – to turn her over and come face-to-face with her void eyes.

Everything was a blur, all of his senses going dull as Morgan moved to further inspect the body.

Emily too was standing near the door as if she were frozen in place with her hand covering her mouth.

Slowly, Morgan rolled the body over onto its back. He was quiet, almost too quiet, before he finally released the breath he had been holding.

“It’s not her.”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Jena Richardson, daughter of Rodd Richardson. A twenty-six-year-old entrepreneur. She was supposed to go on vacation to Europe eight days ago,” Garcia read through the information she had discovered about the woman.

“He chose her for a reason. He did all of this for a reason. Been planning it for a while too.”

Hotch hummed in agreement with Morgan. “He took Miss Richardson before she had a chance to leave for her vacation, she never left. Her bags are likely still inside her home.”

“And when he took y/n, he stole some of her clothes to dress the victim in so that we would think it was her. That’s why he chose the victim… because she looked like y/n,” Prentiss concluded.

The whole team had gathered in the briefing room again, discussing their next course of action.

“There was nothing else on the body or in the house? No next clue? Nothing to tell us where he might be holding her?” Hotch questioned, hopeful that there would have been something — anything.

Prentiss shook her head. There was nothing. Nothing at all. They had searched everywhere. Every single inch of that house but there was nothing there. Nothing but the body.

“Then we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report, maybe the unsub left a clue for us there.”

“No, we don’t have time to wait. We only have a few hours left. There has to be something we’re missing.” Reid began to pace the room, running through everything they’d discovered so far in his head.

“Reid,” Morgan began, “We’ve run out of options but we still have time.”

The young doctor only began to shake his head, his eyes glaring in disbelief that his team could even suggest to sit around and wait while y/n was in danger. “No, we don’t. We have hours and if we just keep sitting around waiting she’s going to die.”

Just like that, he was storming out of the briefing room and, while Hotch gave new directions to the rest of the team, JJ jumped up to go after him.

“Spence!”

“If you’re just going to tell me to sit tight and wait like everyone else you’re wasting your breath.”

She understood how he was feeling because she knew how he felt about y/n. She knew it was a fool's errand trying to calm him down or convince him everything was going to be alright. All she wanted to do was be there for him when hope began to fade.

“Where are you going?”

He tugged at his collar, his fingers moving to loosen his tie in a desperate attempt to breathe. “I need some air.”

She let it be as he rushed through the bullpen, heading straight for the elevator. If she had left a moment earlier, she wouldn’t have heard the sound of a text coming through on his phone as the elevator doors began to close.

His eyes widened as he read the message, one that had come through from her: ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Love? When you lose the thing you love, there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do to be reunited with it. That’s what I did, you know. I reunited Miss Richardson with her beloved father. Now I’m giving you the chance to be reunited with the one you love, so long as you come alone.’

Another text came through by the time he reached the bottom of the building. Another address.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Where’s Reid?”

JJ looked up from her paperwork and glanced out into the bullpen. “He’s not back yet?”

Morgan frowned. “No. Where did he go?”

“He said he needed to get some air but he should have been back by now,” she explained as she stood up, realising what had happened, “Shit.”

“What?”

“He got a text before he got into the elevator.”

Morgan was already half out of the room by the time she finished her sentence. “The unsub.”

The two of them all but ran to the rest of their team, already gathering their things to leave as questions started flooding in.

“Reid’s gone after him,” Morgan announced as the rest of the team gathered their equipment and began to head for the door.

“Alone?” Prentiss furrowed her brows, she had hoped he would have known better than that.

JJ stuttered, still in disbelief, “H-He said he was just going outside to get some air.”

Hotch was already pointing Garcia back into her office before she’d even made it through the door. “Garcia I need you to find Reid’s car. Tell us the moment you know what direction he was headed.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Everyone was in hyperdrive, working against the clock to find Reid and y/n before it was too late. They were already in the SUVs, splitting into two groups before they even had any information on where he was going.

𓆩♡𓆪

There he stood, outside a property that they never would have even considered including during their search for it was not empty or abandoned but rather a home. A home that seemed well lived in from the moment he stepped inside.

No one was there. Not a single soul. Yet every surface was decorated with family pictures. A mother, father and son. A happy family.

From the photos, the son seemed to be no older than four and all Reid could do was hope nothing bad had happened to him or his family.

With his gun raised, he slowly made his way through the house until he reached the door he was looking for — the door to the basement.

Quietly, he descended into the darkest depths of the house. The stairs barely made a creak and, by the time he could see into the room, he saw her.

“Welcome, Doctor Reid.”

The man was standing beside her, face half-hidden in the shadows. He had a knife and held it firmly near her stomach in a silent threat.

“Let her go,” Reid demanded, although when the unsub did not budge, he opted for negotiation over immediate violence.

Stepping from the shadows, the unsub revealed himself. Reid recognised him the moment the dull light illuminated his features. He was the father in the photos upstairs but he was older now and more unkept than he appeared in the pictures.

“I don’t know what happened to your family but please, you have to let her go,” he pleaded again, eyes flickering over to y/n.

Other than the injuries she had sustained during the abduction, she seemed okay but he noticed how weak she seemed. Her injuries were not bad enough to be the cause of her drowsy state. The unsub may not have harmed her further but it seemed likely she had been drugged.

“Reid…” she spoke in a quiet voice, her hooded eyes barely open as she looked at him, struggling to lift her head.

The unsub looked between them with a smile as if he was truly happy to see them this way. “Young love, isn’t it so precious?”

“What do you want?”

“Me? No, this isn’t about what I want. This is about what you want,” the unsub looked at y/n as she stood half-dangling beside him and pointed, “Her. You want her, don’t you?”

Reid raised his gun again, finger resting on the trigger the moment the man drew closer to her.

“You lost your family,” he stated, gaining the unsub’s attention once again, “Your wife and son. You lost them, didn’t you?”

Hesitantly, the man nodded. “They were taken from me, just as she was taken from you. In the night while I was away.”

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to hurt her. It won’t bring them back.”

“Oh, but I do. When I sent my case to the BAU, you turned it down. It wasn’t a serial killer or a professional hit. Just a burglary gone wrong. I was at work when it happened, out late on the job. I wanted to join the FBI, you know? I was a recruit.”

The more he explained, the more Spencer began to understand. The unsub’s connection to the BAU, and the resentment he held for them. The loss of his family had driven him to his breaking point and he blamed them for not finding the killer.

Why had he taken y/n? Well, it wasn’t because she was a newer member of the BAU or because she was less experienced than the others but because somehow he knew. He knew how Spencer felt about her and he wanted to show a member of the BAU the same pain he felt when he lost his family.

“Please, just put the knife down. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

The unsub held the knife tighter than before, raising it to her neck. “Oh, but it does. I want you to do it. I want you to reunite me with them. Send me to them, please. If you refuse, I’ll take her from you just as they were taken from me.”

Reid shook his head, refusing to play his twisted game any longer. “Put the knife down.”

“I hoped it could have been different.”

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the unsub lifted his arm, angling the knife back onto her abdomen as he swung it down.

“No!”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Garcia, you’re sure he’s here?”

The technical analyst hummed over the line. “Positive.”

“I see his car,” JJ announced as she climbed out of the SUV, already rushing toward the house.

The team approached the building with caution, not wanting to rush in and startle the unsub into doing anything rash. They knew Reid was inside but they didn’t want to put him in any more danger.

Only, before they even reached the front door, they heard a gunshot and all caution flew to the wind as Morgan kicked down the door and burst inside.

They cleared each room before reaching the entrance to the basement and, upon hearing footsteps approaching, all guns were aimed at the door. They stood their ground, ready for whatever they were to face but when the door finally opened, all anyone could do was breathe a sigh of relief.

“Reid!” Morgan was by his side the moment he stepped through the door with her in his arms.

Hotch saw the spattering of blood that stained her clothes and looked into his eye. With just an exchanged glance, he knew what had transpired.

The unsub was dead. It was finally over.

Despite Morgan’s offer for help, Spencer carried her all the way outside to the paramedics. He stayed with her still as they lifted her into the ambulance. She was out of it, barely aware of what was going on.

“Go with them, we’ll meet you there.”

Reid offered a subtle nod to his unit chief, thankful that he was allowing him to accompany her to the hospital.

𓆩♡𓆪

Quiet beeps echoed through the room, the sound of the monitor that continued to track the beats of her heart.

Reid sat waiting, hands fidgeting as he bounced his leg.

“The doctor said she’s going to be fine, relax a little,” Morgan comforted with a gentle hand on Reid’s shoulder.

The youngest glanced up at his friend before his eyes flickered back over to her. “I can’t relax. Not until she wakes up. Not until I know she’s okay.”

From the moment the doctor had told them it was okay to wait with her in her room, Spencer had been by her side. The time he had spent in the waiting room before was agonising and he had felt relief when the doctor told them she just needed time to recover. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about her, not when he had been through something similar before. Kidnapped, tortured, and drugged.

He was thankful this unsub had seemed to skip the torture but he could still sympathise with how she was feeling. She had been taken from her own home. He could only imagine how scared she must have been.

When she finally began to stir and her eyes finally fluttered awake, he was on his feet again. “Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Morgan chuckled, “Come on kid, give her a second to wake up before you jump her with questions.”

Spencer was already holding her hand, his thumb rubbing gently across the back of it as he smiled.

“Spence?”

He nodded as she slowly came to, squeezing her hand a little just to make sure she knew he was really there — that she was safe now.

“I’ll go let the others know she’s awake,” Morgan excused himself, leaving the two of them to talk alone.

“What… What happened?”

He gulped and stuttered slightly as he answered, “Y-you were kidnapped.”

She closed her eyes again and nodded, recalling the events that had transpired as well as she could remember them. “You saved me. Thank you.”

With a small smile, he nodded.

It was quiet for a moment and all she could focus on was the warmth of his hand. Soon, he too realised he was still holding her hand and quickly let go as he cleared his throat to speak.

“So, how are you feeling?” he repeated his earlier words, eager to hear how she was holding up.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? Like shit. My head is killing and I think I might still be a little high.”

Spencer was now the one laughing at her remark, thankful that she was well enough to make light of the situation. “Yeah, that’s probably the painkillers the doctor gave you. Must be a pretty bad concussion if your head is still hurting.”

“Yeah, well it could have been a lot worse…”

The mood soured again with her words as the two of them were reminded of just how badly things could have gone had Reid not found her when he did.

“I knew it was going to be okay, you know. When I saw you I just… I knew I was safe.”

Though she smiled, it was her eyes that conveyed all he needed to know. Everything she’d never spoken aloud, everything she wanted to say but could never bring herself to do so. It was the first time he’d truly felt it, the way she felt for him. The first time he’d realised that she cared about him as much as he cared about her.

A test of faith had brought them together, breaking the boundary between them.

Spencer stepped closer again, leaning towards her as he took her hand in his again. With his other, he brushed her hair from her face, fingers lingering on her skin as time froze still.

Their quiet moment together would soon be broken when the door opened and the rest of the team flooded in to see how she was but, for just one moment, they were the only two people in the world.

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#—dinguswritings ⌕#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 4 months ago

Note

What about something to do with reader previously fighting back against/killing an abusive parent and a case comes up with the bau which brings it all to life..?

Hiya, hope this is okay! I didn't go into too many sad emotions lol, but hopefully this is okay :)

Description: reader gets dragged back to his hometome, but reunites with his younger brother.

Warnings: child abuse, abuse, murder, alcohol mentions, assault, previous arrests, custody battles, death of a parent

“This week’s case my fine furry friends, you are all heading to Oregon. The homeland of the one and only (Y/N).” Penelope said, pointing the bippy at you. You give a small smile, not having the heart to tell her you were hoping to keep that particular cat in the bag. “So this unsub is targeting unsavory individuals, first, this man. Robert Davis, 42, father of three. Total slime ball, an abusive drunk who is particularly fond of driving under the influence.”

You all looked at the photos now on the board. “Now, up next, same thing. Derek Harris. Father, this time 53, abusive, drinks on occasion.”

“Okay, so he’s got a type.”

“How long between victims?”

“Only four days.”

“How long does he keep them alive?”

“Only a few hours, before he dumps them on the door of their house.”

“He dumps the bodies at their house?” You asked, frowning.

“Why?”

“It’s like a gift.” You theorised, “I know what he was doing so I took revenge for you.”

“Some gift.” Prentiss said, turning back to the file.

Not long after, you were all on the jet on your way to Oregon. The briefing didn’t take long, just a few rough ideas exchanged and Morgan asking if you were excited to go home, you were not.

“Hotchner.” Hotch answered the phone before the end of the second ring. “You’re sure? Okay. We’ll make sure to send some agents there when we land. It’s alright, I’ll let him know. Thank you.” And with that, Hotch hung up again.

The air was a little tense, to say the least. “Another body turned up?” Rossi asked. Hotch just gave a nod.

“Already?” Reid’s eyebrows furrowed. You watched your boss closely for a few seconds.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Is all you ask.

“Yes.” Is his response. “The ME just identified him.”

“Who found him?”

“(Y/N)…”

“Hotch, who found him?”

“Your brother.”

You sighed, looking away. “He okay?”

“He’s alright. Paramedics checked him over, he’s at the station waiting for us to land.”

You give a small nod. “He’s okay?”

“He’s okay.” Hotch said, voice a little more gentle now. The team watched you cautiously, all concerned.

“Who was the latest victim?” Reid asked, frowning slightly.

“Er, Lee (L/N).”

“(L/N)?” Morgan asked, turning to face you.

“My dad.” You gave a small nod.

“Which means we’re going to have to dive into your life,” Hotch explained, his face was his usual stern expression, but you could see the understanding in his eyes.

“I know.” You gave a small sigh. “I was arrested for assault when I was eighteen - I just broke his nose. No charges were pressed or anything.”

“What happened?” JJ asked.

“Er, I saw him hit my brother.” You gave a small nod. “And he didn’t press charges on the condition I moved out. So, I moved out. I tried fighting for custody but with that arrest, the courts weren’t having it.”

“They wouldn’t let you have custody?”

“Nope, not even with our medical records.” You gave an awkward shrug, “I tried multiple times, Declan ended up in the hospital once or twice. I lived in a small town, and everyone just… turned a blind eye to it.”

“That’s horrible…” JJ said. “They turned a blind eye? Just like that?”

“Yep. And then after the second custody battle and I was doing a food shop and I saw my dad hit Declan again. That time, I landed my dad in hospital.”

You were silent for the rest of the ride, preferring to sit inside your own head than interact with the outside world.

As soon as the jet landed, you, Spencer, and Hotch headed to the police station, the others dividing themselves between the different crime scenes. You follow the secretary’s vague motion to a room at the back of the station. It takes you thirty seconds after to realise she was in your grade in school. You purposefully ignored that and gave the door a light knock before opening the door.

“Declan…” You had prepared for the worst. You were expecting him to hate you, you had left the day you turned eighteen. Granted, it wasn’t exactly a voluntary leave, but you still left.

“(Y/N),” Declan looks up, smiling a little when he sees you. His eyes are bloodshot.

“Hey.” You said softly, "How are you feeling?"

Declan gives a small shrug and you give a quiet sigh, taking a seat next to him on the couch. "Come here," You said, opening your arms. He stares at you for a moment before letting himself lean against you.

You wait until you've both calmed down before speaking again. “We need to talk, kid…”

“I know.” Declan gave a small tight lipped smile. You sit down next to him, sighing slightly as you did. “They don’t think you’re involved, do they?”

“Nah, I’ve got an alibi I cleared with my boss.”

Declan nods, “Good. So I’m assuming your team know?”

“Yep.” You sighed, turning to face him. “Look, Declan-”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“Yes, I do. I left.”

The teen rolled his eyes, “You’re actually thick. You didn’t leave, dad basically kicked you out.”

“I should have fought to stay.” You argued.

“Yeah, and he would have killed you.” He said. “Besides, I was fine.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah. Most of the time dad was too caught up in his drinking to care.” Declan gave a small shrug. “So… what’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, if you want, I’ve got a spare room that I could let you have. I suppose.” You said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah, I guess. If I had too.” Declan grinned slightly.

“Sounds good.” You gave a nod, “We can sort everything else out later. And, if you want - since our house is sort of a crime scene, you can bunk in my hotel room.”

“Perfect, free hotel room.” Declan smirked.

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes. “I gotta go talk to my team, you okay in here?”

“Yes, old man. I’m fine.”

You placed a hand on your chest dramatically as you left.

“Everything okay?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah. I think so.” You said, giving your boss a small smile. “As well as it can be right now, anyway.”

“He seems resilient.”

“He is.” You gave a small nod. “You don’t mind if I stay for a while after the case to sort everything up here out, do you?”

Hotch shook his head, “Not at all. Take all the time you need.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #x male reader #male reader #bau x reader #bau x male reader #x reader #reader

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aperrywilliams · 2 months ago

Text

The Science Under Suggestion (Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Event Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader.

Summary: Emily's sister is now in DC and meets her sister's colleagues for the first time. She makes a special connection with Spencer, and everything looks perfect until it doesn't. Will her reasons bury any chance between them?

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: None.

A/N: Part of the "We are not gonna make it" writing challenge @babymetaldoll and I are hosting during October.

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I swear DC airport is bigger every time I step one foot on it. Maybe it's that or the ten-hour flight in my body doing everything extremely exhausting.

As I wait for my luggage, the only things I can think of are a bed and a nap.

Why am I here, though? Well, I'm starting a new job on Monday. After graduating, I stayed in California in a semi-formal position for a couple of months, but I thought it was time to change that.

Although I don't know anything about DC, my older sister has lived here for some years now, so she offered me a spare room and shelter until I could set up by myself.

And speaking of my sister, she is already waiting for me in the airport lobby.

"Bootsy!" she calls me to get my attention as I look around for her familiar face.

"Em!" I called back when I finally spotted her; I ran hazzardly, dropping my suitcases to hug her tightly.

Four years is a long time without seeing your sister. And even if we agreed at a younger age that we would live our lives on our terms, it doesn't mean we don't miss each other.

"It's so good to see you!" Her words are emphasized with a squeeze in our embrace.

"It's good to see you, too. And thank you for having me in your place. I swear I'll find somewhere to live as soon as I can."

Something I don't want to do is to impose; Emily has been thoughtful enough with me.

"Don't be silly. You can stay for as long as you want. Now, come on; I'm sure you fancy a shower and a nap right now."

On our way to her apartment, we use the time to catch up on the last months. As I recounted details about this job offer, she told me about her job as an FBI profiler.

It's funny in some way because even if we live apart and don't talk frequently, it feels the same as the last time we saw each other.

After a shower and a nap, I feel much better. When I look into the living room, I see Emily talking on the phone. "Today? Rossi, I can't. My sister just arrived DC."

Rossi? I think I've heard that name before.

"Okay. I'll ask her anyway."

Frowning still, I look at Emily once she hangs up the phone.

"The team is having dinner at one of my colleagues' house tonight. Come with me?"

I have never met my sister's colleagues, not even from when she worked at Interpol or the local police, much less those from the FBI. That doesn't mean she doesn't mention them from time to time. I know that the boss, Hotch, is serious and strict and that there is a certain Morgan who seems very nice. Emily has also told me a few times about JJ and Penelope and some of their nights out. She also mentioned an Italian man who is like the group's grandfather and the youngest member, who seems to be very intelligent.

"Are you sure you want me there? In a place full of FBI agents where I can embarrass you telling stories about your EMO phase?" I tease, making her snort.

"Ha. Very funny," Emily scoffs. "But I have to remind you it wasn't just a phase, okay?"

Finally, I agreed to go with her. Around 7 p.m., we took an Uber to Rossi's 'house,' which Emily claims is a mansion.

And it is.

And I can't hide my amazement when the owner greets us at the entrance.

“Welcome, my ragazzas! Please come in."

Despite its size, this house feels cozy. Each decoration seems to fit perfectly and makes you feel welcome.

After the usual greetings, Emily takes me to the patio, where laughter can be heard. I feel a little nervous; for better or worse, I will be surrounded by FBI agents who can intimidate anyone.

"Hey guys," Emily calls out, making the attention fall on us. "I want you to know my little sister."

I wave my hand sheepishly.

"Bootsy, this is Hotch, Derek, JJ, Penelope, and Spencer. I have to warn you, though, Hotch is my boss, so be careful about what you are going to say about me, uh?"

A collective laugh erupts from everyone.

"It's nice to meet you all," I greet with a smile that they kindly return.

"It's nice to meet you too," Hotch politely says.

"So you are Prentiss' little sister, uh?" The guy Emily called Derek quips.

"It's great you made it," JJ adds—she is the only one I knew by face from a picture Emily showed me some time ago.

"Bootsy? It's not your real name, isn't it?" The blonde my sister named Penelope asks me. I chuckle, shaking my head and saying my real name.

"But Emily has called me Bootsy since I can remember."

Everyone starts asking regular questions about me before turning to tell them some embarrassing stories about Emily. The only one who hasn't asked anything yet is the guy Emily calls Spencer. It's curious, though, because although he hasn't said a word, he seems very interested in listening to what I have to say.

From Emily, I know he is the youngest team member and very intelligent. What Emily forgot to mention is that, in addition to looking shy, he is quite attractive.

Tall, with messy curly hair, a jaw that could cut glass and gorgeous hazel eyes, it's clear he must attract a lot of attention.

I shouldn't be focusing on my sister's colleague like this, but Spencer is making it difficult for me.

Okay, Bootsy, it's not that terrible either. You are just 'admiring' this human being.

We stay talking until David Rossi announces dinner is ready. Did I say dinner? I correct myself; it is more of a feast.

Emily is sitting on one side, Penelope is on the other, and Spencer is in front. Why do I suddenly feel more nervous? As the conversation flows, I can't help but steal a few glances at him, and I can feel his eyes on me. What is he thinking? That I am a creep scrutinizing him with audacity? I hope he's not noticing it.

Dinner progresses, as does the conversation and the good time. It's refreshing to feel this comfortable. Now I understand why Emily feels so comfy with them.

At one point, I step out onto the patio to get some fresh air and feel the warm May night. It's different than the warmth you get in California this time of year. My eyes are fixed on the night sky when I feel someone behind me. I turn around and see Spencer looking at me curiously.

I frown and tilt my head in fake recollection.

"Spencer, right?"

Sure, like if I don't remember.

"Yes," he says, repeating my name like a question. I nod.

"Yeah. Or Emily's little sister or Mini-Prentiss. Whatever you think is best."

"Bootsy?" He asks, and I chuckle.

"Well, if you like that one, it's okay, too." A wide smile accompanies my answer.

He clears his throat and changes his weight from one toe to the other.

Is he nervous?

"Uh, did you know the word nickname is derived from the middle English' ekename,' literally meaning 'also-name'? They differ from pseudonyms, which are usually used to conceal one's identity. Actually-"

Spencer stops himself from speaking as if he realizes he did something wrong. With a crimson spreading on his cheeks, he starts to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I usually do this, and I know it's unrequited."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Spurting facts," Spencer says, pulling a face.

"You don't have to apologize for that. On the contrary, I find it interesting," I tell him honestly. "What else were you going to say?"

A shy smile precedes his next words.

"Well, nicknames played a significant role before the 13th century in England, where surnames were very uncommon. Physical characteristics played an important role in nicknaming, as people were identified by means of descriptive terms such as barefoot, brown, and Russell, many of which have become common surnames. Nicknaming in Portuguese and Spanish-speaking communities served as a means to distinguish between family members, especially those sharing both a first name and the family name."

Does he really know all that? Emily wasn't lying when she said he was the smart-ass guy in the group.

"Wow. I really didn't know that, and it's really fascinating. Do you study those things?"

"Uh. Ehm. No, but I usually know a lot of things."

Really dude? If so, I could listen to him talk about everything all night.

"That's cool, Spencer."

"Thank you. Uh - can I ask you something, though?"

"Sure."

"Why Bootsy?"

I chuckle. "Curious man I see."

"It's in my nature," Spencer says with a shrug. "But if you don't want to tell me, that's fine," he adds.

"No, no. It's okay. It's not a big deal either," I assure him. "My family says that when I was a kid and wanted something, I was unstoppable. I wouldn't stop chasing the person I wanted something from, and when my words couldn't persuade, I'd make my eyes look like the Puss in Boots cartoon. That's when Emily named me Bootsy. See? Nothing special."

A genuine smile crosses Spencer's face.

"What about you, Spencer? Something embarrasing to share with me?"

That's how we spend the rest of the night, glued to the hip, talking about everything that came to mind. It surprises me how easily and naturally the words flow between us. It's been a long time since something like that happened to me with someone.

Am I overthinking this connection?

I don't know, but Spencer has been nothing short of excellent company tonight. And although I would love to stay and chat with him for a while longer, it's time to go home.

After announcing my departure and thanking him for the night, he stops me before I turn to leave.

"Uh. I'm sorry. Maybe I'm overstepping, but I need to ask. Would - uh, would you like to grab a coffee sometime?"

It's hard not to notice the stutter in his voice and the blush on his face, and he's so adorable I want to kiss him right now. However, I restrain myself and flirtatiously reply that I would love the idea. I ask him to pass me his phone, and I write down my number. "Use it wisely," I tell him, winking before leaving after Emily, who is saying goodbye to everyone.

"Why so smiling?" Emily asks me while we are in the Uber riding back to her apartment.

"Me? I'm not," I refute, and Emily laughs.

"Sure you don't," she says with a knowing look.

In the days that follow, coffee with Spencer is a regular occurrence - as long as they're not on a case out of town, of course.

I think I've already told you the man is attractive. Well, now I have to say that's not even a quarter of what fascinates me about him. He's so caring and understanding, and I could listen to him talk for days.

I've also learned a little more about his story, mainly about his childhood and his career in the FBI. He also knows more about me, and I feel so comfortable that it scares me a little.

I think I like my sister's colleague. Scratch that; I definitely like my sister's colleague.

And I don't want to be cocky, but I think he likes me too. Now, the question is who will make the first move.

I don't have to wait long. Days later, at one of our regular coffee meetings, a no longer so nervous Spencer asks the question I have been waiting for.

"Will you go on a date with me?"

Did I make him wait for my positive answer? Of course not!

Our first date is going great. As always, our conversation flows naturally, and time flies. Spencer has been very gentlemanly, too much for my liking.

Well, if he made the first move, I can make the second.

As we leave the restaurant, I subtly take his hand and intertwine our fingers. Spencer looks at our joined hands and then at my face, and a big grin appears on his face.

We walk the blocks away from my apartment - Emily's apartment, to be precise - enjoying the warm night. We stop in front of the building.

"Here is me," I announce. Our hands are still laced.

"Yeah," he sheepishly acknowledges.

After giving his hand a loving squeeze, I reluctantly let go.

"I had a great night, Spencer," I say, keeping solid eye contact with the man. Those hazel eyes that are driving me insane right now.

"Me too," he whispers, not even blinking. "Can we do this again?"

There is nothing I want more than that.

"Of course we can."

"Great."

And we stand there, silently looking at each other, trying to figure out if there is anything else to say or do.

His eyes subtly fall to my lips, and it's like my heart stops. My breath catches in my throat, and only one thought plagues my head: Kiss him.

Slowly, he leans in, testing the waters. And I do the same to close the gap.

"Dr. Reid? Is that you?"

We both jump when we hear someone talking next to us. Spencer's flushed face turns to the strange, and his eyes wide in recognition.

"Anderson," Spencer mumbles, apparently the guy's name.

After snapping out of my daze, I watch as Spencer exchanges words with the man, but their voices are drowned out by the sound of 'Dr. Reid? Is that you?' in my head.

Dr. Reid? What? Is Spencer a doctor? It can't be!

The color drains from my face, and I don't know what to do. How did I never know that? I don't notice when the man walks away, and a worried Spencer is looking at me.

"There is something wrong?"

Yeah. Now everything is wrong!

"Oh. No. No. Nothing," I stutter. The only thing I want is to run. Escape.

I thought he was perfect. It is unfair.

"Are you sure?"

Of course, Spencer isn't convinced. I wouldn't be either. But right now, I don't care. I just have to get out of here.

"I'm sorry. I have to go," I say suddenly, turning quickly to enter the building. A stunned Spencer watches me go. In the distance, I hear him calling my name, but I don't stop. I run up the stairs. My hands are shaking, and there's a fog in my head that won't let me think.

Breathlessly, I open the door and slam it shut. I press my back against it as I try to breathe.

Oh God. Why? Why?

"Bootsy?"

I don't notice Emily getting up from the couch and approaching me with concern.

I can't talk to her now. I can't speak to anyone now. I go straight to my room with tears streaming down my cheeks.

It couldn't all be so perfect, right?

You've probably heard the phrase: 'They just wouldn't understand.'

That's exactly what I would say now. What seems inexplicable to people is, to me, the source of my dismay right now. After crying all night, I avoid Emily's questions and Spencer's worried calls and texts the next day and the days follow.

I feel bad for leaving Spencer in the dark, and I feel tremendously guilty because he feels responsible. Gosh, he didn't do anything wrong except be a doctor - I checked it on Google - three times!

I can't date a doctor. I just can't.

As the days go by, Spencer's calls and texts stop. I tell myself it's for the best.

The one who isn't willing to accept my evasions is Emily.

One evening, after returning from a case and seeing me on the couch with teary eyes watching The Notebook, she decides that enough is enough.

"The Notebook? Really? Okay, spill," Emily demands, sitting by my side on the couch.

I shook my head in denial. "There is nothing to say, Em. Stop it."

"Nope. I'm not stopping until you tell me why you are like this. Bootsy, I've watched you suffer in silence for days, and it breaks my heart."

Clearly, my words aren't convincing enough, and knowing Emily, she won't let this slide this time.

"What happened with Reid? Did he do something? Because if he did, I'm going to kill him," she threatens, and my eyes widen in horror.

"Emily! No!"

Her peril mode stops, but the frown on Emily's face doesn't disappear. I think it's time to come clean.

"Spencer didn't do anything wrong. It's the opposite, actually." I don't think this is enough clarification, but it's something.

"And that has you reeling? I don't understand."

I huff in frustration. I'm at one step to a childlike tantrum.

"Why he is so perfect?!" I whine, not having in me to keep my composure anymore. Emily's brows furrow in sheer confusion.

"Is he?"

"I mean, yeah! He is so sweet, so caring, and intelligent, and hot. It's unfair, for fuck sake!"

I can stay all night reciting all the good treats Spencer has, and I don't think I could cover them all.

"I don't know if I would say all those things about Reid, but okay. I still don't understand why that is a bad thing."

I roll my eyes. Do I really have to say it?

"He's a doctor, Em! Why is he a doctor?!"

I don't know if Emily's confusion can be greater than what she surely has at this moment.

"Is that a rhetorical question? You know people get a doctor's degree after finishing their PhDs, right?"

I sigh heavily, leaning my head back, eyes on the ceiling. Emily scoots closer, a soft but firm voice leaving her lips.

"Bootsy, you know I love you, but if you don't look at me and start explaining what's gotten into you, I'll have to slap you across the face, okay?"

Still sniffling, I straighten up and look at my sister

"I can't like him, Em. I swore never to date a doctor!"

"Why - What are you talking about?" Emily's eyes change from confused to concerned.

"Do you remember when we went to see that gypsy fortune teller?" My sister narrows her eyes, trying to remember.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago. Were we what? Ten years old?"

I nod, swallowing hard to keep at bay my emotions.

"I was ten, you were twelve. The thing is, I asked her the age at which I would meet the love of my life, and she told me she couldn't tell me. But what she did tell me was I should not fall in love with a doctor. If I did, I was going to suffer, and my life would be a total misery."

Emily's eyes are wide open now in disbelief. I knew this would happen, and that's why I haven't told anyone about this before.

"Bootsy, don't tell me you are doing this because of what a crazy old lady told you fifteen years ago."

"No! I mean, I didn't believe her at the time. But then Randall happened," I whine, downcasting my gaze.

"Randall? Who the fuck is Randall?"

"When I moved to California, I met a guy who was in med school. He was doing his pediatric specialty at the time. We dated. And he broke my heart. And after Randall, I dated Alex, who was doing his PhD in Sociology. He left me, too. After that happened twice, I remembered the fortune teller's words. She was right, Em, so I swore not to make the same mistake again."

"Oh Bootsy, why did you never tell me about those assholes?"

I shook my head in dismissal.

"You were with the Interpol at the time. I wasn't going to bother you with something like that."

"Fuck, Bootsy. You should have told me."

"Em, it's okay-"

"It's not okay! You have been harboring this 'karma' for years, completely unfounded." There's something in Emily's eyes that catches my attention. Regret? Guilt?

"What?" Emily grimaces, and I see her hesitate. Emily Elizabeth Prentiss hesitating? That's new.

"You were so obsessed with Doogie Howser when we were kids. You always said you wanted to be like him or that you were going to marry someone like him. And you talked about it all day long. When we went to the fair, my friend Samantha and I spoke to the fortune teller first and paid her to tell you what you heard."

Emily pauses to gauge my reaction, which I can't even identify. I'm confused, stunned, and hurt all at once.

"I'm so sorry, Bootsy. If I had known how deeply her words touched you and what happened to you afterward, I wouldn't have done it."

"But - but she was right," I mumble with a cracked voice.

"No, sweetheart, she didn't. You just met shitty guys. It's not your fault, and it shouldn't dictate your future either."

It takes me a while to take in Emily's words. What I believed for years was not true, even though the facts pointed to it being so. So what am I left with now? Was it always me making bad decisions?

"Spencer," I mumble suddenly. "Spencer must hate me right now. What did I do, Em?"

"I'm sure Spencer has a lot of feelings for you, but hate isn't one of them," my sister assures me. "And always you can blame on me."

"But Emily, it's so embarrassing. He'll laugh in my face when I tell him why I've been reacting like this these days."

My sister tells me again that Spencer will understand, but I need to talk to him. I must not let this opportunity to clear things up pass me by.

Without a second thought, I get up from the couch, grab my keys and my coat, and head out to explain this mess to Spencer. It's the least I can do, even if he kicks me out afterward.

Following Emily's direction, I quickly arrive in front of Spencer's apartment door. I stand there with my fist, ready to knock.

Breathe, Bootsy. Breathe.

I knock one, two, three times.

I hold my breath, waiting for an answer. The door slowly opens to reveal a confused Spencer.

"Hey," I say, releasing the breath I'm holding. Spencer scratches his neck, thinking what to say, I assume.

"Hi," he mumbles, and it breaks my heart because his voice sounds so unsure.

Come on, Bootsy. Say what you come here to say.

"Spencer. I'm sorry. I owe you an explanation. I know I don't deserve to be listened to, but please, hear me out. I swear I'll leave you alone after," I assure him. Quietly, Spencer opens the door for me to enter.

Closing the door behind him, he turns to look at me.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, and I want to cry.

"No! Don't say that, you didn't do anything wrong. I promise."

"So what happened that night?" Spencer asks, alluding to the night I ran away. "Was I too forward to try to kiss you?"

"No. It was all my fault. I swear. Can I tell you an embarrassing story?"

Frowning, he nods nonetheless, signaling to the couch for both of us to sit on.

After taking a deep breath, I recount the time I was 10, and with Emily and her friend Samantha, we went to a fair and saw a fortune teller.

As I go through the story of my failed relationships, I expect to see annoyance and disbelief on Spencer's face, but none of that happens. He listens intently, patiently waiting as I make up my own lines about how stupid it all was.

By the time I finish speaking, I avert his gaze, ready to hear his words of rejection. I'm prepared for him to kick me out of his house.

"You must know I'm a man of science, right?"

Here we go—the rejection.

I nod shyly and am surprised when one of his hands rests on my knee.

"Some scholars say that in order to demystify certain precepts, it is necessary to carry out systematic experiments to bring science under suggestion."

I frown and tip my head, trying to understand where this is going. A sheepish smile appears on Spencer's face.

"If you agree, I would like to refute what the fortune teller told you - even if it never was true and experience indicated it was - with evidence."

A slight blush creeps on my cheeks as he leans closer to me.

"And how can we do that?" I ask, eyes fluttering.

"Testing. Over and over again," Spencer whispers, his breath fanning my lips. "Are you interested? For science, of course."

My heart skips a bit, and the anticipation is killing me.

"Very," I manage to say, and I'm about to combust.

"Good," Spencer says before finally closing the gap between us with a passionate kiss.

His lips in mine must be the best science experiment I have done in my entire life. And maybe the first good decision that will change my bad luck in love.

Well, who would have thought? It looks like I can actually date a doctor after all. Spencer is confirming that fact for me right now, and I couldn't agree more.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #babymetaldoll #aperrywilliams #writting challenge

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d33pd3sire-blog · 7 months ago

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The Air That I Breathe

Idk how to write reader fanfics without a million 'you' words so you're just gonna have to ignore that haha.

Emily Prentiss x F!Reader

Summary: You get caught following an unsub. You believe you are going to die so you make a confession to Reid.

Might make this a two or three parter, depending on if it’s what the people want haha.

TW: Fire, explosions, smoke, coughing, suffocation.

Word count: 1321

Any constructive criticism is welcomed! Be kind about it tho lol.

The team had to split up. There were two abandoned buildings in the area which suited the unsubs needs and you, Prentiss, Morgan and Reid were on your way to one of them. Hotch, Rossi, Tara and JJ were on their way to the other. As you were pulling up to the building, the unsub could be seen on the roof, a child in his arms and a gun pointed to their head. 'I wondered when id be seeing you!' He exclaimed. Prentiss unholstered her gun and pointed up at him. 'Let her go! We can sort this out without getting her involved.' Emily called, trying to find a way in. 'No. You know what, I think ill have some fun with her first.' The unsub walked away, his haunting laugh echoing through the carpark.

Morgan and Reid's SUV pulls up, both of them jumping out immediately. 'Whats going on?' Morgan looked to both of you with worry. 'The unsub has a child hostage, we need to get in there.' You respond. The anxiety in your voice does not go unnoticed, Morgan replies, 'Its gonna be okay, you call Hotch and tell him to make their way here. Ill call Penelope, see if she can find out how many exits there are on the floor plan.' You nod, pulling out your phone.

As soon as you finish filling in Hotch, Morgan comes back with a plan. 'Right guys, there are two exits. One to the left, and one to the right. Prentiss and I will take the left, you guys take the right. Remember to stick together. The others should be here soon to help.' You turn to Reid, giving him a 'we can do this' look. He returns it, unholstering his gun and turning towards the double doors. 'Come on, i'll head in first. You cover me.' You turn back to look at Emily, her dark ponytail swishing as she walks. 'Please be okay', you think. You don't know what you would do if she got hurt. Same goes for Morgan of course, but he's not the one you've been in love with since you joined the BAU. You shook your head, getting ready for what you might face and follow Reid into the building.

The both of you are silent, the only noise filling up the space is the sound of your footsteps. The corridor seems to go on forever, twisting and turning like a- BOOM. You and Reid are thrusted back, both of you knocked into a daze, confusion waving over both of you. A few seconds later your eyes open. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, as if you're not fully in your body. The ringing in your ears seems to be the only thing keeping you lucid. You slowly blink your eyes, realising Reid is standing over you mouthing something. As everything finally catches up to you, you take a sharp inhale. You can tell Reid is relieved by this by his facial expressions. A few seconds go by and the ringing starts to subside, you can finally hear Reid repeat 'you're okay, you're okay, its going to be okay.''

'What happened?' you mutter, slowly pushing yourself up onto your feet. 'An explosion. I believe the unsub set us up. He has a past with arson, we should have seen it coming.' Reid rambled, you can tell he hasn't quite come to terms with it either. 'Lets get back to the doors, can you walk?' you ask. He nods, wrapping his arm in yours incase either of you lose balance. As youre both stumbling towards the exit, you both notice smoke starting to fill the space around you. You both look at each other with fear, knowing the dangers of smoke inhalation. As you reach the doors, you both push the the handle down. Nothing. you try again. And again. And again. Your breath starting to quicken, the smoke building up, making it more and more difficult to breath. 'Reid?' You spoke. He can hear the fear in your voice, he feels it too. 'I know.'

After a few minutes of desperate attempts to open the door, you both give up. 'If we can't get out this way, lets go deeper.' Reid sputters. 'Are you insane??' The idea just spoken, had you standing in disbelief. 'Are you mad Reid?' 'No! I mean, maybe. The smoke inhalation can't be doing good things to my brain.' He jokes. 'But seriously, what if we find a window? We could smash it and get out. Here we're just sitting ducks waiting for the smoke to take over.' The idea plays in your mind for a few seconds as you turn back to the door. He's right. We can't just stand here waiting for people who may never come. Emily and Derek could be dead for all we know. Hotch and the others could take too long to get to us and we'd have suffocated. You turn to Reid and give him a reluctant nod. He takes you in his arms, guiding you to the floor. 'We have to stay low, smoke rises.' He coughs, you must admit the air is far easier to breath down here. You both slowly shuffle farther and farther down into the building.

A few minutes in and both of you are coughing regularly, neither of you mentioning the possibilities of what we could or could not find. We both start to feel the corridor get warmer and warmer as we approach a room on the right. We both stand, our hearts in our throat as we hope for a way out. As soon as we look in, our hope is crushed. Flames envelope the room, almost impossible to see anything in there. the heat and smoke hitting our faces, causing us to cough. Reid grabs your arm and we start to run past it. Maybe there's another room further down.

You both quickly approach a set of double doors, both of you holding your breath until you reach the doors. The sound of Reid pushing on the bar to open it and. Locked. Shit. 'No no no NO NO.' Reid yells, using all of his body weight to kick, punch, push the door down. A laugh starts to echo through the passage. Reid turns to look at you, out of breath. 'Whats so funny?' You then realise the laughing is coming from you. Why are you laughing? You force yourself to stop, the seriousness settling in your stomach. Shit. You both stand in silence for a moment. 'Shall we try heading back? Maybe Hotch is here now.' Reids head is in hands, he's trying to soothe himself. 'Reid.' He looks up, and nods at you. You take his hand, ready to walk back when a loud bang is heard down the hall. Followed by bright flames, both of you could feel the heat radiating from it. Tears start to flow down your face as all hope drains from you both. You both fall back onto the double doors, sitting on the floor. The idea of both of you dying now becomes a reality. We are going to die. You sigh and put your head onto your legs. 'I love her' you scoff out. 'Love who?' Reid asks. 'Emily. Always have.' Tears continue to flow. Reid pauses for a moment. 'It all makes sense now. You light up around her. I just thought.. I don't know what I thought but it makes sense.' Reid pulls you into him, both of you leaning on each other. 'Its ironic isn't it?' You say. 'Hmm?' He mumbles. 'Im gasping for air yet its Emily I want most. She's the air that I breath, I can't live without her.' You close your eyes as Reid puts his arm over you. The next few minutes you both spend thinking of those you love, while sinking deeper and deeper into darkness.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #criminal minds x reader #bau #emily prentiss fanfiction #agent prentiss #emily prentiss criminal minds #criminal minds #emily prentiss

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enid-rhees · 7 months ago

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new girl || emily prentiss x fem!reader

summary: you’re the new girl in the BAU, Emily takes interest

warnings: sexual tension, a tiny bit suggestive

A/N: my first Emily fic ^_^ hope you all enjoy 🖤

your hands were sweating on either side of your dress pant-covered-legs. the elevator ride felt way longer than normal, and every little thing was throwing you off guard.

you’ve been in this field for years, but never worked with the people who would now be in your life. you know who they were though, everyone did. they were always on the news at some point, explaining the next gruesome murder they have to solve. you were now apart of that.

a ding rang throughout the elevator and it came to a sudden stop, causing your heart to do the same as the doors slid open. the office was just only a few steps away, but you felt stuck to the ground. your body acted quickly and you stepped out before the doors could close on you.

you opened the doors, and your boss, Aaron Hotchner was the first to walk over to you. you stopped in your place and swallowed the knot in your throat. his straight, emotionless expression was enough to make you feel more nervous than you already were.

he held his hand out, “you’re here early, good. you need to meet the rest of the team.” you shook his hand and he quickly put his back by his side, you did the same after him. you followed behind him like a lost puppy until you were standing in front of everyone. they had all stopped talking when they noticed you and Hotch opened his mouth.

“everyone, this is F/N L/N. she’s our newest profiler.” Hotch announced. “she was originally in New York, and she was the best in her field. so i expect you all to treat her the same way you treat each other.” he said flatly, eyes monitoring everyone.

a blonde girl — Jennifer Jareau — stood up and held her hand out. “i’ve seen what you’ve done for New York, and i’ve seen some of your work. it’s seriously a pleasure to be working alongside you now.” she smiled. you couldn’t help but smile back and shake her hand. “thank you. that’s- that’s really sweet of you, miss-“

“you can just call me JJ.” she smiled. you nodded. “thank you, JJ.”

it took almost an hour to properly meet everyone. Morgan was brief, but you were able to figure him out in your short conversation. Penelope Garcia, she had seemed eager to meet you; eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy shop. you weren’t too sure on how Rossi felt about you, but he was nice.

Spencer had talked your ear off, but you enjoyed it. much more than the others had seemed to. you liked that his head was practically an encyclopedia on everything, you could learn a lot from him just from spending an hour with him.

“and it’s… Doctor Spencer Reid, correct?” you asked, and Spencer nodded proudly. “yeah! i actually have two PhD’s and-“ the office door flew open,

“i’m so sorry i’m late. Sergio had made an absolute mess in the apartment and he just held me up completely- oh!”

you locked eyes with the beautiful brown eyed girl in front of you, and this time, you swore your heart actually stopped beating for a moment. Emily Prentiss.

in a totally-not-weird way, you’ve always been fascinated with profiler Emily Prentiss. you’ve seen her when the BAU would televise their profiles for everyone to be aware of the freak in their city.

“who’s this?” Emily smiled, setting down the case she was holding. “Special Agent F/N L/N. she used to be a profiler back in New York. but she got transferred here. she was the best in her field.” Spencer spoke before you could introduce yourself. her eyebrows raised as she held her hand out.

“well, nice to meet you then. i’m Em-“

“Emily Prentiss.” you breathed out. Spencer turned to you with furrowed eyebrows, and Emily looked taken aback at the fact that you knew who she was. “i’m sorry.” you said quickly. “i just- i’m very familiar with all of you, but i’ve always been fascinated with your work, Emily. and i can’t tell you how much of an honor it is to be working with you now.”

she smiled again. “i didn’t realize i had anyone who looked up to me. especially someone who…” Emily took her time to look you up and down. she smirked. “top in your field, yeah?” you swallowed, “y-yeah.”

Emily bit her lip as she held back her smile from growing wider. “cute.” she mumbled. before you could say anything, Hotch came bursting out of his office. “we have a case.”

Emily hummed, “time to see what made you top in your field, hm?”

“wheels up in 30. do what you need to do before we leave.” Hotch stated, taking what he needed before leaving the room. everyone else had left, while you continued to look through the pictures provided. it was truly gruesome, but after nearly 15 years of this, you were numb to almost everything that came your way.

it was a murder — obviously. but the patterns that were left were nothing you’ve seen before. each victim was sliced and stabbed in a specific way. three times in the stomach, one on each wrist, and a slice going across their necks.

“still here?” a voice asked, breaking you out of your trance. Emily stood in the door way, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. a nervous laugh left your lips. “yeah, i’m just… studying these pictures and their profiles.” you told her. “well, we’ll discuss it more on the plane. don’t study too hard.” she winked. your face burned and you looked down to hide it.

Emily walked over and sat down next to you. “you know i already have you figured out, right?” she asked, inching closer to you. your breath hitched. “you live alone, maybe with a pet. but that’s all. you keep to yourself. but, you’re confident in yourself. you know when you’re right and you stick to your opinions, and you don’t let anyone tear you down, wether they’re above you or not. you have a lot of pride and know how to keep yourself together, except for when i’m around.”

you froze under her gaze. you could feel your cheeks start to burn. “you’re… infatuated with me. clearly, you’ve known me for longer than i’ve known you, and i can see that you’ve always felt this way about me. you’re stiff in your seat, the same way you were when i walked through those doors. i’m driving you crazy just by sitting in front of you and making direct eye contact. but… you take your job seriously, and you’re afraid this will ruin what you just got.” Emily leaned in closer, looking down at your lips. “but you also would take any risk just to get a taste, wouldn’t you?”

you were genuinely speechless, not knowing how to physically react or what to say back. Emily had read you front to back with no hesitation, she didn’t second guess herself with anything she said. she had figured you out completely.

Emily smiled and briefly put her hand on your thigh. “time to go, sweetheart.” she winked, standing up and walking out of the room, leaving you flustered and shaking on the inside.

#divider creds : cafekitsune #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader

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luveline · 7 days ago

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If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours.

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid.

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here.

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably.

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing.

“What?”

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?”

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.”

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?”

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.”

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.”

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.”

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.”

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.”

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly.

“Like a hole in the head.”

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid.

“Hi, Hotch,” you say.

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says.

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.”

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks.

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging.

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.”

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up.

“You too, Prentiss.”

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know?

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says.

“Missed me?”

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.”

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.”

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them.

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster.

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently.

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?”

“Both.”

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke.

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.”

“Wait,” he says.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Usually. Why?”

“Are you okay right now?”

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.”

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask.

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually.

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.”

“Me too.”

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection.

Can JJ make him blush like that?

—

bombshell fics

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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icarryitin · 5 months ago

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Episode 22: Comeback Kid

spencer reid/gn!reader

and if i’ve also come back from the dead (purely out of guilt for missing last week)??? what then??

series masterlist

word count: 1.2k // warnings: a few swear words i think, grief, discussions re emily’s ‘death’, it’s not specifically referenced but you could read reader’s reaction as a panic attack

summary - Turns out the dead do walk amongst the living, not that anyone thought to tell you.

You’re pretty sure you’re going to be sick. Which would be a shame, because these are new shoes. And they’re cute, even if they still pinch your toes a little, that and you’d rather not vomit in front of everyone else. Though, they all look just as green as you feel.

Emily Prentiss is dead.

You know this.

Because you collapsed when you saw them carrying her out of the warehouse, the fresh scars on your knees where they split open on the concrete prove it. Because she never came out of the hospital. Because you went to her funeral, to her wake. Because you barely held back your tears as you shook her mother’s hand, and stammered through an apology for her loss. Because the person you trust most in this world retreated so far into himself, so far away from you, that you spent weeks worrying he’d never come back. You’ve only just stopped having nightmares. Of warehouses, red and blue lights, Morgan’s bloodied hands. You’re still getting back into the swing of things - Spencer cracked his first smile in months only last week.

You know this. And yet, there she is. Standing in front of you as if no time has passed, as if you’re supposed to just forget all of that. Your eyes peel themselves away from Emily in the doorway to find Hotch, to search for any indication of how you’re supposed to react. Except he’s not shocked, he’s apprehensive. He knew - he fucking knew. There’s a rational part of your brain that isn’t surprised, there’s very little that happens on this earth that Aaron Hotchner isn’t privy to. But you don’t expect JJ to have the same nervous look on her face. JJ, the one who told you all that Emily hadn’t made it. Who looked her own team, her own family, in the face and lied to you. They both did; for safety, for security. Sure. It still hurts like hell.

Spencer’s hand tenses in the corner of your eye, knuckles white where he grips the back of the chair he stands behind. You’re afraid to look closer. To see him pull back again, from everyone this time, maybe for good. Your own hands shake where they wring themselves in front of you - that’s where you choose to focus your gaze. You don’t want to watch Penelope cry in Emily’s arms, you don’t want to see everybody else forgive and forget. You don’t want to look at her just yet.

You’re not ready.

But then there are warm hands around yours, and you can’t delay it any more. God, you want to stay mad. You want to be aloof and cold and stubborn - but she’s back, and isn’t that what you’ve wanted for the last however many months?

Emily’s grip on your clasped hands is so gentle it threatens to break your resolve. You’re holding strong, averting your eyes to the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Breathe.”

That’s what gets you.

It’s not the first time Emily Prentiss has held your hands in hers and reminded you to take a breath - it drags you right back into a younger version of yourself, just as distraught, just as tense. Her calm, even tone shatters you the same way it did back then. She catches you the same way too, squeezes you so tightly it hurts. You’re not any lighter in your grip around her shoulders. The familiarity of it is painful, almost as painful as it is to watch Spencer take half a step back when she pulls away from you to approach him. Her disappointment at his rejection is clear on her face, although it disappears as quickly as it came - schooled into a tight-eyed smile instead. She’s not angry at him, you don’t think, she understands the hesitation.

It’s like an itch you can’t reach from the word go. Hyper-aware of every movement you make, every twitch from your teammates, every breath. The hammer will fall eventually, and the longer it takes the more mess it’ll make. It’s fairly easy, given the stakes, to skirt around Emily’s return for the time being - although it looms like a thundercloud. And then Ian Doyle is dead, and there’s no avoiding it anymore.

Spencer is the first one to leave the office, unsurprisingly. You’re next, only a minute later, the churning in your stomach far too strong to ignore. Now that there’s no case to distract you? Your anger is starting to build, it wouldn’t be fair to let everyone get swept up in the shockwave of it. The rational part of your brain knows that it was a necessary evil - that Hotch and JJ keeping this from you was for the safety of Emily and the team. The less rational part wants to throw a tantrum like a toddler. And if you don’t take the time to get yourself together, the toddler will win.

You’re sure Spencer had the same idea, when you exit the building to find him kicking stray pebbles back into the gravel surrounding the paving stones. So you don’t say anything as you pass, you leave him to his stewing. He doesn’t extend you the same courtesy.

“Where do you land on this?” His eyes are wide, earnest, he’s genuinely curious. He’s not looking for an argument or an excuse to rant about it all, he’s unsure.

“I feel sick,” You can’t be anything but honest, “I know why they did it, but I don’t have to like it.”

Spencer says nothing, just looks back at the pebbles on the ground.

“Neither do you.” You double down - he gives reassurance so freely, but so rarely asks for it himself. He’s allowed to feel whichever way he wants for however long he wants to feel it, you’re sure Emily would say the same. Though he only shrugs when you tell him so.

There’s not a lot anyone could say to dig him out of the hole he’s sinking back into, but you’re stubborn when it comes to your friends. Spencer, a little more so maybe than the others. He’d do it for you. The offer of pizza, via the library that stays open late, is enough to raise his head from the pebbles by his shoes.

A book, dinner, and absolutely no expectation of conversation. You’re not all that up to talking things over either, parallel dissociation in a public space might just be exactly what the doctor ordered. Pun half-intended. It doesn’t quite tug a smile out of him, though you’re not expecting it to. His careful footsteps on the pavement, just behind yours, are a comfort. He’s not pulling away like before.

Whether or not Spencer will ever address that is a different question - those weeks where he barely existed to himself, let alone anybody else. Much less you, who would have unraveled his careful shield of apathy with one look. It had been better, safer, to pull back entirely. He’d put it all on JJ, and she’d known the whole time. There’s a wave of fresh anger that crests in his chest when he remembers. The fury dulls the further you lead him away from the building, further into town, towards the safety of bookshelves and cheap Italian food. He wants to apologise for it all, but words fail him. They do more often than not when it comes to you, a superpower you seem to use for evil whether you know it or not. But tonight, he’ll take it. The silence. Because it’ll all be there in the morning, all the complicated feelings and confusion, he doesn’t have to say a single thing for the rest of the night if he doesn’t want to.

For now, he can rest with you.

i didn’t know how to wrap this one up and it SHOWS wow😬😬 i may or may not come back to revisit this…

#yes i think the writers should have doubled down on the angst of emily’s whole schtick so that’s what *i* did #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #the canyouniverse #lou is writing

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hotchs-big-hands · 1 year ago

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The Slaughterhouse

Part 1|Part 2| Part 3

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size fem!reader

5.3k words

Minors dni please

Warning(s): VERY DARK, graphic murder description, injury, gore, blood, fatphobia, extreme angst (with a happy ending), sort-of enemies to lovers, kidnapping, torture, references to SA, derogatory nsfw comments. Oh and I use the word fat because I personally reclaimed it to not rly insult me as it is merely a descriptive word. I do not use it in an insulting way even once in the series.

Please heed the warnings, this series is going to be dark asf. No smut in this series tho.

An escalating string of gruesomely murdered fat women begin to stack up with no end in sight. What started as an unfortunate routine case for the BAU team, takes a disturbing turn as you become entangled in the unsub's web, danger approaching closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before it's too late to bring the madness to an end.

Omg dun dun dunnn I wonder what's gonna happen. This chapter is pretty rough so please take care :( I hope you all enjoy tho! Thank you for reading so far!

This was his fault, Aaron Hotchner thought as soon as the line died. Right from the moment he had walked out of the bathroom his chest lurched horribly at the sight of the empty room and he scrambled to grab his phone to send you a text immediately, simultaneously sending one to the group chat as well.

Now he was already pulling his clothes back on as soon as you never acknowledged the messages, frantically struggling with his trousers to get them back up over slightly damp legs and calling you. For every second it rang out the sickening feeling in his stomach began to rise. No response, voicemail. A second call. No response. The team were preparing to gather downstairs as he fumbled with his remaining clothes, pulling his shoes on and grabbing his jacke-

No keys.

You'd taken the car keys from his jacket. He swore under his breath. Hotch swung the jacket over his arm and dashed out the hotel room, barely bothering with locking the door behind him. The stairs were quicker, making it to the foyer in mere seconds. He tried calling again, the line was busy. All hope that perhaps you were talking to one of the others fell through when Prentiss and JJ appeared, the raven haired woman holding her phone to her ear in a panic. She shook her head when they met eyes. No response for her either.

Hotch swallowed thickly as shortly behind the two women appeared Dave, Morgan and Reid.

“No sign of her at all?” Morgan was the first to speak, rushing over. It appeared he was wearing the same trousers, only likely having time to partially begin settling for the evening before he redressed in a new shirt to regroup. Hotch clenched his hand into a tight fist, feeling his anxiety bubble in his gut. His thumb grazed across his knuckles self-soothingly.

“She took the car keys from my jacket. We need Garcia to track the SUV (Y/n)’s in.” He spoke quickly, fumbling with his phone to dial your number again. “Someone call Garcia, please.”

The others shared a look when your first name tumbled from his mouth, but now wasn't the time to point it out to him. This was the first time anyone had heard him call you by your first name, something that none of them had heard him do before, but it would be a lie if they were to say they didn't think he had been struggling not to refer to you as such.

It was a common subject of discussion between the group; when would either of you finally crack and make a move on the other. Watching the two of you tiptoe around each other, Hotch trying to remain professional as though he wasn't on the brink of telling the world “fuck it” and confessing his feelings for you, while you were stuck in a limbo of longing for the man but understandably assuming the man wanted nothing more than a work relationship with you. The whole thing was becoming almost unbearable.

He had to keep trying to call you. He quickly dialled your number again. The attempt was fruitless. Hotch could feel his teeth gritting and his body trembling. What if something had happened to you? He couldn’t forgive himself if something had. If only he had been nicer to you, more warm towards you, maybe things would have turned out differently-

“Aaron,” Dave appeared at his side and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. Keep trying, but don’t lose yourself.”

The taller of the two of them closed his eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling. With a slight nod, he dialled your number one more time.

This time, you answered.

“S-sir.” He heard your voice, but it was garbled, surrounded by loud people. His nostrils flared.

“Where the hell are you?!” he hissed frantically, all attempts to calm himself down enough to speak long gone. The eyes of his team were upon him in an instant.

“I…I needed to clear my head.”

Bullshit. His heart was pounding.

“Sounds extremely noisy wherever you are to be doing that.” Hotch clenched his free hand into a tight fist at his side. “So I will ask you again, (L/n). Where are you?”

There was hesitation on the other end of the line and he felt the sense of anxiety spike, he could’ve been sick.

“I…” You hesitated. Something was deeply wrong. Mouth dry, Hotch attempted to clear his throat and prompt you to speak, only for you to beat him to it.

“I…I have to go.”

The line cut off, leaving the haunting tone of a dead line to ring in his ear. You were in danger.

“Hotch?” Prentiss queried. He slowly dropped his arm from holding the phone to his ear.

“She’s in danger.”

“What?”

The group stepped closer, the apprehension on their faces quickly paling to horror. Hotch swallowed dryly. His throat burned.

“It sounded as though she was in a bar or a nightclub. But it sounds like someone confronted her. I-” No, NO. Not again. He couldn’t go through another loss again. His eyes were stinging.

“Aaron. Look at me.”

Dave appeared in his line of sight again and Hotch drew in a shaky breath.

“This is my fault.” He mumbled. The older man shook his head.

“No, it really isn’t. But right now isn’t the time for this conversion, we have to find her and bring her back to safety, yes?”

Just as Hotch opened his mouth to speak, Morgan held his phone out for him to look at.

“Got the location of the vehicle she took. There’s a club about ten minutes from here by car.” He said.

“I’ll contact the police department and the SWAT. We’ll head out on your order.” Dave added, eyeing him. Hotch pocketed his phone. Time was ticking, he knew that. He squared his shoulders and held his head a little higher.

“We should head out, then. Be ready in no more than five minutes.”

Please, hang on a little longer for me, he thought to himself.

There was an immediate stench of viscera and death that invaded your nostrils when you regained consciousness and it forced a gag from your throat. The world was bleary, clearing up with every blink until you could make out cracked and dirty plaster on the walls surrounding you. The room was in disrepair, old stalls with rusting bars separating them lined the sides and slowly the realisation of what you were in began to creep up on you.

This was an old, abandoned slaughterhouse.

“Wh..” nausea lurched your stomach; you couldn’t be so sure if you were grateful for not having eaten or drank much of anything that day. Or was it yesterday? You scrunched your eyes shut.

There was a chuckle from just out of your viewing range.

“Aww, my little piggy is finally awake.” The same voice from before. You attempted to move your arms, only to realise handcrafted leather cuffs bound them either side of your head uncomfortably. You were strapped to a table of sorts, you didn’t want to think about who or what else had been on here before you. He chuckled again and you curled your hands into fists.

“Stop hiding.” You spat.

“Mmm, I don’t think you’re in much of a position to make demands, piggy. But, I’ll humour you.”

Heavy footsteps rounded you from the right and the figure appeared before you. You fought to stop your eyes from widening.

Standing in front of you was a young white man, much as your profile had suggested, with a conventionally attractive face and dark blonde locks of hair pushed up to the right side. He was tall, maybe around 6’, and he wore a white sleeveless top underneath a grey-blue boiler suit- which he wore with the top half tied around his waist. It was the same colour as the boiler suits the employees of the handiwork shop wore. He looked… well, normal. And something about that enraged you more than when you encountered bastards like this on the regular. He snickered, your emotions having slipped on to your face. You needed to calm down, people like him revelled in the emotions their victims expressed.

The man stepped closer to you at the foot of the table and gripped onto the sleeves of his boiler suit to tighten the knot they were tied into.

“Like what you see, pig?”

You shrugged.

“Meh, not really.” You said casually. You didn’t enjoy the emotion that flickered in his pale eyes.

“Oh, I’m more than aware. We’ll get into that, but first,” He leaned to the side to grab something, a plastic poncho, and pulled it over his head. “I’m so rude for not introducing myself. My name is James, I really can’t wait to hear what it sounds like when you scream my name tonight.”

So it was night time, the same night perhaps. You narrowed your eyes.

“Are you fucking stupid?”

James raised a brow, but the smirk that etched his face remained.

“Why? Because I kidnapped a federal agent? I enjoy the thrill of it.” He retorted. “Besides, I don’t discriminate against someone’s profession. If you’re a disgusting fucking piggy then I’m gonna kill you either way. Hell, I’d be doing your unit a favour getting rid of a slob like you from it.”

He stepped closer and bent slightly to pull something up from the sides of the table, making you swallow. Stirrups. You reared back your legs futilely, ready to kick at him.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You warned. The man let out a laugh.

“If you kick me now, I’ll sever the tendons behind your knees.”

You froze, not resisting when he grabbed your ankles and dragged you towards him until your arms were straightened above your head. You made no noise, staring him down when he clamped your ankles into the stirrups. But as he attempted to spread your legs the fabric of your trousers pulled taut, digging into your large thighs and preventing your legs from parting to his liking. The man narrowed his eyes a little, then fumbled in his back pocket and produced a switchblade. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as your eyes widened. In your head you could hear Hotch’s words; don’t show any fear. You were certain if he was here now he would be so disappointed in you.

James lowered the blade to the seam running along the crotch of you pants and you flinched.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Are you stupid? I already told you, you have no say in the matter.” he jeered at you. Then he pressed the blade to the seam and pressed in enough to poke through, then sliced along it until he was able to rip a large hole in the fabric.

You scrunched your eyes tightly shut, feeling humiliated with your thighs and panties on full display to the disgusting man. He let out a chilling laugh.

“Aww, would you look at that. Wearing these cute lil frilly panties for your boss, huh?”

Wh-what? You felt your stomach lurch. How would he-

“Don’t look so surprised, I know about your feelings for your boss.” He said.

You pulled at the stirrups, to no avail with the modifications of more handmade leather cuffs being attached to them, until your ankles creaked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You felt nauseous from the look he gave you, his delight only more evident with every passing second.

“Oh? You wanna hear me say it? I know you yearn for that man, want him to fuck you real good, don’t you? It’s such a shame you’re fucking disgusting though.”

You needed to calm down, breathing deeply in through your nose and out of your mouth as best you could.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Bull-fucking-shit! You’re a bad fucking liar, agent (L/n). You seriously think no one sees it? It’s pathetic really, you being desperately in love with your boss and craving even an ounce of praise from him.” He scoffed then, rounding the table to your right side, threatening to leave your eye line. “I bet you’ve been loving sharing a bed with him, haven’t you?”

The next intake of air lodged in your throat and you choked, chest rising and falling rapidly as you coughed and spluttered. He knew?! This whole time, every moment of this case, he had been watching, stalking. God, if he had seen you sharing a bed then that meant he had seen you curled up to Hotch every fucking night. But how? Your room was up a flight of stairs. Your eyes darted around the room, panic really beginning to sink in and James used the moment to pull over a trolley of various tools, each more stomach-churning than the one before it. And then you noticed it; a little red flashing light amidst the other objects. This… this was being recorded.

“Now, what should I use to loosen you up for me, hm?” He changed the subject casually, dragging his hands over his various tools. “Maybe a knife, cut your pussy open wide for me. Maybe force a bat or an ice pick up there.”

Your chest lurched, your body automatically pulling at your bindings. This couldn’t truly happen, right? In your mind his face appeared, those beautiful brown eyes. Oh… you’d really messed up big time, and you wouldn’t even be able to take responsibility for it. This would be nothing but hefty paperwork and a headache for Hotch to deal with. The thought made your throat tighten, burning and painful as you fought back the urge to cry. You wouldn’t give this fucker the satisfaction of seeing you cry, even if it wasn’t out of fear.

The glint of a large blade harshly returned you to reality and your eyes settled on the large, horrifying blade in James’ hand. He half-smirked, showing off the butcher’s knife to you.

“What do we think, hm? This one should do the job perfectly. After all, it’s used for slicing up animals like you.” He said with a voice full of utter glee. You glared back in retaliation, eyes shining in the dim light of the grimy room.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Something glinted in his eye, then before you knew it he slammed the blade down hard into your mid-thigh and there was nothing to stop the throat-tearing scream that forced its way out of you.

The SUV was still parked outside the club when the team arrived, kevlar vests on with the striking white ‘FBI’ letters spread across the chest area. Mutually, it was decided to go in and make it known why they were there, to ask around as rapidly as possible and send everyone home to safety. With a slight nod at each other, the team rushed in.

“FBI! Turn the lights on and switch that music off, now!” Morgan commanded loudly, earning a flurry of surprised gasps and hushed murmurs. The group spread through the room, eyes darting around as they searched the faces around them.

“I know this is very alarming, but we are in need of the whereabouts of two people who were here recently.” Hotch said in a clear, but stern voice. Two photographs were shown around the club, one with your face on it and the other the face of the suspected unsub, a sight that made him swallow thickly. This shouldn’t have ever been something they needed to do.

At first it was tensely quiet with no one moving, every second ticking by loudly in his head.

“Hotch.” JJ motioned behind him and he turned on his heel, now face to face with a young woman. She appeared nervous before him, avoiding eye contact and hesitating to approach. With a deep breath, Hotch forced himself to relax and soften his facial expression to a point where the woman felt comfortable enough to continue stepping forward.

“I… I saw them by the bar, she had a phone call when a guy approached her. He followed her outside.”

“Any discerning details about the man?” he encouraged. The woman tightly closed her eyes for a second as she tried remembering anything else.

“He was wearing a full body suit like- like Michael Myers or some shit, only it was a lighter greyish colour. Hard to tell under the dim lighting at the time though. He had curly blonde hair too like that picture." She spoke so quickly her words tripped over one another, but it was legible enough for Hotch to know instantly that it was their guy. But that meant…

“Did anyone see where they went when they went outside?” JJ said loudly, but there was no answer. No one knew where he had taken you.

Hotch felt his hands trembling a little and his heart pounded in his chest. Fuck, you must be terrified right now- if you were even alive at this point. He had no way of knowing. The group followed behind him as he abruptly rushed outside with Dave hot on his tail.

“Aaron-”

“We need to hurry. Get Garcia on the line to track where his van is.” He cut the older man off, turning to face the others.

“Already on it.” Morgan said, pressing his phone to his ear.

Hotch’s frown deepened.

“On loudspeaker.”

With a nod the dark-skinned man held his phone out and everyone could hear the shrill tone of the line ringing. It was only a couple of rings before Garcia answered.

“Any sign of her?” The usually peppy and witty voice of Garcia came through more serious and edged with worry, it made Hotch’s stomach turn. He cleared his throat.

“This is Hotch. We haven’t, but we know who took her. I need you to search for James Humphrey’s licence plate and track where the vehicle is now.”

There was clacking on the keyboard on Garcia’s end of the line, moments later she spoke again.

“I got the number plate. You’re looking for a FDK-845 licence plate. Um, let me see where it is currently…” Her voice trailed off and was followed by more clacks of her keyboard.

Then she gasped.

“Garcia?” Morgan called out.

“Oh god…”

“Where is the van now, Garcia?” Hotch questioned her in a less than patient way- something he regretted and filed away to apologise for later.

“I-I’m sorry. The location- it’s an old, abandoned slaughterhouse.” The colourful technical analyst barely managed above a whisper. Fuck.

“Send the address. We’re heading there now. Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch offhandedly pointed to JJ and spoke quickly. “Call for an ambulance, get them to come to the same address when you get it.”

“Of course.”

Without another moment, he rushed out and was already climbing back into the SUV he’d arrived in earlier to get going. The team, police and SWAT followed suit and moments later they were off, sirens blaring and flashes of blue and red painting the world around them in an alarming light show. Who knew if you were even alive now or not.

“Aaron, you need to calm yourself.” Dave said from the passenger seat. Hotch scoffed.

“I’m doing fi-”

“-You can lie to yourself about that all you want, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Aaron sighed, keeping his eyes on the road as they raced through the, thankfully, empty streets and began to make it to the outskirts of town.

“I feel as though I pushed her to feel responsible for what happened. I…” He swallowed thickly. “I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming towards her.”

“I know, we’ve all seen it. But we also know why you keep her at arm’s length.”

The younger of the two older men scoffed.

“Dave-”

“-Save your breath on denying it. You know I’m right.”

“Yeah… We- we should stay focused on finding her. Hopefully still alive.” Hotch mumbled. This time, Dave was the one to scoff.

“Of course she will be alive. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

“I know. But you saw what this man did to the others.”

Dave said nothing more, turning his attention to the road ahead. It was quiet for a few minutes, that is until a building came into view. Hotch glanced at the man beside him.

“Tell everyone to turn off their lights and sirens. We don’t want to alert James to our presence.” He said.

The world fell silent and dark not too long after, and the foreboding silhouette of the slaughterhouse loomed larger and larger ahead of them, the pale moon falling behind the decaying structure. They came to a stop outside, quietly climbing out of their vehicles several yards away to lessen the chance of being heard from within the building. Ahead of them all was the van from the handiwork business with the same licence plate Garcia provided. It was quickly determined it was empty when two of the SWAT agents broke the locks of the back doors to the vehicle, finding nothing and thus the operation to head inside the facility began.

Then the most horrific shriek they’d all ever heard echoed out into the night from within the large building and it was as though time stopped altogether, along with Hotch’s heart.

That was you screaming.

“We need to go in now.” Hotch gritted, Everyone nodded, faces a mix of horrified and stony.

With their guns drawn, everyone followed their set out positions, stepping lightly as they entered from different areas of the building. Hotch rounded a corner, Morgan and the police chief tailing him along with some of the other officers. They paused, then rushed into the main room where the two figures were.

“FBI! James Humphrey, put your hands on your head where we can see them!” Hotch yelled, then the scene before him began to sink in. Your ashen face with tears streaking your cheeks, the position you were held in. Then the blood- so, so much blood. James twisted the blade that was sunk into your thigh and made you cry out again. He was grinning.

“Aww damn, you got me,” He said slowly, then turned his attention to the dark haired man without letting go of the knife. “But you have to admit, she looks so nice, all defenceless and covered in blood, don’t you think?”

Hotch stared him down, gun aimed at the blonde’s head with an unwavering stare.

“Shut up and put your hands on your head.”

James raised a brow, as though he had realised something.

“Oh! You’re the one, aren’t you?”

What? Hotch’s brow twitched. But before he could speak you strained at the buckles around your wrists.

“Shut the fuck uP!”

Your words, while full of venom and urgency, were also slurred. You were losing too much blood. James chuckled.

“Let’s open you wide for him, shall we? A nice little surprise for your loved one.”

Tightening his grip on the blade, he yanked it to the side and sliced your thigh open wider than before and caused you to scream in agony.

Hotch didn’t hesitate pulling the trigger. There was a loud bang, then the monster fell to the ground, a perfect hole between his cold eyes finishing him.

He shoved his gun into its holster with shaky hands, barely registering that the others were also in the room with him. He just needed to reach you. His stomach felt cold when he came to stand before you, your wrists and ankles red rimmed from pulling at the straps, but most of all your thigh was pulsing out blood. Crimson everywhere. Your eyes settled on him and they widened as you began to struggle.

“N-no! Don’t look at me!”

He moved fast, unfastening the buckles around your ankles and pressing his knee to your groin, applying as much as his body weight as he could to you. He hated the scream that tore through you.

“(L/n)! Please, keep your eyes on me. Stay with me. I’m going to remove my belt and try to use it to tie a tourniquet, okay?” he said as calmly as he could, maintaining the pressure on your pelvic bone. You screeched, trying to flail away from him. He could feel the bone beneath his knee creaking disturbingly. “(Y/n)!”

This made you pause, and you stared at him.

“S-sir- it h-hurts!”

God, his heart felt like it was splintering.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I need to try and keep the bleeding under control though, okay? Just until the EMTs come in. Will you let me?” He spoke softly to you, then glanced at Morgan, who had checked if the killer was confirmed to be dead. “Morgan, my keys are in my pocket. Grab my jacket from the car.”

“On it.” He said and rushed over to stuff his hand into Hotch’s pocket, fishing for the keys and sprinting out of the room. Keeping his eyes on you, Hotch noticed your own lazily trailing over his face as though you weren’t so aware he was truly in front of you right now.

“I… I always wanted you to like me, sir.”

No. He unbuckled his belt and, while wincing guiltily, he lifted your leg and wrapped the belt around your large thigh, causing you to let out another sound he would not soon forget.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. But please save your energy, try not to talk.” He said, voice thick with tears. He turned his head left and right, eyes wide. “Where the hell are the EMTs?! Get them in here now!”

Absently, he was aware some of the others had rushed over to remove the buckles around your wrists, revealing how sore they were. You began to sob, chest heaving as you gazed up at him.

“Sir… I..”

“Shhh, please. (Y/n), I need you to focus on conserving your energy.” He said softly, but you shook your head, scrunching your eyes closed tightly.

“No! I need to- I need to tell you something, Aaron.” You shifted on the table, missing the startled expression on Hotch’s face at the sound of his name. You had never called him that before.

From the other end of the table Hotch could feel the eyes of his agents on him, but he couldn't stop looking at you, fixated on the pain in your eyes. As he opened his mouth to speak, Morgan sprinted back into the room with Hotch’s jacket in his grasp and held it out.

“Hotch, here-” He said quickly, swallowing thickly at the sight of you. “Think the medics are near. Saw flashing lights coming down the road we took.”

Hotch took hold of his jacket and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, I-I’m sorry but this is gonna hurt.” He fumbled and pressed it into the wound site, causing your back to arch with a shriek. He felt as though he would vomit, knowing that despite him doing this to stop you from bleeding out he was causing you unimaginable pain. A stray tear dripped onto his tie and it was then he realised he was crying.

In his hands, he could already feel your blood soaking right through the stiff fibres of the jacket, so he pressed down even more firmly, trying not to falter when you choked out.

“A-Aaron…” You mumbled, voice weaker than before. He froze. Your eyelids drooped slightly as your lower lip wobbled. “I- you need to know something…”

“(Y/n), please-”

“I don't have much time! I'm so, so cold. Can't feel my legs,” You cut him off desperately. “Just- you need to know I-I’ve always liked you, maybe more than I should. I just… always think about you, maybe we could have been friends in another time.”

It was as though his lungs constricted in his chest and he heaved, gasping out a noise between a cry and whimper. Fuck, fuck! It should never have turned out this way. He wanted to reach out for you, to hold you, wipe those tears and reassure you it was okay and he liked you too. But then your eyelids drooped further, indicating you were about to pass out.

“(Y/n)? Hey, stay with us now!” Prentiss called out to you, shaking your arm slightly. But you didn't respond, staring straight forward. A deep coldness spread through Hotch’s core. No… no, no, no.

“Chest compressions. Derek- start chest compressions!” He shouted, watching the dark skinned man approach quickly to begin pumping his hands roughly but to a beat against your chest. Then he looked at JJ. “Find out where they are-where are the paramedics?!”

The blonde woman appeared startled, more so from the scene unfolding before her. But she nodded and sprinted away. He didn't even know where Dave and Reid were at this point, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to care.

“(Y/n) sweetheart, I need you to wake up. Please open your eyes!”

“Come on, Sugar, can't leave us hanging like this!” Morgan chanted between each chest compression.

Nothing. Hotch could feel his knee locking from the position he held it in, but he did not move. He would not forgive himself for this, the least he could do was injure his knee to keep you alive. You still didn't reawake, body jolting with every deep press of Morgan's hands on your chest.

Finally, he heard the running footsteps and the sound of something metallic being dragged into the building.

“Medics here! Please, allow us access to the patient!” An unfamiliar commanding voice shouted. A flurry of people crossed the space towards the table and immediately took over from Morgan efforts, letting the man step back and take a deep breath. Another had an oxygen mask and bag and placed it over your face, asking for your name.

“Sir, please let me get to her.” Another medic said beside him, but he didn't move. He was frozen.

“Come on, man. You gotta let them help her.” Morgan sounded far off, Hotch couldn't focus on him.

“Sir. I need you to move.” The paramedic was more firm now, then he felt strong arms wrap around his upper body and pulling him back.

“No! She'll bleed out!” Hotch struggled against Morgan's grip to no avail when the both of them stumbled backwards to the far side of the room, letting the medics reach you.

“Stop! You need to calm yourself down, man! They've gotta get her stable enough to take her to the ambulance.” Morgan said, and only then did the frazzled unit chief stop struggling against him. He choked out a sob as they worked around you, manoeuvring you carefully out of the stirrups and onto the gurney. No noise came from you, his stomach tightened. And suddenly, they were rolling the gurney out of the room.

“I'm going with her.”

Hotch began to follow behind the group of paramedics, ignoring the horrified looks around him. Before he could even speak one of them spotted him and met him half way across the yard, eyeing his bloodied appearance.

“Sir…”

“Please. Let me come with her.” He pleaded softly, hands curled up tightly into fists.

“Sir, I don't know if that's a good idea. Our patient keeps going into cardiac arrest, this can be distressing-”

“-And she is my agent. You must let me see her to the hospital.”

Hotch stared at the paramedic firmly, although their face was becoming blurry.

From within the ambulance came the sound of frantic beeps and they gave Hotch one last look, murmured a quick apology and turned away to run over, clambering inside.

All he could do was watch them continue chest compressions on you, then the doors closed and the vehicle pulled away, leaving him standing there. Everything felt distant now, the calls of his name, the sound of several pairs of footsteps, it was murky.

Hotch felt himself heave, double over and with a groan; he vomited onto the dirt yard.

Oh nooooooooo what a mess :3 thank you for reading this far!! And also I'm sorry LMFAO

Taglist:

@southernraven @deludedfruitcake @tgskitten @zaddyhotch @cm-slvts-31 @dins-cyarika @midnghtprentiss @buckxysdoll @jazzimac1967 @louderfortheback @balariie @yeahmaybenoo @viawritesstuff @bau-muffin @littlegirl-bd

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