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ultr4vjolence · 5 months

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@ULTR4VJOLENCE MISC RECS .ᐟ

𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ AARON HOTCHNER

ᥫ᭡ a joyful future

a criminal minds big family!au where aaron gets the love and security he deserves.

ᥫ᭡ agents and asphodel

you hand in your resignation to the BAU.

there is no fanfare, no warning. one minute you’re there, and three weeks later, you’re gone, ousted at the insistence of strauss. but an unknown past holds the key to your personal horror story, one that you thought ended years before and is back with a vengeance — one set on taking you far, far away from the people you call your family.

ᥫ᭡ of terrible coffee and late-night rides

he watches you. maybe the two beers are going to his head, despite his infamous reputation as a heavyweight — all he knows is that his eyes follow as you slip through the crowds, sending beaming grins to some people you know from the office, and... you don’t know, do you? you don’t know how you make people feel. how you make every person you lay eyes on feel like they’re the only one you see; like they’re one in a million. important. you capture their attention with just one look and you keep it, too. you never go away — you burrow yourself into his brain and make a place for yourself there and—

their brains. that’s what he meant.

or: moments throughout your relationship with one aaron hotchner.

ᥫ᭡ moments

agent aaron hotchner, your boss, absolutely hated you. he was suspicious of your true intentions. but you were determined to prove yourself to him, no matter how long it took. or— the long, painful, winding road it takes for you and aaron to get your happily ever after.

ᥫ᭡ intelligence & issues

you’ve been working for the BAU for almost a year now. you know how you feel about your supervisor, but you also know it’s a lost cause. when the next case the BAU is assigned takes the team to your hometown, will it bring the two of you closer, or rip you apart for good?

ᥫ᭡ a hard day’s night

after graduation from the FBI Academy, all new agents go through a year of new agent training before becoming official agents of the bureau. by some stroke of luck, you get assigned to complete your training with the department you’ve always wanted to join— the behavioral analysis unit. you signed up for a year of profiling, case work, and catching serial killers, but you’re in for more than you could ever dream of…

ᥫ᭡ wanna be yours

professor hotchner’s criminal law class has a reputation. professor hotchner has a reputation. on your first day, you manage to draw his anger. he seems to hate you. what happens behind closed doors... that’s a different story.

ᥫ᭡ accidents

as the newest member of the BAU, you had nothing but professional respect for your boss, ssa aaron hotchner. sure, he was an attractive man, but your mind had never strayed even close to considering him as anything more than a capable and accomplished unit chief. this changes drastically through a series of “accidents” and in the end, there is nothing professional about your relationship anymore.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ SPENCER REID

ᥫ᭡ 3

is it okay to do wrong things for the right reasons? they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions (feat. unsub reader). this is not a love story. there will be no happy ending.

ᥫ᭡ phoenix

it’d been 10 weeks since spencer died in your arms. at least, that’s what you thought. (rewrite of the emily/doyle arc with spencer taking emily’s place)

ᥫ᭡ be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

“i love you, i love you,” he murmured between pecks. tangled in the sheets, his long arms still enveloped your form as he peeked up at the small clock on the bedside table behind you, a heavy sigh promptly escaping his lungs as he read the time, “but i really gotta get up and go to work…”

ᥫ᭡ here to misbehave

spencer spots you at a nightclub and quickly becomes smitten. only problem is he’s an FBI agent and you’re under 21.

ᥫ᭡ domesticity

reader gets worked up watching spencer with kids. he notices.

ᥫ᭡ santa’s gift

reader asks her husband what he wants for christmas.

ᥫ᭡ sunscreen & statistics

reader asks for spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ AEGON II TARGARYEN

ᥫ᭡ when the world is crashing down

your family is house celtigar, one of rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. in the aftermath of rook’s rest, aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. now you are in the lair of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

ᥫ᭡ north to the future

the year is 1999. you are just beginning your veterinary practice in juneau, alaska. aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. you kind of hate him. you are also kind of obsessed with him. falling for him might legitimately ruin your life… but can you help it? oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the ‘ice fisher.’

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ AEMOND TARGARYEN

ᥫ᭡ the pawn in every lover’s game

when you’re ten, your father sends you to king’s landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. a lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

ᥫ᭡ children of the empire

you are the eldest daughter of rhaenyra, princess of dragonstone, and twin to her heir, prince jacaerys. when your younger brother assails your uncle in a childhood squabble, your grandsire, the king viserys, offers your hand in marriage as payment for aemond’s lost eye. plighted in a match that is beheld by many and desired by none, you find yourself alone in a nest of vipers, forced to watch as your mother and the queen maneuver and vie for influence within the court and the realm. despite your youth, fears, and insecurity, you know you must apply your will and wits to one claim or another, but this choice becomes more and more difficult as you find yourself further entrenched within the family who would see your mother and siblings fed to the flames.

ᥫ᭡ studious

your marriage to the one-eyed prince is not as romantic as you hoped. the wedding night is beyond awkward and confusing, and afterward, your husband seems more than content to ignore you. but you keep finding yourself drawn to him, and the strange way he makes you feel.

ᥫ᭡ to make them love me (and make it seem effortless)

you clutch the collar of his shirt. “why do you want to marry me, aemond?”

he looks down at you, and his hands twitch by his sides, no doubt wanting to feel your warmth permeate through your clothes. he can feel your heart hammering underneath your ribs, and he’s sure that if you slide your hands lower, you could feel his racing similarly. your body melds so perfectly to his, and you breathe in sync, as if engaged in a dance of their own. every molecule of your body thrums to life underneath his fingers, every second that passes between you is charged with a tension that threatens to push the both of you over the precipice, and still you do not see.

he hates that, even with one eye, he does.

you await his answer with bated breath, but he sees the way your eyes briefly flicker down to his lips.

ᥫ᭡ take me to the lakes (where all the poets went to die)

you and prince aemond hadn’t seen each other for years since you left the red keep. now, you’re back.

ᥫ᭡ comet donati

sex, drugs, boy bands. you are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help comet donati through a recent crisis. things are casual with aegon, very not-casual with aemond. loosely inspired by one direction.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ JOEL MILLER

ᥫ᭡ i know it when i see it

it’s the golden age of porn. sex and sin are the national pastime. you fled your suffocating small town to make dirty movies in the big city. you’re paired with joel miller for your first scene.

pornstar!joel miller AU

ᥫ᭡ allowed to be happy

while snowed in on a scouting mission, you tell dina the story of how you and joel met.

ᥫ᭡ mercy.

in a dog-eat-dog world of sliced throats and broken bones in exchange for primal survival, begging for mercy should have been the very last resort.

especially when a certain survivor was holding you at gunpoint.

ᥫ᭡ mr. rattlebone

settled in at jackson, joel and reader avoid their feelings for each other for their own safety.

ᥫ᭡ guard duty

guard duty was absolutely the worst, you thought to yourself with a bitter sense of resolution, but at least it meant some peace and quiet. the watchtower was set directly above the main entrance gate to jackson, a closed off wooden structure with stairs leading to the inside and an outer catwalk circulating it.

sometimes, the town could get on your nerves with how full of life and bustling it seemed to be; but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. that sort of thing was a hidden oasis in a world like this, almost too good to be true, and you knew you were lucky to be part of it, even if it meant never ending guard duties at the early hours of morning, when the sun still wouldn’t be out for quite some time.

you sighed again.

“if you sigh one more time,” joel muttered in a monotonous voice, “i swear, i’m gonna throw you outta this window.”

ᥫ᭡ too early, too cold

early mornings are always slow, specially during winter.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ BELLAMY BLAKE

ᥫ᭡ sub rosa

it’s easy to think that you’re swimming in the sky. floating with the stars, weaving between them, part of the sky, the way you always dreamed you could be.

or, a clarke griffin!twin, bellamy blake x reader rewrite for the 100. complete.

ᥫ᭡ in this new light

slow, soft and sleepy morning sex.

ᥫ᭡ pretty fixation, wicked temptation

you and bellamy had spent a one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in cryosleep. a century of not touching each other catches up to both of you but finding somewhere to satiate your urges undisturbed is quite difficult. maybe a new planet will be just the place. but first, what’s a little challenge to heighten the tension?

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A C C E S S G R A N T E D. . .

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strawberrysands · 8 months

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Secret Love - Spencer Reid pt.1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 1,5k exactly lol

Warnings: Ususal criminal minds gore, talk of anxiety and panic attack

Summary of whole series: Reader joined the BAU not because she wanted to, but because she was forced to. For the sake of her younger brother, she has to lie to the best profilers in the world. How long can she keep this up?

If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to do so with me. My dm's are always open :)

“We have a case." Hotch announced over the bullpen.

About a month ago, you had joined the BAU. And that month had been one of the most incredible ones of your life. If you could forget the fact that your little brother's life was on the line if you didn't do what was expected of you.

Before the FBI, you had worked at the CIA for roughly seven years at the department against sex crimes. Your supervisor, a woman named Anne Miller, had for some reason a huge interest in the BAU. She wanted to know EVERYTHING about everyone who worked there. Because you worked in your department the longest, she knew you and how to manipulate you the best.

"I have an offer." She had said about two months ago.

"An offer?" You had inquired, not sure where it would go.

"Come with me." Anne had guided you to an interrogation room, locking the door behind you.

"You're getting a transfer. To the FBI." She had stated. You had looked at her sheepishly, confused as to why the hell you got a transfer without you or anyone else requesting it.

"Why?" You had wanted to know.

"You don't ask questions." She had said sternly, suddenly being a completely different person than the woman you had gotten to know. Now it really seemed like she was interrogating you.

"You're going to the BAU." She had continued, "And you're going to find out EVERYTHING about everyone there. I want to know where they live, what their favorite food is, everything. Most importantly, I want you to get into Aaron Hotchner's life. His wife was killed not too long ago, and there are still suspicions around Hotchner killing Foyet. I want you to get to the bottom of it."

"Why would I do that?" You had said, not caring about what she said before. Then, something happened that you never could have imagined. Anne Miller, a gentle and caring woman, or so she seemed, slapped you right across the face.

"Was I not clear?" She'd hissed while you held your cheek in shock. "You don't ask questions. Besides, this little guy's life is on the line. Is that no reason enough?"

She had slid you a picture of you and your little brother, Tommy. You couldn't help it; a single tear slid down your face.

"What?" You had whispered, astonished. "Please, don't hurt him." You pleaded with her.

"I won't." She had said coldly. "As long as you do exactly as I say."

"Why are you doing this? What happened to you?" Your voice trembled, daring to ask a question.

"The 'why' is none of your business. Now, you transfer in a month to Virginia. I'd say, spend your free time with Tommy. Virginia is a long way from Georgia, and if you don't do as I asked, well..." She ripped the picture in half, sending a clear enough message of what would happen.

You got up from your desk and headed to the conference room where Garcia had already put up pictures of the bodies.

"3 women were found dead in Atlanta, Georgia." Garcia started.

"Looks like just any murder to me. Why'd they call in the BAU?" Derek asked.

"Because," Garcia continued, turning away from the board, and clicking her remote, "they were missing their eyes."

Even though the pictures were horrifying, there was some sort of order to it.

"Looks like the eyes are surgically removed, not just ripped out." You remarked.

"So does he have anatomical knowledge?" Prentiss wondered out loud.

"You know, 'no eyes' represents privacy, anonymity, and visual censorship. It suggests the idea that one can remain hidden or unidentified." Reid said, making you smile at his wits.

"So, he wants his victims to remain unidentified?" Rossi wondered.

"Or more literally; he just doesn't want his victims to see." JJ remarked.

"See what? Getting killed? Most sexual sadists get off on the victim witnessing their torture." You countered, and now it was Reid's turn to be impressed.

"Or he felt remorse. Maybe he took their eyes out after the kill because they saw their torture." Morgan added.

"There isn't really any sign of torture other than their eyes though..." Prentiss stated the obvious.

"Alright, looks like we're going to Georgia. Wheels up in thirty." Hotch said.

"You ready?" Derek asked you back at the bullpen.

"For what?" You asked, confused.

"Your first case."

You frowned. "This isn't the first case I've done since I'm here."

"Yeah sure, but it's the first one out of state. You know, with the jet and all."

You smiled. "Yeah, I'm not a bad flyer." That was a straight lie through your teeth. You hated flying; you were terrified of it.

"Good. It can get bumpy sometimes." Morgan said with a toothy grin.

You chuckled uncomfortably and noticed Reid frown at you, and he came towards you.

"It's okay to not like flying, you know." He said with a comforting smile.

"Oh, I know. I get nauseous sometimes, that's all." You said, and he seemed to believe your lie.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." He said, placing a hand on your lower back for a few seconds before leaving to get his go-bag.

You stood there frozen for a few seconds with a giddy smile on your face. The place his hand had been just a few seconds earlier felt like it was on fire.

What you didn't notice however, was JJ and Emily stood a few meters away, grinning stupidly at the little interaction.

On the way to the plane though, you couldn't help but let one of your nervous ticks shine through. Your leg started bouncing in the car, no matter how hard you tried to stop it.

Spencer noticed since he was sitting right next to you and placed his hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" He whispered, and your leg immediately stilled. The warmth of his hand was enough to make your insides melt.

You shrugged. "Of course."

He gave your thigh one last squeeze before retracting his hand, almost making you pout.

"Alright Garcia, what do you have?" JJ asked through the webcam on the plane. You felt uneasy and tried to focus on the case to make it go away.

"The three women were all from central Atlanta, all in their 30s to 40s, and all married. They also had at least one child each." Garcia said.

"So, marriage and children are the only similarity? Nothing in their jobs, hobbies...?" Rossi wondered.

"Well, apart from their similar looks, nada nopes, my loves." She replied.

"Alright. JJ, I want you and Dave to come with me to set up at the field office in Atlanta." Hotch announced. "Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to go to the crime scene. Reid, you, and Y/l/n go to the coroner. See if there's anything they missed."

Everyone agreed to their jobs and settled in to try and get some rest before the plane landed. You, however, felt your flight anxiety bubble up again.

"I'm going to the bathroom." You announced, wobbly on your feet. You don't quite remember walking to the bathroom; suddenly you were sat on the floor of the bathroom breathing heavily. Everything suddenly just came down on you; the stupid plane, the case, and most of all, the danger your brother was in. Tears started sliding down your face as you covered your mouth with your hands to minimize the sounds you were making.

"Y/n?" You heard softly outside the door. Spencer. Fuck. What the hell were you supposed to do? You couldn't focus anymore; the walls were closing in on you. Suddenly, you saw Spencer's face in front of you. You saw his lips move but couldn't make out what he was saying. All you knew was that you were gasping for air and that it didn't seem to come to you.

"Breathe, y/n, breathe. You're okay. I've got you." He kept saying.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth. Wanna do it together?" He offered. And as stupid as it may have looked, you nodded and did the breathing exercise with him. Slowly, your vision started to turn normal again and you could see Spencer in front of you. His caramel eyes had something soothing.

"There you go. Welcome back." He said kindly. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yeah." You breathed, letting out a sob.

He took your hands in his and slowly started rubbing circles with his fingers.

"Wanna talk about it?" He offered, but you immediately shook your head.

"That's okay." He smiled. "Don't worry about the team. They don't know what's going on." You sighed, another worry less. You wiped your tears of your face and hoped you looked half decent.

"Do I look okay to go back?" You asked.

"You look perfect." He said smoothly and your heart fluttered.

"Come on." He stood up and offered you his hand to pull you up. "We're about to land."

#fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader

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writingbyshiloh · 6 months

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Sharp Dressed Man

AN: mutual pining with FBI's most wanted and agent! Reader has my heart idk what to tell you guys. I'll do the tag list at some point I'm just lazy

WC: 0.6k

"Where do you think you're going?" Ressler snaps at Reddington. The criminal doesn't even look phased by Ressler's attitude, instead, he just adjusts his fedora.

"Inside. That's where the criminals are, Donald." He replies, cocking his head as if to better analyze the situation. You press your lips together to hide a smile. A smile which has nothing to do with your small, schoolgirl crush on the concierge of crime. To avoid getting caught smiling, you zip up your FBI windbreaker, the only one in the group to have visible government identification.

Donald leads the way, pushing the door to Reddington. Instead of keeping with the chain, he holds the door open for you. You walk through, politely thanking him and wait in the lobby. When he follows, you allow him to walk in front of you. Having him in the middle helps keep his profile low.

To prevent Raymond from charming the receptionist, Donald leads the group, informing her why you're here (to collect files), who you represent (special FBI task force), and who the man in the suit is (a lie about how he's your supervisor). The files are only minor, nothing critical but the company's phone reception is abysmal.

You can only focus on how she smiles at Ressler, warm and slightly fascinated at what a man in a suit with an important job is telling her. You can't blame her.

"I have some files here, but most are kept in storage on the third floor." she helpfully tells the group, only glancing at you and Reddington, keeping her eyes on Donald. If he's not picking up on her hints it may be time for him to retire. She's toying with her necklace, drawing attention to her lips. Maybe you can give Ressler a shove in the right direction.

"Is anyone on the third floor?" You ask, watching her eyes draw slowly to you. Not rudely or abruptly, but in a caught-oggling way. You flash her a small smile.

"Mhmm. Lon should be up there. I can call him if you'd like." She says, reaching for her desk phone.

"You should stay here. We can go up to the third floor." You tell Donald, a slight bite in your voice so he doesn't argue. Before he can reply, slide your hand on Reddington's shoulder to get him away from the desk.

Once directly in front of you, you give his shoulders a push towards the stairs. Raymond tries to keep his breath steady as he feels you press your chest into his back. Your arms are on his shoulders, trying to move his as fast as you can. You're taking small, wide steps, being careful not to step on his shoes. He's thankful for that but in all honestly, he wouldn't mind whatever you do to him, so long as you're this close.

Once you're out of eyesight, you peel yourself off, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I saw how the receptionist was looking at him, I think she likes him."

"I understand, my dear. Something about a sharp-dressed man?" He asks, slowly acceding the stairs, with you right behind.

"Ew. He's not sharply dressed, he looks like every other FBI agent in a suit." You reply, hoping that Raymond doesn't pick up the subtext in your words, that his suits are much nicer.

He does, but for your sake keeps it to himself. Maybe he'll wear the cream one tomorrow, try and impress you.

#raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #raymond reddington x reader #AYOOOO WERE BACK TO THIS MAN!!!!!!!!!#Totally unexpected burst of motivation watching season 2 (phew those suits.....)

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asifyoudidntknow · 1 year

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Differences

I randomly get these stories that just pop in my head and beg to be written down. Sorry if this doesn't sound half as good as the ramblings did in my mind. When it strikes, I just go with it.

@today-in-fic

Half the time with Phoebe he was drunk. For being a brilliant psychologist, Mulder spent quite a bit of time in the dark, dingy basement pubs surrounding campus in his early years at Oxford. Mulder took after his father when first moving to England by drowning his sorrows in whatever alcoholic beverage was of choice that week. He let Phoebe into his life during this low time and freely let her manipulate him. The sex was fun and spontaneous. She used it as a way to further fuck with his mind. The body games were just as much of a way she could twist his mind as it was about bringing herself pleasure. It wasn’t until the summer between his sophomore and junior year when he had a professor that gave extra credit by participating in counseling sessions so that senior degree candidates could hone their techniques that he truly saw how detrimental his relationship was with Phoebe. He went to see if any of these upperclassmen were any good and stayed when he realized just how beneficial the sessions were for his “love is blind”, fucked up relationship…a bonus being extra credit. That summer was a turning point for him. He started focusing more on his studies. He distanced himself from the pubs, as well as Phoebe. She didn’t seem to notice too much. After trying to drag him out a couple of times, she gave up pretty quickly and moved on to the next. Phoebe wasn’t in things for the long haul…easily bored is one way he would describe her. Easily bored and looking to climb the ladder at the Scotland Yard by any means possible.

Comfortable is how he would describe his relationship with Diana. Good. Nice. The usual. He and Diana got along. They agreed most of the time. She looked at his brilliant mind in awe. She almost envied how he came to learn and see angles no one else might. His ego was stroked every time she commented on how amazing he was at his job. The sex was comfortable. Good. Nice. The usual. He could be himself and she accepted him. She didn’t try to push or argue. She easily gained his trust. He readily accepted hers. They were both FBI agents so there wasn’t anything to hide. They could discuss cases, knew about what was going on in the building, could talk about supervisors and employees without having to explain much. She was giddy about all of the old cases he was discovering in the basement and supported his decision to pursue the X-files. So when he returned home late to his apartment one night to a note and Diana gone he felt lost.

Lightning is how he would describe his relationship with Scully. Fiery. Challenging. Passionate. Though, always with an undertone of respect. This wasn’t comfortable. It was bettering. There was growth because her mind was as brilliant as his. A match. A volleying. A constant rendering and honing of his ideas and theories. She’d pull him down while building him up. She let him become vulnerable on his own, but with his profiling skills it didn’t take long for him to know that her character was true and full of integrity. The bantering was arousing. He’d find himself picking up the phone at all hours after the workday and on weekends just to bounce ideas around with her. It was intoxicating. When the sex finally did happen it was very different than anything he’d ever experienced before. Out in the field they were able to anticipate each other, had a keen sense of proximity, knew when to lead versus follow and that seamlessly translated in the bedroom. Dazing. Merging. Pushing. Pulling. Completeness. Mulder could say now with absolute certainty that he’d never experienced being in love before. Nothing was as crushing, aching, or primal as this. He was sure of it. And he wasn’t going to lose it.

#my fic #mulder + scully #diana fowley #phoebe green #txf fanfic #msr fanfic

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eatenlives · 8 months

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BIOGRAPHY. charlotte " charlie " donovan is the daughter of jude and billy donovan. she grew up in a small house on erie, pennsylvania, with her parents, as well as her little brother, rory. she took on the big sister role rather well, immediately becoming protective of him, caring for him when needed ( in spite of his most annoying moments ). the donovans were a loving family, envied by many on the block for how well they seemed to get along with one another. charlie didn't realize anything was wrong until she was a teenager. when she started trying to go off on her own - when she wasn't listening to her mother nearly as much as she used to.

the murders started shortly after her 21st birthday, after her family moved from pennsvylvania to maryland. they were being called the household massacres, a string of murders which targeted families - much like their own - killing the mother and father, and leaving a daughter and son orphaned. charlie didn't know how she knew, but she could tell this was her parents ; that they had tried to get her and rory to be like them, but now that they could no longer control the two, they had to take their frustrations out on others, in the cruelest way possible. caught between turning in her own family and bringing justice for the kids that had lost their parents, charlie confronted jude and billy, which she now realizes was a mistake. her parents decided that they'd rather die than have their freedom taken from them, and their children would go down with them. billy grabbed rory, and jude stabbed charlie in the arm, the hip, the stomach. the older sister had failed to keep her brother safe, watching his throat be cut by the man they were both supposed to trust. crying, charlie was able to kick her mother away, knocking her against the wall and unconcious. she was able to call the authorities before she passed out from the pain.

waking up in the hospital, charlie should feel lucky to be alive, but she doesn't. not when she's lost her brother. not when she has the knowledge that her mother survived, and was now locked away in an institution for the criminally insane. once recovered, she starts a program to become part of the fbi, being accepted into the bau as a profiler, hoping to catch unsubs before anyone can get hurt the same way she was. she specializes in working with children and young adults - her soft spot is oftentimes pointed out, but she is an asset to the team. the public constantly questions whether or not she was a part of the household massacres, and tabloids have a field day with her story. she's often in the public eye, but charlie ignores them - what they think matters little to her. her own guilt makes her feel bad enough.

PERSONALITY. charlie started out as a strong headed and opinionated girl. as a young woman, she rarely knew when to stop talking. she enjoyed debating with others, and having deep conversations. it's almost the same now, except she understands when silence is important. she's incredibly stubborn, oftentimes asking for forgiveness instead of permission, though she has a lot of respect for her supervisor and her colleagues. she has a soft spot for children, but is scared to have any of her own, just in case she inhereted something dark from her parents. she looks into the void and doesn't care that it's gazing back at her. she absorbs darkness and holds it within herself until she can't, anymore.

MAIN VERSE. special agent charlie donovan is working as a profiler for the bau, but still living in baltimore, maryland because of her mother, jude donovan's admittance into the bshci. she visits her mother once a month, either out of guilt or something she doesn't understand. having suffered a recent break down due to a case with several dead children, charlie is sent to doctor lecter for a psych eval. she begins to understand that her mother and father may have actually passed on something through their bloodline, something that charlie has been dreading since she was young ; something that wouldn't be easy to get rid of.

CONNECTIONS.

JUDE DONOVAN. mother ; current patient at the bshci ; serial killer. BILLY DONOVAN. father ; deceased ; serial killer. RORY DONOVAN. brother ; deceased ; scholarship student. JACK CRAWFORD. supervisor ; bau agent

#when i tell you this took all day #CHARLIE.#if timelines don't match up that's just the way it be

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maybege · 3 years

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What Happens in Kansas ... - FBI Part 1

Summary: You are pretty sure your boss hates you until you get a new case. (Part 1 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k | Rating: M

Warnings: mentions of sexual violence, canonical violence, Reader is attacked, also unrequited feelings (but are they?), a little bit of fluff, soft!Hotch maybe?

This is my first Hotch piece and I am so nervous posting this. I have read quite a bit of fanfic but only watched the first 8 episodes so far, so I hope I got his voice right. This is also my contribution to @aerynwrites Follower Celebration! I chose the trope 26 “Wearing each other’s clothes” and it kind of got away from me. 😂 I do have an idea of maybe expanding this into a series, so please let me know what you think!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“Front sight, trigger press, follow through.”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that,” you whined, despair laced through your voice, “And it doesn’t help when you repeat it again and again either.”

The lanky man next to you let his shoulders fall, “It was easier when Hotch taught me how to do it.”

Immediate remorse filled you. You knew Reid only wanted to help you when he had suddenly appeared at your desk, repeating the six words as if they were somehow a secret code for all your problems.

Well, not all your problems.

Just the most pressing one.

With a groan, you let your forehead rest on the desk, unable to hide your frustration any longer. “Everyone is going to laugh at me when I fail,” you mumbled, already feeling your ears heat up in embarrassment.

“If you fail.”

You turned your head to the side, glancing up at your colleague, “What?”

“You said when I fail, however, statistically, there is still a chance that –“

He saw your raised eyebrows and stopped talking, “Never mind.”

“Where did you have that phrase from anyway?” you asked him, noticing too late that it would bring the topic back to –

“Hotch taught me,” he explained cheerfully, “Granted, it took a bit of time and a serial killer but I did end up getting my qualification.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing a hundred miles a minute. You did not want to think about Hotch’s disappointed and exasperated face when he would confront you about your failed qualification. Again.

God knew how you had gotten into the BAU in the first place. Aaron Hotchner certainly did not and he let you know that every chance he got.

Ever since you had gotten here, you had failed. Again and again and again. It was a miracle they let you keep working in the BAU or that you had not been called into Strauss’ office. The last shred of dignity you had was used to keep the tears at bay whenever your dark-haired supervisor would snap at you for one thing or another.

You hadn’t been in the field for weeks now, ever since Hotchner had found out you had no qualifications to carry a weapon and although Rossi had mentioned how a profiler did not necessarily need a weapon, you also knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner did not see you as one.

And if you were neither a profiler nor could hold a gun properly, what were you doing on this team?

And so, you had spent the last few weeks in Penelope Garcia’s office, trying to help the team from across a screen. Even if it meant having to hear his voice almost constantly and having your heart clench so tightly in your chest when any of them were in danger.

As if the devil had conjured him up himself, your boss entered the room, bypassing the bullpen and you felt your heart skip a beat. Like always he was wearing one of his black suits that just fit so damn well and you wondered if he was even capable of wearing something so informal as a t-shirt.

Then again, who knew if you would survive the sight of Aaron Hotchner in just sweatpants and a shirt? No matter how much you dreamt of seeing him like that.

In an attempt to keep down any unprofessional feelings at a professional place, you straightened up in your seat, trying to pull the wrap dress you were wearing into a more or less better position so that the wrinkles could not be seen so easily. This was probably the last thing that somehow kept up the pretence that you knew what you were doing – you were properly dressed.

But of course, Hotch did not spare you even a glance, he never did, as he strutted through the office, looking way better than should be allowed.

“Everybody in the conference room, now,” he announced loudly, Rossi and Morgan already following him because everybody knew what that meant.

A new case.

You stood up, grabbing a notepad and pen and following Reid up the steps. Everybody was already there and the last remaining place was at the very end of the table next to Rossi. Quietly you shuffled into the empty seat and smiled at the older man who reciprocated it.

You had never gotten a chance to really talk with him but you knew he was basically a walking legend at this point. On more than one occasion had Spencer filled you in on the legendary cases that Rossi and Gideon had solved manifesting the BAU as the essential unit of the FBI. But most importantly he was nice. And with how Hotch was glaring at you from the end of the room, kindness was worth everything at the moment.

Pictures of various body parts were already thrown on the wall and you swallowed harshly as you saw the victim’s faces. You still struggled sometimes, reocgnizing them as uman beings with their own individual lives and stories and reconciling that with the horrible ways the had to die.

“The police department has requested our help,” Hotchner started, “Three weeks, four victims.”

“He seems to get quicker,” Reid noted, “He escalated from one victim a week to already having two this week and it is only Thursday. We could have another body by Saturday.”

“Most likely,” Hotch confirmed, “The crimes are sexually motivated. The unsub seems to keep them alive for a few hours before he kills them.”

“So, it is about control,” Morgan piped up, “He wants to control when and how they die.”

“And what happens to them before,” you added quietly, jotting it down quickly. When you looked up again, you only found Hotch staring at you, lips in a tight line and you sank back in your chair. His dark eyes were fixed on yours and you knew that the others were looking at you as well but for the life of you, you could not look away from him.

You did not know whether you wanted him to keep looking at you or not.

When he turned back to the presentation, you could breathe a little easier.

“When do they expect a profile?” Rossi asked.

“We have 12 hours,” Hotch revealed to the collective groan of the team, “Wheels up in 20. I want all of you on the jet.”

The pointed look he sent you, made your chest feel hot and cold at the same time. What did he mean – “all of you”?

Was this right? Had your ears betrayed you? Were you so desperate now that you imagined hearing things that would fit into your dream world?

The others filed out, probably on the way to get their go bags and you flinched when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you found Derek smiling encouragingly at you.

“That was a good addition, kid,” he nodded, “It is nice to have you contributing as well, you know? We can all learn from each other. Keep talking.”

You were not so sure about that but you were also too excited to really answer him.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I,” you nodded, standing up and pressing your notepad closer to your chest just so he could not spot the trembling of your hands, “Just one second.”

Walking to the office felt like a dream and you tried to focus on the way the hem of your dress fell against your calves. Something to ground yourself in.

You knocked on his door three times and following his muffled Come In opened it.

“Sir, I, uh – “

He did not look up from the file in front of him, “Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch, I mean. I just wanted to check if I understood you correctly?”

That made him look up and your heart skipped a beat as his cool gaze met yours. Shit, shit, shit, keep it together, your brain screamed at you and you shifted on your feet.

“That what was correct?”

“That I would come with you too – to Kansas City,” you hated how meek your voice sounded but when faced with the stoic gaze of Aaron Hotchner a man that your blood both freeze and boil at the same time, it was an accomplishment to get any words out at all.

“I do not make mistakes, Agent,” he snapped and there was something unreadable in his eyes, “Wheels up in 15, I suggest you hurry.”

Your heart fluttered with excitement. This was your chance! Your chance to prove yourself!

“Yes, Sir,” you nodded, still a little struck, “Of course, Sir.”

And with that, you closed the door behind you and hurried to Garcia’s office.

You hated yourself, truly, for feeling so soft towards a man who was so harsh. At least to you. You knew he could act differently, had seen him act differently with others. Sometimes Morgan would make a joke that would make him smile and it felt like it would light up the whole room. Once his eyes had met yours during one of his rare laughs and instead of closing up like he seemed to do around you, his eyes had remained soft and his laugh had turned into a small smile.

You had dreamt about it that night.

“So?” the woman in front of the screens swivelled in her chair, “Excited to be allowed on the field again?”

“I am not sure if I would call it excitement,” you muttered, “More like dread now that I think about it. What if he only did it to have me make mistakes again? To get a final reason to have me fired?”

“I still think you are misreading it all,” the quirky woman shrugged, putting her headset in front of her on the desk before throwing you a mischievous smile, “You’re the only one he lets him call Sir, after all.”

“That’s not exactly a testament to how much he cares for me, Penelope.” Rather the opposite.

“It is when you see the way he looks at you,” she replied, “Your bag is over there by the way.”

You followed her gesture to the dark corner in the room and picked up your black bag. It had been so long since you had packed it, you hoped it would be complete. There was no going back now.

“Wish me luck, Penelope,” you murmured, smiling slightly at her.

“You don’t need luck, honey,” she replied easily, “You only need to be more confident, hm?”

Penelope had been right.

But also, very very wrong.

Because as much as it had helped to be more confident, it also brought you right where you were. Underneath a screaming Unsub (Walter Jacobson, 27, serial rapist and murder) with no discernible weapon.

It had all started when you had overheard Reid talking to Hotch in the coffee kitchen back at the PD.

“I do not appreciate your tone,” you had heard the older man say, just as you were about to join them for a cup of tea. Captain Coulson had suggested that you be the bait for the unsub as you had fit the victim pool close enough to rouse his attention.

“What kind of assessment are you supposed to hold over her? Is she about to be transferred?”

That had made you freeze in your movements, remaining standing just short in front of the open door. Your heart felt like it had dropped into your metaphorical pants.

“She is not about to be transferred,” Hotch had replied calmly but you had heard him talk enough to know something was off about his voice. He had said your name then, your full name, and it had made you lick your lips with how unusually soft he had said it. “She is one of my agents and she will stay with the BAU. I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“I just –“

“That’s enough, Reid,” Hotch had cut him off and moments later Reid was stepping out of the kitchen, his eyes falling on you.

That was when you had turned on your heel, marched back to Captain Coulson and agreed to be the bait.

“Get off me!” you screamed, kicking and screaming as the man dragged you across the ground of the abandoned parking lot.

“That’s what they said,” the young man seethed and you heard somewhere the chirping of a car opening. Your eyes fell to a car. Dark Sedan just as the team had deduced.

You yanked yourself free, feeling the strap of your dress and rip and you flew backwards, your palms scraping over the asphalt as you tried to cushion your fall.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he hissed, raising his fist.

You swung your hand up, grunting when your hand made impact with his cheek. Where were they? You knew they must be here any second to arrest him. Was this not enough evidence already?

The blood that dripped down your eyebrow agreed with you.

Remembering one of your lessons, you raised your legs, knowing your legs had more strength in them than your arms, and kicked him in the groin. Something cluttered to the floor and you turned your head to see a gun. His gun.

For a moment you both seemed to freeze, Walter looking at you as you both realized what happened.

At the same time, you both lunged for the weapon. He was quite a bit taller than you and you screamed as his elbow rammed into your back, reminding you how your dress was almost falling off you. But by some sort of divine intervention, it was your hand that reached the gun first, your fingers that wrapped around the cool material.

Your temple made harsh contact with the street as the unsub tried to pry the gun from you but you resisted, gritting your teeth against the pain and instead of closing your eyes as he turned you on your back, you had them wide open.

A hand closed around your throat and you whimpered, fingers finding the trigger and you pulled it.

The shot was louder than anything you ever heard and you felt the fight leave the man on top of you. There were shouts from somewhere, you distantly heard Hotch call something. You knew it could not have been longer than a few moments but it felt like an eternity until the man was lifted off you.

There was something warm and wet on your middle and your stomach turned at the idea of the man’s blood on you.

Another hand was on you. No, two hands. Warm and soft as they framed your face.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, almost shouting at you, “Look at me, are you okay?”

You tried to nod but the movement was accompanied by a wince. “Did we get him?” you asked, frowning as you saw the furrow between his brows. He looked incredibly displeased and your stomach dropped at the thought of having done something wrong. Had you let him escape? Had you fucked up?

You tried to turn your head to a commotion next to you but Hotch’s finger kept you looking straight at him. His lips tugged up and – was that a smile?

“We got him,” he confirmed softly, “You did a good job. Are you okay?”

He had already asked you that.

“I – I think,” you answered, slowly sitting up with his help.

“The shock,” he stated, calm and collected as ever, and you shivered, nodding along to his words.

You looked down, bile rising in your throat as you saw the dark patch on the middle of your dress. Your dress was tattered and ripped to pieces almost. Heat rose to your cheeks as you saw how the Unsub had ripped it in the middle and you tried your best to cover yourself.

“Here,” warm fabric glided over your shoulders and you shivered, instinctively pulling the jacket over your shoulders. You looked up, finding none other than Hotch – Aaron – next to you. Of course. He had been here before. But the soft look in his eyes made you feel all kind of things as the adrenaline washed away from you.

Your bottom lip quivered. You couldn’t break down now, you couldn’t break down in front of him.

“The paramedics will take a look at you,” he said under his breath and his hands were warm on your shoulders. You wished he would never stop touching you. It felt like the only thing that was keeping you together at this moment were his hands and the way he was looking at you.

He was not mad at you.

For once, he was not mad at you.

“Hotch?” Derek’s voice piped up from somewhere and you both looked up at him, “They need you over there.”

Hotch did not move. If anything, his fingers twitched on your shoulders and you tilted your head. Even in your muddled state, you knew this was not typical of him.

Derek seemed to notice it too and repeated the sentence before adding, “I will keep an eye on her.”

“She will need to see the paramedics.”

“I will make sure she will be seen to, boss.”

Only then did Hotch stand up and you followed him with your eyes until it hurt to crane your neck that far. Derek crouched down in front of you, worry in his eyes, “You think you can stand or should we get the paramedics to you?”

“If you will help me, I think I can walk over,” you smiled and with one hand on Derek’s arm and the other keeping Hotch’s jacket around your shoulders, you wobbled over to the blinking ambulance.

It was decided you would fly back that very same night.

JJ had organized a change of clothes for you and now you were dressed in one of your favourite wrap dresses that you had forgotten was in the go bag. After the paramedics had given a more than doubtful diagnosis, Derek had taken you to the ER to be checked over again and with a few band-aids and bandages, you were released to fly back to Quantico together with your team.

The car ride was quiet as you tried to work through what had happened.

Hotch’s jacket was still around your shoulders. At this point, it was not only something that kept you warm but it helped you to somehow feel less helpless, less crazy.

This was the first action you had seen in the field and it had been more scarring than anything you had experienced ever before. You focused on some of the breathing exercises you had read about online, trying to keep yourself calm and rational.

This was your job and it had worked. You had used the tools at your disposal to defend yourself and arrest an unsub.

You had shot a man.

He had tried to kill you.

Your head was pounding and so was your heart in your chest.

The clock on the dashboard showed 3:43 am when you arrived at the airport.

“I’ll give you a minute, okay?” Morgan said next to you and you nodded, pressing your palm in front of your mouth to keep the sobs at bay, “We are all here for you if you want to talk about it.”

He kept looking at you for a moment longer but you stoically looked at the compartment in front of you.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

The car shut behind Derek, leaving you completely alone in the car.

Something akin to a wail left you, there was no other way to describe it. All air had left your lungs and you buried your face in your hands, allowing you a few minutes of unrestrained crying as your body relived the panic and the fear all over again.

The car opened again, momentarily bringing in cool air and the thundering sound of the storm before it closed again.

You did not need to look up to know it was Hotch, the smell of his cologne had already betrayed him. But what was worse was that no matter how hard you tried, you could not stop your crying. You simply could not.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, straightening your posture and wiping at your cheeks, “I will try to keep it together on the flight.”

The rain hammered against the windshield and you saw nothing but the blurred light from the jet. The overhead light turned off at the lack of movement and you were glad for the darkness, hoping it shielded you a little more from him.

“The first time I shot someone, I threw up right after.”

You looked at the man next to you. The lights from outside made him glow, the patterns of the rain throwing curious shadows over his face. He was not looking at you either, seemingly lost in a memory.

“What?” you asked dumbly.

He chuckled, a dimple appearing in his cheek and at this point, you were sure it was just the shock preventing you from crying.

“What I am trying to say is,” he gestured to the window, “Everybody on that plane knows what you are going through right now, more or less. And we are here for you.”

Are you here for me too?

“I know you heard the conversation between me and Reid,” he continued and you felt your bottom lip tremble again, “And I need you to know that if I ever made you feel like you needed to prove yourself, not to this team but to me specifically, I am sorry,” he looked at you, “It is my duty to keep this team safe and whether you have realized it yet or not, you are part of it as well.”

His words hung between you and you swallowed thickly.

Hotch was still looking at you, soft and honest and open, and your hands twitched on your thigh. His eyes fell to your lap and you saw him reach out before he stopped himself, his fingers instead drifting to the fabric draped over your shoulders.

“Uh,” you mumbled, feeling overwhelmed and warm, “Thank you. For the jacket, too, I mean but also for – for this.”

“You can keep it,” he replied, still this half-smile on his lips that made your cheeks heat up, “Suits you better anyway.”

His hand was still on your shoulder, heavy and warm and that was he was at that moment. Warm.

“Do you think you are ready to face the circus?” he asked and you smiled at the actual joke that he had just made.

You nodded, watching as he rushed out of the car, jogging around to your side and before you could look twice he had opened the door for you.

Maybe you had a concussion after all.

“Hotch,” you asked, courage and hope and maybe a little bit of recklessness flaring up in your chest, “Did you mean what you said to Reid? That I will stay with the BAU?”

It rained stronger now and you watched as it strands of dark hair against his forehead. His big hands moved into the pockets of his slacks as he looked at you. And there, standing in front of you with the jet behind him, he looked every bit the BAU chief that he acted.

“I don’t make mistakes,” he murmured softly, his lips quirking up, as he held out his hand for you to take, “Agent.”

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aerynstropechallenge

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

Fighting Crime || A. Hotchner & Reader

Back at it again with another one shot for @ssahotchswife ‘s soft Hotch Saturday! No smut this week sorry folks.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, canon-typical mentions of kidnapping/violence, pregnancy, suggestive content

Word count: 1.7k

You finished your paperwork first, which wasn’t unusual. Gathering up your files, you trekked up the steps and knocked twice on the door to Aaron’s office before letting yourself in.

“This is done,” you said, extending the folder towards him. “And luckily for you, I left out the logs of what exactly occurred in my hotel room between the hours of 12:38AM and--”

“Trust me, my memory is plenty fresh on that.” He smirked up at you.

“JJ and Penelope have called for a celebration of our heroism at the bar tonight,” you informed Aaron, who peeked over your shoulder at the clock hanging on his office wall. It was 4pm. “We can have a couple drinks and still get Jack for dinner. It’ll be good to have some non-work related adult time.” You told him,

“I think that if you refer to the log of what happened in your hotel room at 12:38AM, you’ll find my preferred non work related adult---”

“Aaron!” You cut him off with a laugh, and your smile seemed to relieve some of the tension in his jaw.

“You go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll see what I can do here. Either way, I’ll come pick you up and we can get Jack together.”

“Okay boss,” you smiled, leaving his office to go check on Spencer, who usually finished around the same time as you.

“I’m going to be a little while longer,” he sighs. “Why don’t you go to the bar and grab our booth?” He suggested, and you took his advice.

It had been a long case, but a successful one-- the unsub confessed, and none of the hostages were hurt, so it was one worth celebrating for sure. You walked over to the team’s normal spot, enjoying the warmth of the DC sun on your face. Jimmy, the bartender, spots you as soon as you make your way into the bar.

“Hey, princess!” He calls out to you with a smile.

“Hi Jimmy,” you greet him as you slide into a barstool

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” He asks as he slides you your usual-- a vodka tonic with lime.

“I’m just getting a headstart. The rest of the team will be here soon, so I’m going to grab our booth before it gets crowded.” You explain to him.

“Okay doll, I’ll be by to check on you in a little bit.”

True to his word, Jimmy swung by with another vodka tonic about fifteen minutes later, and JJ walked in shortly afterwards.

“Damn, you beat boy genius!” You congratulated her.

“I know, it has to be a new personal best,” she agrees with a laugh as Jimmy reappears, placing two shots on the table for you both.

“Cheers to a successful case” you smiled, extending your shot glass in her direction. She bit her lip.

“Oh, I’m not drinking tonight, actually,” she tells you.

“You’re pregnant!” You exclaimed, downing your shot.

“How did you know?” She asked, laughing as she passes you her shot.

“Well, I didn’t, but it was a good guess.”

“I’m not really ready to tell the whole team yet.” She tells you shyly, and you’re quick to reassure her.

“Of course, Jayje. They won’t hear it from me.”

“Thank you. Now take that, because they’re coming and they need to think I drank it.” She says, gesturing to her shot. You downed it quickly before the rest of the team could make it to the table.

“Ladies, ladies, you started without me?” Derek grinned as he slid into the booth next to JJ.

You were pleasantly surprised to see Aaron slip in next to you. You took his hand and squeezed it in your own before kissing the back of it. “I thought for sure you’d be holed up in your office to avoid this,” you confessed.

“Yeah, well, my girlfriend is a cute drunk,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek and taking advantage of the proximity to whisper, “and I caught you drinking for two.”

You and Aaron were coming up on a year of dating, and had told the team a few months back. There was a novelty to being a couple in front of the people you loved most, somehow even more exciting than the sneaking around them, that hadn’t worn off yet. Aaron wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you put a hand on his thigh as Spencer and Emily went to get another round of drinks.

“No one knows yet,” You whispered back to Aaron, but you knew he would keep JJ’s secret. He was good like that.

You attempt to keep up with the flow of conversation, but between the cocktails and the shots, you’re beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, particularly on your empty stomach. Emily and Spencer return and pass you another vodka tonic, and you make a silent determination to nurse this one more slowly. You tilt your chin up towards Aaron, who is listening to Penelope tell Spencer about the new frozen yogurt place that opened up by her apartment.

“You okay?” He asked, lowly, so no one else would hear.

“Yeah,” you smiled back up at him.

“You’re drunk.” He states, chuckling at you.

“Noooo,” you argued, drunkenly. Luckily, Derek saves you from yourself.

“Hotchner, you can’t monopolize her just because she’s your girl now. We all remember who took care of her when she first got here.” He teases Aaron, and you laugh. It was true. Aaron had been hard on you at the beginning, but Morgan took you under his wing. He took good care of you. “Come on pretty thing, we’re dancing.” Derek extends his hand towards you, and you see Emily and Penelope waiting for you as well.

You sat up, untangling yourself from Aaron before giving him a quick peck, grabbing your drink, and practically racing the three of them to the dance floor. It felt like college, in all the best ways. The job was so stressful, and you didn’t let yourself get away from it nearly enough. Throwing your arms up in the air with Emily, letting Morgan catch you when you stumbled, and laughing with Garcia as she brought you another shot of who-knows-what, it felt like the Friday night after you turned in a term paper. Total bliss, fuck the consequences.

“Guys, we have a case. It’s urgent, and it’s bad.” JJ came to pull you all off of the dance floor.

Well, so much for fuck the consequences. You put a hand on Morgan’s wrist, a silent sign for him to support you-- you weren’t even sure if you could make it back to the office without stumbling. He placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you out of the bar, where the team was waiting in the street. You reached for Aaron and linked your arm with his. Even with his support, you stumbled at the brisk pace and the uneven ground of the cobblestones downtown.

“You can’t work like this,” he said once you were back in the elevator at Quantico. He wasn’t judging you or being mean-- but as both your supervisor and your boyfriend, he was concerned. “Maybe Jess can swing by and take you home, you can read Jack his bedtime story and sleep some of this off--” He said, as you all stepped out of the elevator and back into the office.

“Noo, Aaron!” You whined. “I want to fight crime!” You protested, pouting. If there was any doubt that you were drunk before, it was gone now. You heard Emily stifle a laugh from somewhere behind you.

“Hotch, you’re going to send her home just to have her take a nap to sober up and then meet us out there? That doesn’t make any sense,” Morgan argues, but there’s no bite behind it.

“Yeah, plus you need me to help you fight crime,” You add helpfully as Aaron directed you to your desk and all but placed you in your chair.

“It’s a four hour flight. She can sleep on the plane,” JJ suggests as she brings you a cup of coffee, which you sip on gratefully.

You could tell, even in your drunken state, that Aaron was torn, and you felt bad. As your supervisor, he knew he should send you home. As your boyfriend, he would certainly feel better if you were nearby, not to mention the fact that leaving you here meant you’d have to fly commercial to Montana the next morning, not on the safety of the team’s jet. He took a deep breath before making a determination.

“You are going to eat something now, when we brief, and then you are going to sleep on the plane. You will not go into the field or to the crime scene until I say so. You will go straight to the police precinct, talk to no one, and start on the geographic profile with Reid. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” you squeaked out, and the team erupted in giggles.

“Good girl,” he whispered for only you to hear.

45 minutes later, you had all but inhaled the fast food that Reid had brought you, and you were following Aaron out to the jet. You were the first ones on, and Aaron led you over to the couch, foregoing his normal spot for one where you’d be more comfortable sleeping. He pulled your favorite throw blanket out of your go-bag and covered you up, your head in his lap and your legs splayed out over the other end of the couch,

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, and he pushed a stray piece of hair out of your face.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he tells you. “You didn’t know we would be called on another case.”

“I know. That didn’t make it any easier on you, though.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he’s quick to correct you.

“Says the man who’s letting me sleep my drunkenness off on an FBI jet so that he doesn’t have to let me out of his sight,” you teased him.

“Well, you wanted to fight crime so badly. How could I say no?” He smiled down at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Get some sleep.”

#soft Hotch Saturday #aaron hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x reader fic #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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fandom-imagines-stories · 3 years

Text

Spectacular

Fox Mulder x Reader

Words: 2516

Summary: To the surprise of your superiors, you request to be assigned to the X Files after completing a series of successful profiling cases. While Agent Scully is skeptical of your motives, Agent Mulder is more than happy to introduce you to the world of the paranormal.

Notes: Kinda doesn’t have much of a plot, but it was fun to write, so here it is.

You had only really ever heard rumors- stories told by other agents at Quantico. While the ‘tall tales’ repelled most and were the subject of ridicule, you found them fascinating. So when your supervisor said you could have your pick of assignments, you had only one in mind.

Of course, this didn’t thrill him. You were a budding fixture in violent crimes due to your skills in profiling and your request to be assigned to the most laughed at section of the FBI was clearly a disappointment. But he said any assignment you wanted- as you so keenly reminded him- so he didn’t have much of an argument. He said he gave you a week before you’d be crawling back to behavioral and you had every intention of proving him wrong.

The trek down to the office was a bit of a hassle, considering you got lost twice. They really wanted to keep this guy hidden from the rest of the bureau. After a few more wrong turns, you finally found the door with the right name.

Fox Mulder.

And here you half expected it to say ‘Spooky’.

With a deep, nervous breath, you knocked. At first, there wasn’t a response, so you knocked again.

“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

“Are you going to say that every time someone knocks? Come in!”

You turned the handle and peeked your head inside. A woman was leaning against a file cabinet with her arms crossed while a man sat behind the desk across from her. Both turned their heads to look at you as you entered. You forced your shoulders back and smiled.

“Hi. You must be Agent Scully.” You shook her hand with probably a little too much excitement.

“Yes, I am. And you are?”

“I’m guessing you’re the fresh meat they decided to punish by sticking you down here.” The man laughed, standing to shake your hand as well. “Fox Mulder.”

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, and no, actually. I asked to be assigned to the X Files.” He raised a brow and smirked.

“You asked to be here.” He looked back at his partner. “She asked to be here.” He popped a sunflower seed in his mouth, cracking the shell between his teeth. “Well, Agent Y/L/N, welcome to the twilight zone.” He made a dramatic hand gesture at which Agent Scully rolled her eyes.

“What brought you here?” She asked, eyeing you carefully.

“I’d heard about the X files a couple of times at Quantico. Mostly just through rumors or jokes, but something about it seemed so fascinating to me. After a few years of profiling, I finally got to the point where I could take my pick of assignments.” You shrugged. “So here I am.”

The two exchanged a seemingly unconvinced look. Of course, everything you had said was true. It just wasn’t the whole truth. Neither of them asked any further questions though, instead going back to whatever argument they were having before. You looked around the room for another desk and found a table piled high with open files and empty take-out boxes. You couldn’t help muttering to yourself.

“Welcome to the team.”

While you began to clean off the table and set up a few of your things, Scully leaned on Mulder’s desk, lowering her voice so you wouldn’t hear.

“You don’t really trust that story, do you?” She asked, eyeing you over her shoulder. Mulder smirked.

“Is it really so hard to believe that someone would choose to work with me?” She gave him a hard look and he conceded. “Alright, it is a little suspect, but I don’t think we need to string her up just yet.” He grabbed a folder and gave her a smug look.

Agent Mulder slapped a file down in front of you, making you jump.

“What’s-”

“It’s a case in North Carolina just outside Fort Bragg. Witnesses have reported strange lights in the sky along with electronic interference in their homes.” He sat on the corner of the table, crossing his arms. “Every witness either recanted or they vanished.” He watched as your eyes scanned every word.

“U.F.O.’s?” You gasped.

“What do you say, rookie? Want to go uncover some military secrets that’ll probably get us suspended?” The excitement in his voice both intrigued and concerned you. But this is what you signed up for and for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes away from his.

“When do we leave?”

Rather than having to pay for a flight, Mulder opted to drive the 5 hours. You packed your suitcase into the trunk while Scully spoke through the rolled-down driver’s side window.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Mulder? We don’t know anything about her.”

“What have you got against this woman, Scully?” He laughed. “Don’t tell me you're worried about getting replaced.”

“I just think we should look into her more before you go on any road trips alone.” He couldn’t blame her for being paranoid. Normally, he was the one taking extra precautions. And after Krychek, it was impossible to fully trust any of the other agents. But there was something about you. Whatever it was told him that he could trust you.

“I can handle myself, Scully. Besides, if she is a spy, there’s nothing she can tell Cigarette Man that he doesn’t already know.” He shrugged, looking back at the new agent through the rearview mirror.

“Mulder.” Scully gave him a hard look. “Your willingness to trust Agent Y/L/N would have nothing to do with the fact that she is an attractive female former profiler, wouldn’t it?”

“Scully,” He gasped in mock offense. “You wound me. When have I ever let simple attraction to a woman cloud my judgment?” Scully just raised an accusing brow.

“So you are attracted to her.”

“Goodbye, Scully.” Mulder said, rolling up the window with a smirk. The red-headed agent’s eyes followed you as you slammed the trunk closed and walked around to the passenger side.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Agent Scully?” You asked, giving her a bright smile.

“I think I’ll stay and get some research done, thanks.” She turned and started back towards the building. You tried not to let your demeanor fall too much as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“She doesn’t like me very much, does she?” You laughed nervously, unbuttoning your blouse. You had a tank top on underneath, but you blushed profusely as his eyes widened. Sometimes you forgot about the rules of professionalism. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s supposed to get pretty hot and I don’t want to be all gross and sweaty when we get there.”

“Not at all.” He cleared his throat, quickly looking away. “These company cars have terrible air conditioning.” Switching on the radio, he maneuvered out of the parking garage and out into D.C. traffic.

“So…” You started awkwardly, trying to think of any small talk that would break the strange silence. “How long have you been working on the X files?”

“You mean when did I fully go off the deep end?” He glanced at you in amusement. You laughed.

“No! I’m genuinely curious. The only thing I had even heard about them were…”

“Stories about me?” He smiled, popping another sunflower seed in his mouth. You bit the inside of your cheek. He thought for a moment. “It’s been about seven years, I guess. Wow. Time flies when you’re hunting the paranormal.” He bumped his shoulder against yours and you both laughed.

If this was how the rest of the trip would go, you had every confidence that nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Was this really part of the plan?” You shouted over the drone of the helicopter above you. Your lungs were burning and your legs were giving out. If Mulder’s hand hadn’t been gripping yours, you definitely would have lost him back at the fence.

“Of course!” His voice was laced with laughter as if he was on a carnival ride rather than trespassing on government property. “This way!”

He pulled you through the tall grass until you both tumbled down a steep hill and landed in a grove of trees. The helicopter gave up its pursuit, having lost the two of you in the dark. You laid there in the dirt, breathless and sore from the fall, but dammit you never wanted the moment to end.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asked, a smile still on his face as he helped you up. You nodded but stumbled forward as soon as you got to your feet. Unfortunately for him, Mulder broke your fall. You landed on top of him with an ‘oof’ and apologized profusely.

“Damn shoes.” You muttered, awkwardly trying to crawl off of his chest. “I probably should have warned you, I’m kind of a clutz.”

“That’s okay.” He coughed, trying to get the air back in his lungs. You slipped off your broken pair of heels as he stood up, keeping crouched down and motioning for you to follow.

This is absolutely ridiculous. That little logical voice in your head scoffed. Another voice answered it, one that brought a sad smile to your lips.

Isn’t it amazing?

Denny would have loved something like this. He was always the adventurous one, after all.

“Here, this is a good spot,” Mulder announced as you reached a break in the trees on top of a small hill. It wasn’t as tall as the one you’d fallen down, but it was enough that you could see over the trees and back at the facility you’d run from. “Not as close as I planned, but we should still be able to get a good look.”

“Ah, so getting chased was not part of the plan.” You teased. He glared at you playfully before an odd metallic hum captured both of your attention.

Mulder’s eyes widened with excitement. “I guess our little interruption didn’t postpone tonight’s flight tests.”

Your gaze followed his up into the sky where four color-shifting lights danced around each other like a carousel in the sky. The colors changed from red to blue to green and back to red again and they’re circular dance split apart as they went off in their own directions. It felt like watching fireworks in slow motion.

“This is… spectacular.” You uttered breathlessly. It was more than you could have possibly imagined. When you turned back to him, you found that he was no longer looking at the lights, but at you. It was then you realized that you were still holding onto his hand.

“I’m glad you picked me.” His words were sincere and his stare was so intense that it took you off guard. He realized his words and quickly tried to regain his composure. “I mean me and Scully- I mean the X-files.” It didn’t work but you didn’t really care, either.

Instead, you found yourself leaning closer and closer to him until your lips finally met with a gentle touch. His hand moved to your cheek as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t until the lights returned to the base that you pulled apart.

Suddenly, the passion and giddiness of the moment was replaced by something else- guilt.

“Mulder,” You sighed, a lump forming in your throat. You looked back over the trees and tried to keep the tears from your eyes. “Before I continue with this assignment- or act further on my feelings for you- there’s something I have to tell you. Something I withheld from you and Agent Scully.”

“Don’t tell me you’re married.”

“No!” You exclaimed, bringing your gaze back to his. “No, nothing like that. I never told you the real reason I chose to be assigned with you. Ten years ago, my twin brother went camping with his fiance.” You took a deep breath. “He never came home. Ainsley said that one minute he was getting firewood and the next, there was a bright light and he was gone. Local authorities never found anything. Everyone always said it was probably an animal attack, but Denny was an outdoorsy guy. He could handle himself in those woods better than anyone I knew. And Ainsley was always talking about that light… up until she died last year.”

You looked down at your feet and felt a tear slip down your cheek, falling to the grass below.

“You joined the X-files for answers.” He put a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. When you looked back up, you found his eyes filled with understanding.

“I always thought the paranormal was interesting when I was a kid, but until Denny…”

“You never thought it was real?” He gave you a small smile and you had a feeling he knew exactly how you felt. You stayed like that for a moment, understanding each other without having to say a word. Slowly, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one sweet and understanding. When you pulled apart, he put an arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Scully was waiting when you got back. Mulder went on and on about the lights and the aircraft, but she kept her eyes on you.

“Did you happen to solve a case while you were sightseeing, Mulder?” Beneath her annoyance, you could tell there was a level of playfulness between them. They were friends and you were the outsider. No wonder she was protective.

“Unfortunately, all of our eyewitnesses went on 'vacation' so we don’t really have anything but our own experience.” He didn’t sound too disappointed. After all, this was more of an initiation for you than a pursuable case.

With a roll of her eyes, Scully dismissed her partner’s antics and returned her focus on you.

“Agent Y/L/N, can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course.” You squeaked. Mulder gave you a ‘Good Luck’ thumbs up as you stepped out into the hallway.

“I know that we haven’t gotten off on the right foot and I want to apologize for that.” Her sudden warmth surprised you. “This job has made me overly cautious about, well, everything.”

You smiled. “You looked me up, didn’t you?”

She laughed and ran a hand down her face. “Yes, and I found nothing that would implicate you working on anything but your own ambition and curiosity.”

“Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way.” You both snickered at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Maybe having another woman around will be a good thing. Being partnered with him is like raising a kid sometimes.”

“Yeah, he seems a little over-excited sometimes.”

“And trying to get a word in is impossible!” She exclaimed and the two of you laughed at your male partner’s expense.

“He’s definitely a talker.” You agreed, still giggling. “Even in his sleep.”

It wasn’t until Scully’s expression changed that you realized what you had said. A look that could only be described as an I’m-going-to-kill-him face crossed her features.

“Mulder!”

Oops.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216

Mulder: @posiemax

#fox mulder x reader #x files imagines #dana scully #the x files #fox mulder #david duchovny #david and gillian #gillian anderson #90s #the truth is out there #i want to believe

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years

Text

Twisted 14 - Sinking Deeper [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Ps: Special thanks to Bea for helping me!

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking.

Word Count: 4180

Summary: Not every night is for sleeping.

All things considered, you were sure that you were supposed to be more stressed out than you were right now. The FBI still had nothing on the copycat killer that had sent you flowers, or any of the others that were running wild all over the country. BAU was working nonstop because there was more and more pressure coming from the supervisors and higher ups, and Spencer had told you something about the profile evolving but hadn’t gotten into details.

Not that you would ever ask him to, what you heard was more than enough.

Despite all that, whenever you were with him, you managed to feel almost…peaceful. It was so unfamiliar to you that it had taken you a moment to acknowledge what it was.

Happiness. Pure happiness, enough to get rid of the mind-numbing panic and worries about the future.

Or, as your sister had so eloquently put it, you were so, so screwed.

You took a sip of your mimosa, texting Spencer under the table, barely aware of the conversation taking place but you had to look up when you heard your name being called.

“Would you want to, Y/N?” your mother asked and you frowned.

“Hm?” you asked, your eyes stopping on Lily playing with her dolls by the corner of the huge living room before you looked at Mina and Kenzie, “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“There’s this opera—“

“Nope,” you shook your head fervently, “No way. It’s Mina’s turn.”

Mina let out a whine, “I hate you so much right now.”

“She has a point,” your mother pointed at Mina, “Your sister was the one who came to the charity ball, you can come to this one.”

Mina heaved a sigh while Kenzie reached out to hold her hand.

“Babe come on, it could be fun.”

“Exactly!” your mother said, “Thank you, Kenzie. Besides, Nolan is coming as well, so we will be two couples there. Y/N, of course if you want you can bring Spencer—“

“I’m not exaggerating when I say I’d rather spend an hour in my serial killer father’s cell with Spencer.”

Your mother rolled her eyes and Mina tilted her head.

“Nolan Yates is coming too?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m spending a whole night with the boss of my boss?”

“You two should get to know each other!” Your mother said, “Besides, there’s no harm in telling your bosses that you should become a partner already—“

“Mom,” Mina cut her off, “We talked about this. I will earn that position by myself, not because of anyone’s influence. Including yours.”

Your mother sipped her drink, “It’s as if you like struggling, Mina.”

Kenzie looked between them and smiled brightly, trying to diffuse the situation. “I’m actually pretty curious about him,” she said, “Since you’re a couple now, I just need to see what kind of a person he is.”

“There’s nothing to see, babe.” Mina murmured, “The guy looks like he spends millions alone on his beard care and wears bowties to bed.”

“Yeah but bowties are cool,” you grinned and a silence fell upon the table.

“I will get back to you sleeping with my boss’ boss in a minute mom but—“ Mina cleared her throat and turned to you, “I’m sorry, was that a Doctor Who reference?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I started watching it because Spencer likes it so much. It’s actually pretty fun, he said we could go to Sonic-Con next year if I want.”

“Comic-Con.” Kenzie corrected you helpfully and Mina blinked a couple of times.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t get it,” Kenzie said, “I told you to watch it with me and you said, and I quote It has like one billion episodes Kenz, I don’t have time for that.”

Mina stole a look at Lily to make sure she couldn’t hear you before she turned to Kenzie, “Yeah, the difference is that you weren’t dicking her down.”

“Nobody is dicking me down!” you whispered, and your mother gasped, putting her mimosa glass down.

“Girls, not at the breakfast table!” she insisted, “Not that this kind of language is acceptable anywhere…”

“Yeah Mina, leave her alone,” Kenzie said, “I think it’s sweet.”

“What’s next? You will want to get a doctorate as well because he likes them so much?”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” your mother mused out loud, “Y/N, I know the lovely dean of—“

“No!” you pointed at them, “No to both of you. And thank you Kenzie.”

Before your mother could say anything, Lily ran to you to climb into your lap.

“Hi there bug.”

“Can we play after brunch?” she looked up at you, making you smile at her before you pinched her chubby cheek, making her giggle.

“Of course,” you said, “Dibs on green unicorn.”

“I like pink better,” she nicked a piece of cheese from your plate, “Are you talking about your prince?”

Mina smiled into her glass, “Something like that sweetheart.”

“Lily, why don’t you ask auntie what you asked me the other day?” Kenzie told her and Lily nodded fervently.

“Can I wear pink on your wedding?”

“Whoa-“ you cleared your throat, “Lily, baby, there’s no wedding.”

Kenzie and your mother grinned at each other and turned to you and Lily but she looked as if she was confused.

“But if he’s your prince…” she trailed off and Kenzie cleared her throat.

“I would like to come up with a tamer version of that question,” she said, “When do we get to meet him?”

“Mom and Mina already have,” you said but your mother shook her head.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Because you treated him like you were going to hire him?”

“Oh you did the same to him as well?” Kenzie asked your mother, “I thought Mina would have a heart attack when you did that to me.”

“I honestly thought you would break up with me after that.”

You fixed the huge bow on top of Lily’s hair while she sat still in your lap, listening to the conversation.

“How about dinner?” your mother said, “It’d help us to get to know him better.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, “It’s too early.”

“Oh come on Y/N!”

“I will introduce him to you guys when I’m sure you can behave.”

“He has spent hours with dad, you do realize that?” Mina asked with a small laugh, “You think he behaves? The guy is a—“

“Mina.” Kenzie nodded at Lily and Mina stopped herself immediately but Lily had already heard it.

“I thought your dad was a bad man, mommy.”

“He is, baby,” she nodded, “That’s why he’s far away, remember?”

“Then why is auntie Y/N’s prince talking to him?”

“Because he catches bad people, bug.”

Lily gasped and looked up at you, her eyes shining with excitement, “Like a superhero?!”

“Mm hm, like a superhero,” you grinned at her and she fidgeted in your lap.

“When will I meet him?”

“Yeah Y/N, when will we meet him?” Kenzie batted her lashes and you pointed at her.

“That’s evil, you know that right?” you asked, ignoring Mina’s laughter, “Low blow.”

***

Towards the evening, right before it was time to meet Spencer he had texted you, saying that they would be doing overtime at work. You were bummed, but you still texted back to tell him it was alright, that you would be going home and he could drop by whenever he was done.

After having dinner, you went to the couch with a bottle of wine and turned your laptop on to take a look at the files your assistant had sent you. Campbell wedding was almost done, Vincent had sent you a couple of new ideas to add into the theme, and you had to email back two pastry shops to confirm the wedding cake orders.

You were so lost in work that you had barely realized downing the half of the bottle and it was only when your phone started buzzing on the coffee table that you looked away from the screen of the laptop.

“Hi Lincoln,” you answered the phone, still typing your replies to your assistant and he took a deep breath.

“Hey,” he said, “Are you watching it?”

“Watching what?”

“TV. They’re talking about the copycat killers.”

“What?” you grabbed the remote to turn on the TV and of course, the first TV channel you found was already covering the story.

“The FBI has confirmed that the body that was found dead earlier today belonged to one of the copycat killers that has been—“

“What the fuck?” you murmured, keeping your eyes on the screen and he cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, “I know it’s creepy but I mean…I don’t know, isn’t that a good thing?”

“Someone killed one of the copycat killers?” you asked, “That makes no sense at all.”

“Do you think it’s the same one?” he asked, “From the charity ball?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, “I didn’t know if I should call, but…”

“No no, I’m glad you did.” You muted the TV, then filled your glass again, “What’re you doing?”

“Just leaving work,” he said and you raised your brows.

“Linc, it’s eleven p.m.”

“I had to attend a meeting overseas.”

“Workaholic.”

“I prefer the term hard working,” he chuckled, “How about you? You weren’t sleeping, right?”

“Nah, I was waiting for my boyfriend,” you said, making him pause for a moment, “And checking client files. And drinking.”

“You’re lucky you can deal with your job while drinking, these sharks would pounce on me if they ever saw me like that.”

You took a look at the TV and typed in the copycat killer’s name into the search bar, sipping your wine.

“You’re being safe, right?” he asked you, “I haven’t heard from you for like a week or so, you’re alright?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to decide whether to tell him about the flowers or not, but in the end you decided not to.

“Family drama,” you said, “I’ve been running everywhere, and what with work and everything…Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be silly,” he chuckled, “Just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.”

“I’m alright—“ you started but then looked over your shoulder when you heard the doorbell ring, “Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, see you,” he said and hung up, so you jumped over the couch to rush to the door before you opened it to see Spencer standing there.

“Hey,” you smiled at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, “Long day?”

He nodded silently and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you closer to inhale your scent.

“Hi,” he muttered into your hair, “Yeah. Long day.”

“I have wine?” you said as you pulled back, and closed the door after he stepped in, “I also have a bathtub even you could lose yourself in.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” he said and hesitated for a moment, “On second thought, do you have coffee?”

“Are you sure you want to drink coffee at eleven at night?”

“I still have some reports to go over,” he said, stepping into the living room while you put the coffee on and his eyes stopped on the huge screen that was still giving details about the copycat killer.

“You saw that huh?”

“Mm hm,” you watched him as he dropped his satchel and you went to sit down next to him on the couch. “I was checking the other news. That’s why you had to work overtime?”

He rubbed at his eyes and ran a hand through his fluffy hair as if it would help, “We thought the profile was changing but this whole thing just proves someone is trying to keep it stable.”

You pulled your brows together, “What?”

“The victimology didn’t match with the last two victims, and now one of the copycats ended up dead, probably the one who went rogue.”

“How did it not match?” you blinked a couple of times, “They all left a flower in the crime scene, no?”

“Well yeah, but the rest—“ he stopped for a moment, staring at you, “You never actually checked his victimology?”

“I never watched any of those interviews he gave after he was imprisoned, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, and those interviews are the reason why we still don’t have a specific suspect because everyone knows everything about him, and most of your family life,” he heaved a sigh, “But you know what his victims had in common?”

“They all bled out while he watched,” you crossed your arms, leaning back to the arm of the couch, “I know that. He liked watching that.”

“Your father never killed anyone outside his social circle,” he reminded you, “They were all wealthy and overly successful people, remember? That’s why it took FBI so long to find him, because the previous profile was wrong. They thought it was someone who didn’t have access to the same resources, the same wealth and status, and it was for revenge.”

“Yeah but Spencer, he killed those people because he is evil.”

“He killed those people because in his mind, he was creating this…perfect business environment. Most of the people who got murdered were either failing business people or people who failed to meet his expectations. He was very successful, he expected the same from everyone. That’s his victimology. The flowers on the crime scene, they were just his signature. Well, his signature and his small offering to you.”

You thought for a moment, then went to the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee before walking back to the couch.

“I still think this is a bad idea professor,” you muttered as you gave him the cup and he smiled at you, then took a sip while you lit up a cigarette.

“So then,” you crossed your legs, “His victims were the cream of society and that means something? Other than the fact that he was a psychopath?”

“That means a lot of things,” he said, “So far, most of the victims had a higher status in society, it means that the copycats actually wanted to continue his legacy from where he left off. Maybe not the people who disappointed them per se, but until these last two victims, they all had higher financial status, either family money or with their own successful companies but last month, someone first killed a bartender and then a social worker. The only thing that told us it was remotely connected was the flower in the crime scene.”

“That’s why the profile was changing,” you muttered to yourself, “Okay. Is that normal?”

“No, not at all,” he shook his head, “It’s very unfamiliar. It did prove our multiple copycat killers theory but other than that, it was going to make things incredibly harder until…” he nodded at the TV and you pulled your brows together.

“Hold on,” you sat up straighter, your mind working nonstop, “Multiple copycats who are trying to continue that monster’s legacy, and one happens to taint that legacy by going rogue…”

“And he gets killed,” he finished your sentence for you, “Exactly.”

“It was one of the copycats who killed him?”

“That’s my theory.”

“So they’re not actually working together then?” you asked, exhaling the smoke, “Or- or- wait, you said there could be one copycat that was controlling the others, maybe they did it?”

Spencer took a sip of his coffee, “It could also mean that the leader wouldn’t want to take chances like this again,” he said, “Someone tainted the legacy, he might begin to believe he cannot trust anyone with that again.”

You let out a breath, stubbing the cigarette, “What does that mean then? For…all of this?”

“It means that someone cares so much about your father’s legacy that they’re ready to kill anyone and everyone over it, even their partners,” he said, “It also means that their whole operation is starting to crack. It’s only a matter of time someone makes a mistake and ends up getting caught.”

You massaged your temples, “Well, at least one of us can see the light at the end of this psycho murder tunnel.”

“You can’t?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “It feels like it won’t stop,” you croaked out, “It’s like… It’s like I can’t wake up without dread filling me. It’s always there, at some corner of my mind. The more I think about it, the more I feel like—“ you stopped yourself and Spencer frowned, putting his coffee down.

“What?”

“You don’t want to hear that, trust me.”

“Try me.”

“The more I feel like it will go on until the day I die.”

“It’s impossible for this case to take that long, Y/N—“

“I didn’t say it’d take long,” you took a sip of your wine and heaved a sigh before you looked up at him, the expression on his face almost hurting your heart physically, “Told you that you didn’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t say that.”

You forced a small laugh and got up from the couch, suddenly restless.

“You said it yourself,” you said, pacing in the living room, “His victimology. He went after the people who disappointed him, right? Can you guess who’s disappointing him right now by not turning into the monster that he is?”

“That’s not what I—“ he shook his head fervently and stood up from the couch as well, “No. No way. It’s his victimology, but none of the psychiatric evaluations or anything on his file, including the list of his victims suggest that he would go after his family. There was a reason why he never tried to hurt you or Mina or your mother even back then—“

“No I’m sure they’re safe,” you said, “But Mina didn’t get flowers, professor. I have.”

“If our theory of him being in contact with the copycat is right, it means that your father is involved as well—hey,” he stopped you from pacing, reaching out to hold your hands in his, “Listen to me. Whoever it is, they will never, ever touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

A painful smile pulled at your lips, “Spencer, that’s not your responsibility.”

“It is.”

“FBI can’t—“

“I’m not talking about the FBI, I’m talking about me.”

You took a shaky breath and wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face into his chest as you swayed slightly.

“Is it okay if we stay like this for a moment?” you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another “I don’t— I can’t sit still, I don’t know why.”

“Do you want to hear the reason why?” he ran his fingertips over your spine up and down, as if trying to soothe you and you nodded.

“Yes please.”

“You feel threatened, so your brain is trying to understand where the danger is coming from. It’s telling you to either stand or run away, so it’s pumping adrenaline into your system. We call that nervous energy.”

“That could be my stripper name,” you mumbled, making a chuckle vibrate deeply in his chest, “Tell me more.”

“The nervous energy happens when you’re under stress,” he said, “Our primitive brain is used to physical threats and it created this system in order to protect us. The threat you’re afraid of is not here, not physical, but your brain is still sending that energy to your limbs so that you can attack that physical threat, or run away to somewhere safe. It’s all a part of your defense mechanism.”

You hmmed into his chest, still holding him tight as if someone would take him away from you before you sniffled and pulled back to look up at him.

“You know, I think I got something you can’t explain with science.”

He raised his brows, “Debatable.”

“Do you want to bet? If I win, you’ll tell me what you planned for the next date.”

“What if I win?”

You wiped at your nose, “Tell me your price, professor.”

“There’s this conference on smoking and its effects on health next week, if I win you will attend that with me.”

“That’s a very indirect way to say that you hate my smoking.”

“I mean, it’s better if you see the effects in that conference, I think it’ll be good for you. It has five sessions, so it’s around….7 hours, including breaks.”

You blinked a couple of times, then nodded. “7 hours? That’s— okay. Yeah, I’m sure— I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

A smile pulled at his lips, “Okay,” he said, “What is it?”

“It’s just,” you nibbled on your lip, trying to find the right words, “I was thinking and I realized something. I— I think it’s instinctual somehow, you can’t really explain it with science but when you’re here…” you paused, “With me, I mean, this whole panic dissolves. I feel safe, and it’s so unfamiliar that I don’t—“ you let out a small laugh, “I don’t know how to deal with that. I normally don’t feel safe, ever.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and he tilted his head, his warm gaze focused on you. You scrunched up your nose.

“Don’t tell me science can explain that.”

“Oxytocin.”

“God damn it!” you exclaimed, making him laugh, “Oxytocin?”

“Yeah, oxytocin. It’s a hormone that ensures that you trust people along with everything else. Basically, your brain— when you’re attracted to someone, your brain releases dopamine, so your serotonin levels rise and it produces oxytocin. It’s a big part of romantic attachment, it’s released during sex as well.”

You arched a brow, a small smirk flashing over your face and he pressed his lips together, a look of mischief appearing on his face.

“It strengthens fidelity as well,” he explained, “Seeing your partner as more attractive than others, and preferring to interact more with your partner than strangers.”

You clicked your tongue, “7 hours of conference, here we come.”

“It’ll be fun, I heard they’re bringing a real lung.”

“Can’t wait,” you muttered and entwined your fingers with his, “Well for what it’s worth professor, I have a lot of oxytocin for you.”

He cleared his throat, “Scientifically, one of the most important aspects of it is reproduction, in females it triggers labor and in males it moves sperm so having a lot of oxytocin can be—“

“Spencer, I’m trying to talk dirty in a scientific way!” you groaned, a fire spreading over your face because of embarrassment and you took a step to walk away from him but he grabbed your hand to turn you around and tug you closer to him, making you let out a whine.

“I feel like an idiot,” you murmured and he shook his head fervently,

“No, of course not,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear, “Hey. I don’t know anything about weddings. So we complete each other if you ask me.”

You scoffed a laugh and looked up at him, your brows furrowed together, “You really think that?”

He nodded and you heaved a sigh.

“Okay.”

“And…for your information,” he swallowed thickly, “I have a lot of oxytocin for you too.”

A giggle you couldn’t stop escaped from you as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss, making your stomach do a pleasant flip. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lungs full of his scent, making you dizzy.

“They’ll take away your doctorates for that joke, professor,” you breathed out as he pulled back, resting his forehead on yours while you raked your nails over the back of his neck gently.

“Worth it,” he murmured to your lips, leaning in to kiss you again, this time pressing you closer to his body and your heart started beating in your throat, a whine climbing up to your throat, desire filling your system faster than any other drug.

“Would you like to stay the night?” you whispered, and his eyes shot up to yours, both of you aware what you were really asking. He looked almost hypnotized by the sight of you in his arms and he blinked a couple of times, as if trying to focus before he nodded.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse and you took a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” you managed to say, your whole being consumed by this moment. “Yeah, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You could swear he could hear your heartbeat echoing through the room,

“No scientific explanation this time, professor?” you whispered against his lips and his fingers caressed the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver from there to your whole body.

“No,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, “Not this time. Not for the lady who imparadises my mind.”

The lady who imparadises my mind.

That was how Dante described Beatrice in Paradise.

You stood on your tiptoes to pull him into a kiss, then tugged at his hand to lead him into your bedroom.

Chapter 15

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds #spencer #reid #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer imagine #reid imagines #cm #spencer imagines #reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #twisted

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honeypiehotchner · 3 years

Text

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

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addictedtostorytelling · 2 years

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What do you think it would take for Grissom to draw the line at , or what scenario if Sara had to go undercover for the fbi again like in season 1? For him to step in and say “you’re not doing this”. Now that they’re together and married or would he just be like I don’t want you doing this etc etc. hope I’m making sense lol it just popped in my head. Love your posts :)

hi, anon!

i think a lot of the reason why grissom attempts to be so authoritative with sara during the events of episode 01x23 "strip strangler" (i.e., why he tries to outright forbid her from taking part in the undercover operation, pulling that whole imperious "no csi of mine—!" routine) is because he knows he can't actually be honest about his motivations in that scenario.

while it's true, as per what he tells sara, brass, and agent culpepper at various points throughout the episode, that he does think the sting is both a premature and counterproductive measure on the part of the fbi and he is indeed worried about blowing the investigation and letting the perp get away, it's also true that the thing he's actually most worried about out of everything is sara's safety—you know, because he's in love with her.

he wants to tell sara, "honey, don't put yourself in harm's way because i couldn't live if anything bad happened to you because i love you more than my own breath," but he knows he can't, so instead he just attempts to put his foot down, pulling the "i'm your supervisor, and i say 'no,' dammit!" card until he's overruled by a higher authority and has no choice but to sit back and watch the operation roll out despite his protests.

and even then, he makes sure to remain on site while the operation is underway and charges in with a drawn gun to save sara at the first sign of trouble, even though later on in the episode we learn he doesn't even typically carry a gun to protect himself.

if he were at liberty to reveal his feelings, he could try to convince sara to stand down, using personal appeals to persuade her. but since he isn't in a position to put his heart on his sleeve, his only recourse (as he sees things) is to throw his managerial weight around.

all of the above said, in a situation where he and sara were actually together as a couple (and especially if they were married), he'd be free to tell her how he really felt and what he was truly afraid of and to ask her to reconsider her decision for his sake. he could talk to her openly about the situation and not have to hedge or obfuscate or beat around the bush.

—and the thing is, i don't think sara would opt to take part in the operation if she knew he were absolutely opposed to her doing so.

part of her willingness to be the bait girl in s1 stems from her sense that it doesn't really matter if she lives or dies because nobody cares about her. this sense also lies at the root of her habit, more generally speaking, during s1-s5, of showing a blatant disregard for her own safety on the job (see episodes 01x23 "strip strangler," 04x23 "bloodlines," 05x02 "down the drain," etc.).

it's not that she's actively suicidal, but she does feel as if she's expendable.

her reasoning is that, unlike everyone else on the team, she doesn't have a family who'd mourn her if the worst were to happen, so if there's a dangerous job that needs doing, she may as well be the one to do it so as to spare anyone else from having to.

she's willing to take the risk because if things end badly, she believes that the only one truly affected will be her.

but once she knows grissom loves her and that he absolutely 100% cares what befalls her, she can't think that way anymore.

and especially not if they're married.

to that end, i honestly don't believe that the sara of the reboot would volunteer to play the role of the undercover officer in an fbi sting to begin with, even if she fit the physical profile for the killer's preferences, just because she wouldn't have that same sense that the risk was worth it, even given the potential reward.

while at age fifty, she's not completely outgrown her bravery and occasional impulsivity (as we see from her willingness to pursue an armed suspect on foot, running into traffic to do so, in reboot episode 01x01 "legacy"), i think she has outgrown her "whatever happens, happens" attitude with regards to her own life, particularly in situations where she can choose in advance whether or not to participate in a potentially fatal activity.

and especially as, lest we forget, by this time in her life, she’s had more than her fair share of brushes with death already (see episodes 03x22 “play with fire,” 05x21 “committed,” 07x24 “living doll,” 08x01 “dead doll,” 14x07 “under a cloud,” 14x10 “girls gone wild,” 15x03 “bad blood,” 15x05 “girls gone wilder,” etc.), so she’s not quite as naïve about how it actually feels to be “staring down the barrel of a gun,” so to speak. she’s been there, done that, and she knows it’s no easy thing. she’s not eager to have another near-death experience just for the hell of it.

she's got a husband, and she cares about him, so she’s not going to be as heedless of risk as she once was.

if it's a situation where there's real danger involved, she's won’t just rush headlong into it in the same way that she would have when she was unattached at age twenty-nine. she’s going to actually consider, “is this risk one i want to take on? should i? are there any other viable options that could be tried instead?” and if there are potentially other options—ones that don’t involve her possibly getting shot or blown-up or abducted, say—i don't think she wants in on that action.

she's older and wiser now, and the stakes are different for her, you know?

that said, if for some reason she were actually considering taking part in the operation, the question remains: would she do it, despite grissom's wishes?

for my money, no.

if he were sitting in front of her, pleading with her (as her husband) to please, please not do something that could very well get her killed, expressing that he couldn't live with himself if he allowed something bad to happen to her when he could have otherwise prevented it, looking at her with his dazzling blue eyes filled with love and concern and fear and desperation—

i think she'd back down.

she wouldn't be willing to hurt him in that way.

after all, she's not the only tall brunette who works for the lvpd or the fbi.

an undercover sting operation is not the only means by which to solve a case.

nor even the best option in a scenario like the one in episode 01x23 "strip strangler," in which time is of the essence.

i think she'd listen to him long before their disagreement ever got to the point of him attempting to put his foot down, especially once she realized how scared he actually was. if she pushed back against him about taking part in the operation, his emotions would shine through, and she'd be able to see that she was scaring him to death.

and right then, she'd think of how she'd feel if the situation were reversed.

if she really felt strongly about the viability of the operation, she might try to reason with him, explaining why she believed it was important that she take part.

but even then, ultimately, if she could see that it would wreck him for her to go, i don't think she would go.

not at this point in her life.

not at this point in her marriage.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

#answered #anon #asks: csi #hypothetical scenario #let's talk shop #csiverse

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specialagentsergio · 4 years

Text

only if you knew

summary: Spencer’s in love with you, but you’re in love with Emily.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: description of a panic attack, mentions of bullying and homophobia, swearing

a/n: my take on a fic inspired by heather by conan grey. writing is a hobby i've had for years, but this is the first time i've posted any of it. i hope you enjoy it.

a/n 2: bi!reader, fem!reader bc emily is a lesbian

word count: 3.5k

song: heather by conan grey

series masterlist || masterlist

Spencer isn’t looking for a relationship when he meets you. He wants a relationship someday, but he likes his life the way it is for now. He doesn’t want it to change yet. He thinks that’s why it took him so long to realize he was in love with you.

You join the team a few weeks after Rossi does. Hotch has been wanting to add another profiler to the unit for a while. The fiasco with Gideon’s loss of Sarah and subsequent disappearance, then Emily’s sudden resignation, finally convinces the board that it might not be a bad idea to have more than five profilers on the team.

Morgan and Hotch already know you. You come from the sex crimes unit, and the BAU had worked a case with them a month before he joined. You were just an agent trainee at the time, but Hotch saw promise in you, and has kept an eye on your work ever since. (Spencer wonders how he never ran into you at the academy; you’re only a year older than him and you both joined the Bureau in 2003. Eventually he realizes it’s because you weren’t remediated.)

Despite an awkward introduction (he gives you his spiel about handshakes and how it’s safer to kiss, and you respond with, well, if you insist, prompting laughter from Morgan and Prentiss, and leaving him at a loss for words as his face turns red), you quickly become friends. Your mutual love of reading is how you initially connect. Then he notices you only ever cut off his infodumping when you’re working on a case, and it’s always with a gentle, “redirect, Spence.” Outside of work, you seem genuinely interested in what he has to say, even going so far as to follow up on things you had to interrupt earlier.

You also bond over your shared love of Doctor Who, and begin to join him at Penelope’s place each time a new episode airs. It’s not long before he considers you his best friend.

Spencer tells you things he rarely puts a voice to. He tells you about his kidnapping and subsequent Dilaudid problem (he still struggles to call it what he knows it was—an addiction) after the South Padre Island case, when he doesn’t pick up on Adam’s dissociative identity disorder until it’s just a bit too late.

On the one year anniversary of his solving of the Riley Jenkins case, he recounts what happened the day his dad left in a wavering voice and you run your hand up and down his back when he cries.

He even tells you about the goalpost incident and the real motivation behind that act of bullying, a detail he omitted when he told Morgan about it. (He didn’t have a crush on Alexa Lisben, the prettiest girl in school. He had a poorly concealed crush on the football team’s quarterback.)

You also open up to him in a way you seldom do to anyone. You tell him about the bullying you experienced in high school over your shared sexuality. You tell him about the worst cases you saw in the sex crimes unit, and on a day when you’re struggling, you tell him what the worst day of your life was.

He’s had great friends before, and still does, but he’s never had one quite like you.

Spencer can’t say what the moment he fell in love with you was. He can’t pinpoint when your friendship became something more to him. But he knows the moment he realized he was in love, and he doesn’t need an eidetic memory to recall it perfectly.

It’s such a small thing, nothing big and grand like film and literature portray. He’s showed up to the roundtable with a new haircut. Hotch asks him if he’s joined a boyband, which he doesn’t quite get, but Morgan finds very amusing. You catch up to him on his way out of the bullpen and say, “I liked your hair long, but it looks great like this, too.”

That’s when he knows.

The realization is like a punch to the gut, yet it’s not unpleasant. His world feels turned upside down, but upside down is looking like a fine place to be.

And you just carry on like nothing’s happened, like you haven’t just irreversibly changed his life with twelve words.

---

Spencer spends a few weeks sitting with this new information, mulling over his feelings and weighing his options.

Does he tell you he loves you? The FBI holds annual seminars discouraging fraternization between employees, but it’s mostly aimed towards preventing relationships between supervisors and their subordinates. There’s nothing in the regulations preventing two agents in the same standing from dating (which he knows because he’s read the entire handbook). A visit to HR and a form filed away makes that perfectly acceptable.

But as much as he wants to be with you, he’s terrified of losing your friendship. It’s one of the most important things in his life. If he confesses and you don’t return his feelings, it very well could ruin it. Things would never be the same between the two of you again. He can hardly tolerate the thought of that.

He has everything to lose, yet also everything to gain.

All of his speculation is operating under the assumption that you’re single, but he’s confident in that. You tell each other everything—there’s no way you wouldn’t mention seeing someone. You’ve always told him about any dates you’ve gone on in the past. And if, for some reason, you’d keep it a secret, he’s a profiler. He studies human behavior. He’d notice something going on.

Spencer finds out he’s wrong in what he thinks must be the worst possible way, because you don’t tell him yourself. He finds out you’re taken by accident.

It’s only a few weeks after JJ’s forced departure. They’ve just wrapped up a case in Connecticut, and Hotch postpones their flight home to the next morning so they can all get some solid rest after a grueling three days. Rossi offers to take them out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and everyone takes him up on it.

You and Emily excuse yourselves a bit earlier than normal, but he knows he’s not the only one hurting over JJ, so he chalks it up to that. He finds himself following suit not even five minutes later when he fails to stifle his seventh yawn of the night. He steps off the elevator to the fifth floor and hears some quiet giggling from down the hall, but doesn’t think anything of it, just heads towards the room he’s sharing with Derek. It’s the door right after the one leading to the room you’re sharing with Emily, so there’s no way for him to avoid seeing what breaks his heart.

Emily has her hands on your waist as she presses your back against the door. You’re trying to scan the keycard and open the door from behind, a task you’re struggling with because she won’t stop kissing you.

Spencer freezes, his own keycard dropping from his fingers onto the plush carpet.

“Emily, Emily,” you whisper against her lips, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. “You have to let me open the door.”

“Mmm, fine,” she relents with an exaggerated sigh. She presses a kiss to your nose before taking a small step back so you can turn and scan the card.

Your eyes leave Emily’s face and land on his. You just stare at each other for a moment, unmoving.

Emily notices, of course, and asks you, “what’s wrong, baby?” before following your gaze to him.

That finally snaps Spencer out of his daze and he blurts out, “Sorry!” His voice cracks and he clears his throat as he bends down to pick his keycard back up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, to—disturb you. I’m just, just really tired and I’m gonna go to bed now.” He keeps his eyes on the carpet as he passes by the two of you, ignoring you when you say his name.

“Reid—” Emily starts, but he’s already letting the heavy door fall shut behind him and pressing his back against it. His breathing is shaky and he grips the strap of his satchel tightly. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights—he knows they’d be too much right now—and starts to sway from side to side in an attempt to self-soothe.

It doesn’t work, so he begins pacing across the room, back and forth and back and forth until he stumbles over Derek’s go bag and any semblance of control he had breaks. His tie feels too tight and the way his bag is thumping against his thigh as he walks is maddening. He pushes his satchel off of his body as fast as he can, then claws at the knot of his tie, pulling on it until it’s loose enough to slide off over his head. He throws it across the room.

He starts pacing again, unable to stop one of his hands from flapping as his breathing grows erratic. He trips over Derek’s bag again and kicks it in retaliation, just barely holding back a shriek of frustration and agony and panic because oh god oh god I can’t breathe it’s all too much, too much, I can’t breathe.

Spencer can’t breathe because he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, and you don’t love him back.

---

He loses time.

It happens, sometimes, when he has a shutdown.

One moment he’s pacing across the hotel room floor, trying in vain to catch his breath, and the next he’s letting out an involuntary whine when the room lights turn on. Whoever flipped the switch turns them back off immediately.

Slowly, Spencer comes back to himself.

He’s sitting on one of the beds, hugging a pillow to his chest as he rocks back and forth. His back thumps lightly against the headboard with each motion. He can breathe again, but they’re the wobbling breathes that come after crying. He touches his face and it feels wet.

“Reid.”

It’s a whisper from across the room, and he tenses on instinct.

“Reid, it’s Morgan,” it continues, and Spencer relaxes. He recognizes his friend’s voice now. He makes a small humming noise to indicate that he’s listening.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark now and he can see the vague shape of Morgan walk forward and sit on the bed across from his. “Are you okay, kid?”

Spencer’s breath hitches as he tries to respond. “I.... no,” he whispers. He hasn’t remembered what happened yet—something else that can happen when he spirals—but he feels all hollowed out inside, like someone has scooped out everything that’s him and left behind only a deep, aching pain in their wake.

“What happened?” Morgan asks quietly.

“What happened,” Spencer repeats under his breath. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes as he thinks. What happened. What happened, Spencer?

“You left dinner,” Morgan prompts. “You said you were tired and were going to go to bed.”

That’s right. He left the table and headed to the elevator. Got off on the fifth floor. Walked down the hallway to their room and found—

It comes back in a rush, without warning.

You’re laughing as Emily kisses you, the hand not struggling with your keycard tangled in her hair. Emily places an affectionate kiss on your nose when she pulls away. You freeze when you see him, and Emily calls you baby.

The memory takes his breath away again, and he feels hot tears falling down his cheeks.

“Reid, Reid.” Morgan’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Stay with me. You’re okay, kid. You’re okay.”

All Spencer can do is shake his head, because he’s not okay, he’s so terribly far away from okay right now.

“Tell me what happened, kid,” Morgan urges. “Then I can help you.”

Spencer lets out a humorless laugh. Can’t Morgan see that there’s nothing he can do, can’t he see that Spencer’s in a thousand pieces on the floor? “You can’t help me,” he says, his voice hoarse from countless tears he doesn’t remember shedding.

“You don’t know that. How about you tell me what’s wrong, and then I can decide?”

“No, I do know that, Morgan,” he snaps. His rational brain recognizes that he’s acting out, that Morgan doesn’t deserve his anger; he’s not who Spencer’s actually angry at. But his emotional brain is the one running the show right now, so he continues, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Morgan asks calmly. He’s keeping his cool, trying to deescalate the situation, and that makes Spencer even more upset. He doesn’t want to calm down, he can’t calm down, not when his world is falling apart.

“Did you know that Emily and (Y/N) are—are fucking?” he spits out. He can’t bring himself to say that you’re in love, despite the fact that the way you were looking at Emily can’t mean anything other than that.

“I... No, I didn’t, Reid,” Morgan replies. He’s not lying, but Spencer almost wishes he was, just so he could have someone to yell at right now. “Why is that upsetting for you?”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He’d never admitted his feelings about you out loud before, not even to himself, and he sure as hell won’t do it now. He knows the moment Morgan figures it out, because he can hear him sigh.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says. “I know how you feel.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffs. “Derek Morgan, god’s gift to women, knows how I feel right now.”

“Come on, Reid. Being able to leave a bar with someone on my arm doesn’t make me immune to the pain of liking someone who doesn’t like me back.” Derek’s voice is gentle, so much more gentle than he deserves right now, considering all Spencer’s done since he stepped foot in their room is lash out at him.

“I don’t like her, Morgan,” he says quietly. “I love her.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t try and reassure him that he’s okay, that he’ll get over it. He doesn’t use that awful line of there’s plenty of fish in the sea. He just sits in silence with him. It’s exactly what Spencer needs. He doesn’t know how Morgan knows this when he didn’t himself.

Derek always seems to just know.

---

The morning comes before he’s ready to face it.

He wakes up to the sound of the shower running. His head hurts and his eyes feel puffy and sore. A beam of light is cutting through a gap in the curtains, landing on his face.

Spencer rolls over in bed and curls in on himself as his memories from the night before catch up to him. He stays like that, a lump under the covers, until Morgan comes out of the bathroom freshly showered.

“Hey, kid,” he says. “You awake?”

Spencer just grunts in response, unwilling to do anything that isn’t staying wrapped up in this cocoon of blankets. You’ve always called him a “Spencerrito” when he does this. He pretends to hate the nickname, but really, he finds it endearing. Now, though, it just hurts.

Any thought of you and the little things you do, the special things you do, the things that make butterflies sprout in his stomach, things that just yesterday made him feel warm inside, now make him ache all over.

“The jet’s set to take off in about an hour,” Morgan tells him. “If you don’t wanna fly, we can drive back together.”

The offer is tempting; spending an hour in close quarters with you and Emily knowing what he knows now, is not his idea of a good time. But he knows what he has to do. He’s known from the moment he saw the way you looked at Emily last night.

About a year ago, you’d come to his apartment on a Saturday night, looking truly downtrodden. You had been on a date, but it didn’t go well. “I’m scared I’ll never find someone,” you’d confided in him, your eyes filling with tears. “What if there’s no one out there for me, Spence?”

He hadn’t been sure how to answer. After all, he often felt the same way. So he’d put your favorite movie on the TV, dug some ice cream out from the back of his freezer, and stayed up late with you, watching one movie after another until you both dozed off in a tangle of limbs and blankets on his couch.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position on the hotel bed and looks at Morgan through the strands of hair hanging in his eyes. “You can’t tell her.”

Morgan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I wasn’t going to, Reid.”

“I mean it,” Spencer insists. “(Y/N) can’t know. Emily, either. They... I don’t want to ruin this for her.”

“Hey,” Derek says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “My lips are sealed, kid. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Spencer sighs. “Thanks,” he mutters, then attempts to rub the sleep from his eyes. “An hour, you said?”

---

He sequesters himself in one of the corner seats on the jet. He gets multiple worried and confused glances from everyone, including you, but no one pushes, as his body language just about screams, “leave me alone.”

Twenty minutes into the flight, someone slides into the seat across from him and he reluctantly looks up from his book. It’s Emily, looking properly nervous, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that it’s not you.

He is sure that he doesn’t want to be talking to Emily right now, though. She took you, she took you, she took you, she took you, runs relentlessly through his mind. He pushes the thought away, glancing down at his book and running his finger across the pages to try and keep himself calm.

“Reid,” she starts hesitantly, and he drags his eyes back up. “I know you’re mad that (Y/N) didn’t tell you about us.”

Well, you’re not wrong, he thinks bitterly. It’s just not for the reason you assume, Emily.

“But, um, that’s not on her,” she continues. “I asked her not to. And it wasn’t just you. We didn’t tell anyone. Only Hotch knew before last night, and that’s because we had to tell him.”

“Why?” Spencer asks bluntly. He does, technically, know the answer. Emily is very private when it comes to her life outside of work. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to go around announcing her relationship status.

But Spencer doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how she can be in love and not want to shout it from the rooftops. It doesn’t make any sense to him that she wouldn’t want to show you off and introduce you as my girlfriend. He can’t comprehend how she can have you, be loved by you, and not want everyone to know it.

Emily’s slightly taken aback by his question, and she bites her lip as she considers how to answer. “I just... really prefer to keep my work and personal life as separate as possible,” is what she settles on.

“Kinda impossible to do that when you’re seeing a coworker,” Spencer shoots back, then mentally scolds himself. You said you wouldn’t ruin this for her, Spencer. Don’t ruin this for (Y/N).

Her chuckle is nervous. “Well, yeah,” she concedes. “But we make it work.”

Spencer then asks a question he doesn’t really want to know the answer to before he can stop himself. “How long?”

Emily’s eyes fall to her hands as she poorly hides a smile. “Eight months.”

Eight months. Eight months. You’ve been with Emily for eight fucking months, and you never told him, never even hinted at the fact that you were seeing someone. You kept him in the dark for eight months.

You let him fall in love with you when your heart already belonged to someone else.

He doesn’t want to be mad at you. He knows he’s not being fair. He really, honestly, wants to be happy for you, happy that you found what you’ve been searching for, but reality seems hellbent on making that as difficult for him as possible.

“Please,” Emily says, “if you’re going to be mad, be mad at me. I was the one who asked her to do this.”

He stares down at his book for a full three minutes before finally muttering, “Alright.”

He sees her shoulders slump in relief in his peripheral vision. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then she leaves.

Spencer watches her walk across the jet to the couch and sit down next to you. He looks down before you can look at him because he knows he won’t be able to handle what he’ll see in your eyes. It’ll be love in your eyes, but love that’s not directed at him.

Emily took you from him, she took you, she took you, his mind repeats until Spencer makes the first of what’s to be many attempts to accept the truth.

Emily didn’t take you from him. You were never his to begin with.

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

tell me what you thought here!

#spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #angst #spencer reid #emily prentiss #my fic

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ssa-babygirl · 4 years

Text

Out of My League [Part 3]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: Nothing brings two friends together like a bit of grief with a side of daddy issues. (Mixed POV, includes flashbacks)

Warning(s): As the summary states, angst, grief and daddy issues, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of cancer, a few swear words, i think that’s it??? i use the word “smile” like 138407894 times i’m so sorry i hate noticing my crutch words

Author’s Note: I am SO sorry how long this took I honestly have no excuse, this chapter isn’t even that great but this is only two thirds of what I actually intended this part to be so GUESS WHAT I SPLIT IT UP!!!! the next part shouldn’t take too long (I say that but watch it’s gonna take like another year) and it’s gonna be super fluffy so DON’T Y’ALL WORRY IT’S GONNA BE FLUFF CENTRAL FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF CHAPTERS

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

WASHINGTON D.C., 2007

(Reader POV)

You had only been to D.C. a few times before to visit your dad, normally under happier circumstances, such as him getting sworn in for another term, but this time was not the case. You got the phone call from your mother the evening before when you quickly packed yours and Jamie’s bags for the flight that left later that night. The few hours you had spent in D.C. already felt like long days. You were physically and emotionally exhausted. Jamie had never been on a plane before and was grappling with the effects of jet lag.

You needed a bit of a pick-me-up yourself, so you ran over to a coffee shop for a bit of a change of scenery. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when you heard your name being called, but not by the barista making your drinks, but by a familiar voice that you had only heard over the phone for a couple of months since his last visit home. You turned around to face the source and locked eyes with Spencer.

“Hey!” You smiled, trying your best to not look like you had just had the longest 24 hours of your life.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say you were gonna be in town?”

“I didn’t know I was gonna be in town until last night!” Spencer could see right through you. He pursed his lips, not asking what was wrong yet, but still opting to check-in and make sure you’re okay.

“How are you feeling? Jet lagged?”

“Some profiler.” Your chuckle came out more annoyed than you would have liked it to.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, just getting some coffee--”

“No, like, are you okay?” He knew something was wrong, he wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite, by a long shot.

“I’m fine, Spence,” you lied through your teeth.

“Then who isn’t?” Panic and worry flashed across his face, “Is Jamie okay?

“Yes! He’s fine!” You couldn’t help but smile at the relief Spencer displayed that your son was safe and well, his hand coming up to rest over his heart. You hesitated for a second before giving in and telling him why you seemed so off, “My dad’s sick in the hospital.”

“Oh! Do they know what’s wrong with him?”

“Yep. Stage 4 lung cancer.” Your dad had been a smoker for most of your life. He tried to quit after Jamie was born, but the damage had already been done.

Spencer looked genuinely heartbroken as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of what to say next “Do you know how much time he has?”

“Couple of weeks if we’re lucky.”

His eyebrow furrowed and his golden eyes softened to an impossible degree, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This wasn’t sudden, we’ve been expecting it, but when the doctor says eight to twelve months, and you get through month eight, you start hoping it’s gonna be twelve.”

“Are you going back to the hospital now?”

“Yeah-”

“I’ll come with you!”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t have to be there for another hour and,” he checks his watch, which was pulled over the sleeve of his dark gray cardigan, “fifty-six minutes.”

“The hospital’s out of the way and you hate being late.”

“I hate the thought of you going through this alone even more.” You tried to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling that gave you but ultimately failed. Those big brown eyes refused to stop studying your face, analyzing any signs that you needed him, which to be fair, you did.

“I’m not alone, I got Jamie and my mom.”

“Even more the reason for me to want to go with you.” He finally dropped the solemn frown and took up a bright smile instead. You swore his grin was contagious because, by the time you both got your coffees, you were smiling just as wide.

You drove back to the hospital in comfortable silence. Walking back to your father’s room felt easier with him by your side. Jamie looked up from his drawing as he saw you approach, beaming at you and his favorite federal agent.

“Doctor Spencer!” He came running up to him and hugging his legs.

“Hey, little man!” Spencer ruffled his hair and grinned down at the tiny human squeezing his arms around his thigh.

Your mother looked up from her book, “Doctor? Spencer? Wait. As in…”

“Yeah, mom.”

She stands and wraps him in a hug, “Oh my goodness, sweetheart, you got so big! You’re all grown up! Oh, and you’re cute, too!” She pinched his now pink cheek as his face twisted into a bashful smile, “Right, Y/N? Spencer got cute!”

Now you were blushing a little.

Why am I blushing? I don’t blush over Spencer!

You pursed your lips and looked him up and down. His striped tie was crooked under his cardigan. His long hair was a bit shaggy, as if he rolled out of bed, showered, and decided to go to work. You just laughed nervously as you met Spencer’s eyes. God, those eyes. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

“You definitely grew into your looks. Honey, this is Spencer. Remember the boy that used to tutor Y/N?”

“Oh, nice to finally meet you, son, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your father shifted in his bed, managing to sit up slightly.

“You too, sir, I just wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

“Don’t give me any of that ‘sir’ crap, I got enough of that working on the Hill,” your father chuckled but his hearty laugh quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Your mother sat back down on the bed next to him and fed him some ice chips to keep him hydrated.

“So, Spencer, Y/N says you work for the FBI now?” She turns her attention away from her husband and forces a smile.

“Yes! I do.”

You took a seat and sipped your coffee, “He was on the team that helped save Jamie, remember?”

“What division are you in?” Your dad asked.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“I got some buddies in the bureau, who’s your supervisor?”

“Aaron Hotchner?”

“Oh, I knew him in his prosecutor days. Helluva lawyer, he got some of my clients put away.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, they were guilty, weren’t they?”

Spencer’s phone rang in his pocket, “Speaking of which, I have to go. Got a case.”

“Go! Don’t be late!”

“Go catch the bad guy, Doctor Spencer!”

“Will do, Jamie.” He ruffled his hair before turning to your parents, “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, it was great seeing you.”

“Bye, sweetheart, don’t be a stranger!”

“I’ll walk you out, return the favor.” You walked quietly with him.

“Listen, I don’t know when I’ll be home from this, but I’ll let you know when I get back, and if you’re still here just give me a call, okay?”

“Of course, Spence. Now go catch the bad guy!” You grinned as you parroted your son’s words. He returned your smile and pulled you into a hug. You could feel tears brimming in your eyes, but you fought it off best you could. Spencer could still sense your pain and hugged you as tight as possible. You were the one to pull away first, patting his back and forcing your pursed lips into a smile. His phone started to ring shortly after.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

(Spencer’s POV)

The case went on for too long. Two whole weeks passed before we were able to come home from Minneapolis. A man was strangling women with short black hair between the ages 30-40 because they reminded him of his mother, it’s standard stuff, it should have been a pretty cut and dry case, but the guy was almost impossible to find, he was completely off the grid. It took Garcia days to just get us a name, let alone contact information. He killed two other women while we were there. One of them was a mother, she had three kids all under the age of 10. Cases like these were always tough, but Gideon had seen enough to talk us all through it. I still wasn’t used to him being gone.

I couldn’t get any sleep on the jet. The nightmares have been coming back with a vengeance since Gideon left. He was like a father to me, my protector, my mentor, and now I have no one.

That’s hyperbolic; I do have the team, and they miss him too, but I’m pretty much alone out on the field. I know I can go to them, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like to rely on others because when they leave, I’m by myself.

Which is exactly why I am the only one awake on the jet home.

I suppose I wasn’t totally alone, I could call Y/N, but I wouldn’t wanna bother her if she was with her family. She only has so much time left with her dad. I took my phone out of my pocket anyway and saw a missed call from her last night, I hadn’t seen it before because of the case. If she wanted to talk she probably needed to, right?

I mulled it over in my head, and before I could even come to a decision, my fingers worked on autopilot, dialing the same number I had memorized years ago, and hit call.

Las Vegas, 1994

I picked up the book from the top of the pile she set down on the counter, “You’re reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Yeah, for class.”

“If you need any help with that, my mother was a classics professor, I’ve read most of Shakespeare’s works.”

“Really? That’s cool. I’ve read the basics in other classes, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, all that, but this one is definitely my favorite so far.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I don’t know why, but the idea of falling in love with the wrong person just sorta… I dunno… resonates, I guess.”

“Yeah, same here.”

She snorted, “You’re like 12, how would you know about that?”

I bit my lip before explaining, “Reminds me of my parents. They loved each other at one point, obviously, but not enough to stop my dad from leaving us.”

She cringed to herself as if she realized some horrible mistake, “Jeez, I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Two years ago.”

“So it’s just been you and your mom?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at the pencil as she twisted it in between her fingers. Her eyes refused to meet mine. “My dad has worked in D.C. pretty much my whole life, and a lot of the time it was just my mom and me. He was always home for Christmas and birthdays, he came to all my recitals as a kid, but he was gone the rest of the year. I see him maybe… fifteen days out of the year?”

She finally looked up, if only for a second. Seeing her eyes, at last, I took note of the sadness behind them, “Which is fine, it’s better than nothing, but I don’t really have a dad the other 350 days of the year, you know? I could call him, but I don’t, it’s always ‘Sorry sweetheart, I’m a bit busy right now.’”

“Yeah, my dad was always too busy too.”

“I know our situations are still really different, and you probably already know this after two years, but it does get easier.”

Present Day

(Reader POV)

You click the button to answer the call, “Spencer?”

“Hey! We’re landing soon, you still in D.C.?” His voice is scratchy like he had just woken up, or like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a couple of hours.

“Y-yeah! I’m still staying with my mom.”

“How’s your dad?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to, your silence answered his question well enough.

“Oh, shit…” Spencer groaned, “God, Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago?”

“Last week, the funeral was yesterday.” You could hear him grimace over the phone.

“Y/N I am… so sorry I couldn’t be there for you—”

“Don’t be! You had to work, it’s okay, Spencer.”

“I should have called sooner.”

You almost laughed at his tone, “Spencer, you were catching a serial killer, it’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m okay.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. I’m fine.”

“How’s Jamie, god, how’s your mother?”

“She’s holding up. I’m helping her out for a while, I don’t want her to be in this house alone.” You decided to leave out the part about you putting a downpayment on an apartment a couple of blocks away from your mother’s house for now.

“How’s Jamie doing?” He asked with perfect timing as Jamie flopped onto the couch behind you.

“Wanna talk to him? He’s right here.”

“Can I? Please?”

“Jamie, baby, wanna talk to Doctor Spencer?” He didn’t even say yes before he leaped up from his seat and grabbed the phone from your hand.

“Hi, Doc!”

“Hey, little man! How’s it going? How are you?” You could still hear his excited voice even though it was nowhere near your ear anymore. It brought a smile to your face as you saw Jamie light up at the sound of your friend on the other side of the call.

“I’m okay. Did you catch the bad guy?”

“Yes, Jamie, we got him. How’s your mom?”

“She’s saying she’s fine, but she’s still really sad.”

“Well, can you put her back on with me?” Jamie hands the phone back to you and runs off to return to his coloring book and crayons.

You sighed before putting the phone back to your ear, “Don’t worry about me, Spence—”

“Come to the BAU.”

He said the words so fast you almost needed him to repeat it, “What?”

“I mean it, I’ll call you when we land, come visit. Bring Jamie and your mom.”

“Won’t you have a ton of work to do when you land?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I did all my paperwork on the jet.”

“Spencer—”

“Please. I need to see you guys.” He was practically begging. It tugged at your heart in a familiar way, but there was a pit in your stomach that you couldn’t place.

“What happened on the case?”

He sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just come in like, an hour.”

You tried to lighten the mood just a little bit, “My mom’s been obsessively baking, want us to bring you your favorite?”

“Did she make her famous oatmeal cookies?” You could almost see his face and the way his brown eyes lit up, even while he was on a plane hours away.

The image brought a soft smile to your face and sparked a tiny bit of light in your heart, “Yep!”

“Y/N L/N, if you bring me some, I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You owe me nothing, Doctor Reid.”

Security waved you through to the elevator, Spencer had cleared you for entry already. One guard hit the button for the sixth floor and sent you up, one hand holding Jamie’s and the other holding a Tupperware of your mom’s cookies. When the doors opened, you saw the entrance to the bullpen, desks filled with paperwork, and busy agents trying to get it all done. As the three of you crept through the hall to the glass doors, your eyes locked onto Spencer, who was sprawled out in his office chair with a thick book, legs propped up on his desk, and glasses balanced on the ridge of his nose.

“Hi! Who are you here to see?” A chipper blonde with purple cat eyeglasses and curly ponytails waved at you from down the hall.

“Spencer Reid?”

“Oh! He mentioned he’d have visitors, you must be Y/N! I’m Penelope.”

“That’s a pretty name!” Jamie beamed up to the woman, who clutched a hand over her heart and returned his smile.

“Oh! Thank you, sweetheart! What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Jamie!”

“Oh you are just precious, he is precious, Y/N, good kid.”

You laughed at the pair’s enthusiasm, “Thank you, can we just go straight in?”

“Yep! Go ahead!”

You walked up to his desk and placed the cookies next to his computer, pulling his attention away from his book. He turned to look up at you, closing the book and throwing it where his feet rested before he jumped up to wrap his arms around you. Jamie hugged his leg and your mother pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, how are you guys doing?”

“Spencer, we’re fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just examined your face for any sign of a lie. The frustration on his face said he didn’t find one.

“Stop profiling me, I’m okay.”

“Mommy, can I have a cookie now?” Jamie eyed the container like a hawk; he shared Spencer’s love of oatmeal cookies, especially from your mom.

“Right! You brought your cookies, thank you so much, Mrs. L/N.”

“You’re not a kid anymore, honey, you can call me by my first name.”

“No, I absolutely cannot,” he laughed.

“Y/N?”

You turned around and saw the woman who hugged you while you cried when you thought your son was gone: JJ.

“Hi! Good to see you again!” You brought her in for a hug while Spencer continued to catch up with Jamie and your mom.

“You too! Jamie got so big!”

“Yeah, he’s starting 3rd grade soon!” You reached around to ruffle Jamie’s hair.

“When does he start?”

“A few weeks! We gotta go back to school shopping!”

“Ooh, that’s exciting! So you’re heading home soon?”

“Um…” You glanced at Spencer and your mom, who was pestering him about whether or not he had a girlfriend, “Actually, I just thought it would be best for us to stay close to my mom. Jamie likes it here, so we’re actually going to be moving here before school starts.”

“A new school! Are you excited, Jamie?”

“Yeah!”

Spencer, still a blushing mess thanks to your mother’s nosiness, sputtered out “Uh… Excited for what?”

“To move to D.C.!” You raised your hands in a little “Surprise!” motion.

“W-what?” He couldn’t stop himself from looking delighted even if he tried.

“We’re moving here to stay close to my mom.”

“She’s been such a good help,” she gestured to the cookies, half gone over the course of the conversation, “I’m not really ready to give her up just yet.”

“Spence, you should show her around!” JJ’s face had an unreadable look, but I guess that’s what profilers are for “Take her sightseeing. Jamie, have you been to the Washington Monument yet?”

“Nope! Doctor Spencer, can you take us?”

“Sure, little man, you want your mom and grandma to come with?”

“Yes!”

Spencer grinned at him, ruffling his curls before smiling at you. His eyes were scrunched into thin lines from his cheeks, but there was still something behind them. Something you couldn’t quite read. His smile softened slightly and you finally got a clear view of his hazel eyes. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but Jamie cut him off again.

“Ooh! Ooh! Can we go to the Smithsonian?”

“Oh, honey, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that,” JJ joked.

“The kid knows everything, you’ll be there for hours,” a deep voice said behind you.

“Morgan!” You smiled and stretched your arms out to hug him.

“Good to see you again, Y/N.”

When you turned back to Spencer, his warm grin was gone, replaced by a glare directed at Morgan. Had something happened with them? Last you heard they were best friends. Maybe that’s what happened on the case? Maybe that’s why he was so upset on the phone? Whatever it was had to be bad because he barely spoke for the rest of the visit.

A few weeks later, after you were all moved into your new apartment and Jamie was settled into his new school, you called Spencer. He owed you a trip to the Washington Monument. On your little day trip, there was no such thing as silence. Even in the quiet museum, Spencer’s voice filled the air, spewing facts about the monument, the memorial, the exhibits, and everything in between. Jamie loved to learn, so he hung onto every word that he heard.

“Plans for the monument’s development actually started in 1783, before Washington was even elected president. D.C. wasn’t even the capital of the country yet. Washington was actually against the monument because he didn’t want to use public funds for it, but after his death, Congress wanted to build him a mausoleum--”

You didn’t mind the rants. You still loved to listen to him ramble. Even if you didn’t understand what he was talking about sometimes, the sound of his voice was just soothing, especially after the stress of moving across the country.

Jamie got tired after walking around all day after the tour of the National Museum of Natural History and the Washington Monument, so your mom offered to take him home. You planted a kiss to his forehead and ruffled his hair, hugging your mom goodbye as Spencer high fived him and waved as they went off in the direction of home.

“You know, you didn’t have to stay with me. If you wanna go home too, you can.”

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

A small smile crept across his lips, blush rising to his cheeks. He bit his lips and looked down at his feet as he started walking off to the next stop on his little tour.

“Where to now, Doc?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Come on, tell me, tell me!”

“No, ‘cuz then it’s not a surprise!”

“I’m aware of the definition of surprise, you don’t need to have an eidetic memory to know that.” You would just have to rely on your less refined profiling skills to figure out where you were going. You were on foot, so it couldn’t be too far.

“Why aren’t we taking a cab?”

“Because I wanna walk with you.”

Just hail a cab, it takes way less time than--

Oh.

You walked side by side for the remainder of the distance. He did most of the talking, telling you stories about the team. You took notice of the softness in his voice when he talked about Morgan. He wasn’t bitter anymore.

“--And then Garcia answered the phone.”

“Oh, god, what’d she say?”

“‘Talk dirty to me.’”

“No!”

“Yep!”

“She said that to your boss.”

“Morgan was mortified, you should have seen his face.”

You looked at him while he grinned at the memory. It was the most at peace you’d seen him in… well, a while.

“So… you guys are cool now?”

The peace was replaced with confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your pace faltered, but you kept walking, “Didn’t you guys…? Weren’t you fighting?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your brows, “No reason.”

Why else would he have been mad at Morgan when I went to visit? You thought, There’s no other reason! Unless…

Oh--

“We’re here!” Spencer stopped in his tracks, looking up at a large white structure with tall windows and stone carvings decorating the walls. You turned and saw the sign out front that read: “Folger Shakespeare Library.”

“Spencer…” You gaped at the sign, a small, awe-filled smile tugging at your lips.

“I remembered how much you loved Shakespeare in school, I thought you’d get a kick out of this.”

“Spencer, this is… This is wonderful!”

“Good surprise?”

“Great surprise!”

You grabbed him by the arm and tugged him up the front steps as he digs through his pockets for his wallet. Once inside, he bought two tickets for the next show: Midsummer Night’s Dream. Your favorite. It didn’t start for another half hour, so he led you to the reading room.

The room was beautiful, to put it lightly. Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The furniture and accents were all done in a dark wood, shelves packed tightly with books. The setting sun shone through the breathtaking stained glass windows. An unlit fireplace rested against the wall. Spencer led you up to the second level, a balcony wrapping around the border of the room.

“Thank you for today,” you beamed, “I haven’t seen Jamie that happy since…”

“I know the feeling. I haven’t felt this okay since…” His gaze dropped to his feet, trying to swallow the words that came out too soon.

“Since what?”

“Since uh...” He glanced back up to your face, “Since Gideon left the team.”

Spencer never told you he left. Agent Gideon kept tabs on Jamie after his rescue. For the last three years, he got a card in the mail on Christmas and his birthday. He always checked in and asked how he was doing. When you went to visit Spencer at the BAU a few weeks ago, you wanted to say hi to Agent Gideon and thank him for his consideration, but you hadn’t seen him. You thought he was just taking a personal day, he worked too hard anyways from what Spencer told you.

“Spence, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words were like a spark that shocked your heart awake from a lovely sleep, and now it was upset to be so rudely awoken, “Of course I care! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t wanna know the reason you’ve been so… off.”

“What do you mean ‘off?’”

“You don’t have to be a profiler to see you haven’t been yourself in… when did Gideon leave?”

He played with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater and looked back down at his feet, the toe of his converse nudging at the emerald green carpet, “Couple of months ago.”

“You could have told me.”

“You’ve had your own stuff going on. It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t have to convince yourself that you aren’t having a hard time just because I am. You don’t always have to be the hero.”

“Neither do you, you know.”

“I really am fine.”

“Y/N, he was your dad, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“I am, okay?” You snapped, “I miss him like hell! He was always just one phone call away and now…” One hand carded through your hair as you inhaled deeply, placing your other hand on the banister beside you to steady yourself.

“I’m not going to pretend that our situations are the same because they aren’t, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me when we were kids.” He placed his hand close to yours on the banister, your fingers almost touching. Almost. “It gets easier, not seeing him every day. But just ‘cuz he wasn’t around doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad.”

You force a smile, “Thanks, Spence.”

“Of course.” He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. The hug wasn’t particularly emotional. Neither one of you felt like you were about to cry, it just felt nice to be in each other's embrace.

“Show’s starting soon.” He muttered into your ear before pulling away, walking off towards the theater with you following close behind.

Taglist~~~

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Love & Other Drugs (Spencer Reid Imagine) Part 1

*not my gif

Summary: Toxicologist Reader meets her match in the ever intriguing Doctor Reid. Category: Fluff Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: drug addiction, love addiction, neglect Word Count: 4.1k

This is going to be a two-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Love is an addiction.

Not only is there behavioral evidence that suggests love can be addictive, but thanks to recent studies, we also have neurochemical and neuroimaging evidence to support the theory. Multiple feel-good chemicals are released when we are in love. These include dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin.

The roots of love addiction extend back to early childhood. A history of abandonment, neglect, or inadequate/ inconsistent nurturing can lead to a love addiction. Like other addictions, a love addiction is often the result of insecure attachment patterns.

It may sound strange to equate love with addiction. After all, love is perhaps the most positive of emotions; it results in many health benefits and has life-lengthening effects. It may only be, then, that a dysfunctional relationship to love is necessary in order to consider a person "addicted."

Love is like a drug and we don't care about the long term side effects; we just care about how high we can get.

So with that being said . . . how high could I get?

A question that I would soon find the answer to following a visit from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.

“I’m Agent Hotchner. We spoke on the phone briefly.”

The dark-haired man with the gentle eyes and dimples greeted. I recognized his voice, despite it being deeper in person. No complaints, though.

“So what was it you needed a toxicology report on?”

Fully expecting the same gentleman to respond, a younger man behind him cut into the conversation, answering for the agent.

“This cloth,” He dangled the evidence bag in front of my face and practically let it drop when I took it from him, rather than making sure the bag landed safely in my hands like he should’ve given the fact that this was something vital to their case. So valuable, even, they requested to have the results expedited.

“I suspect it’s chloroform, but they said we should bring it to a professional to be sure.” He finished his statement by pursing his lips into a thin, straight line, which oddly enough, I think was his version of a smile, and a not very agreeable one at that.

Simply by the way he handed me the evidence bag and the tone of his voice as he said, “professional,” like the word stung his tongue and tasted like acid, I knew he was offended that he wasn’t deemed fit to analyze the chemical on the cloth. He surely thought of himself in the highest regard and to ask for help from someone else, much less a woman, was insulting to him. I was certain that he wasn’t doing this out of his own will, but that his superior most likely assured him it was just a precaution so as not to bruise that fragile ego. I had a feeling the only person he would listen to was a male superior, most likely from the absence of a proper one. A father.

I could be a profiler, too, you know?

“Great. I’ll let you know what I find when I’m done.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I should’ve anticipated he’d have the audacity to invite himself as if this was a social gathering of some sort, which it was most certainly not. If anything, it was degrading to me that he insisted he come. Like he didn’t trust me to be on my own, like he was doubting my intelligence. I didn’t need a babysitter, chaperone, or supervisor, and I was going to make sure he knew that.

“What’s your name again?” I asked, merely as a subliminal reminder that if he had said his name, I forgot it within seconds because he was that forgettable.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

He didn’t ask for my name in return, and I had to ponder if it was his way of saying that he just didn’t care. How classy of him.

Two can play that game.

When he stepped foot into my beloved lab, or my lair as I liked to call it, I could feel the environment being tainted with his passive-aggressiveness, and I almost wanted to push him right back out the door so the dark cloud in the room would leave with him, but I settled for a kinder approach, politely asking if he could wear the appropriate protective gear if he insisted being so close to the chemical - the chemical I was to inspect. Again, the chemical I was to inspect - me. Not him - me.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just be right here.”

I suppose his refusal to abide by my simple precaution of wearing a coat, goggles, and gloves was made up for by his promise to maintain a distance away from me, so I didn’t push the topic any further out of fear that he might change his mind and come closer and meddle with my space. I had my own personal bubble around me and I would go feral if he invaded it, whether it was knowingly or unknowingly.

We’d spent probably two hours or so there in silence, which I quite liked, but I couldn’t help but notice how often he’d excuse himself to leave for the bathroom. I let it slide since I was too busy with my toxicology report anyway, and why would I complain about those few extra minutes of peace I got when he was away?

“This is so old fashioned,” I said in sheer awe as I inspected the small square of fabric that had clearly been doused with a euphoriant. “I haven’t seen this being used as a sedative since like the 1920s in those soundless black and white movies.”

I was too engaged with the findings of my microscope to pay attention to the “info-dump” that was brewing from the lanky doctor so it came as a shock to me when all that I had said in light of the situation would be refuted with facts.

“Actually, Chloroform was a popular anesthetic from the mid-1800s to around 1900, mostly around the time of the Civil War - not the 1920s.”

I pulled my eye away from the lens of the microscope to inspect the speaking specimen. He looked quite proud of himself for knowing and saying what he did, and for that, I was almost perturbed all the more by his bravado, but given his physical stature, I suppose the skill of his brain was how he compensated for what he lacked in appearance, so I let it pass to boost his ego.

“Yeah, I was never really a history buff. I guess that’s why I got degrees in Chemistry and Toxicology instead.” Hitting him right back with that pursed-lip smile at the end, mirroring his own.

My comment didn’t settle well, and I could tell from the way he scratched at his arm like my words were making him itchy as they seeped into his skin. But I liked to make people uncomfortable, as awful as that sounds. Yet I had a sneaking suspicion, I wasn’t the true cause for why he was itching his arm.

“But um, you . . . you were actually right about the silent films. Those were exceedingly popular in the 1920s.”

His sheepish words seemed to suggest a surrender. As if he was giving me the satisfaction of knowing I was right about something so that I might not be closed off to him entirely, which I was most certainly not, even if it seemed like it. He might have aggravated me slightly with his coldness, but he was arguably the most interesting character out of that team, and I had a feeling he didn’t usually act like this.

Antsy, fidgeting.

Unkempt in appearance.

Often lost in thought.

Depressed breathing.

Pinpoint pupils.

The signs were all there, but that wasn’t what surprised me. I was just surprised that in a team of profilers, no one else seemed to notice him and his addiction, and if they did - they just didn’t care.

“What drugs are you on?”

I asked bluntly with a slight head tilt to deepen the notion of my harmless curiosity to which he definitely misinterpreted as a harmful curiosity. I was never one to address things with subtlety and grace, but it seemed like a waste of time to approach this situation with any other attitude than candidness. If my intuition was correct, which I knew it was, he was months into his substance abuse and at this rate, if he wasn’t receiving any help, he’d need to soon.

“Excuse me?”

“I may not be a profiler, but I’m a toxicologist and I can tell when someone’s on drugs in the same way you can tell when someone’s lying - through studying their behavior. And so far, I’ve noticed that the left cuff of your shirt is unbuttoned, which makes sense considering you’re right-handed, giving you easier access and making it faster to inject whatever it is your taking, but I should warn you - you’re not fast enough. Even though your ‘visits’ to the bathroom have shortened minute by minute, I haven’t been blind to the fact that you’ve gone there at least five times since you’ve been here, and don’t even bother lying. I know you aren’t peeing because you haven’t touched that cup of coffee or the bottled water whatsoever. So let me ask you again - what drugs are you on?”

From the baffled look on his face, I could tell he had never met his match.

Not until now.

His eyes were narrowing in on me darkly, and I feared to see his “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” duality, but I was also curious if the oncoming switch in personality would reveal anything more to me about what he was using. However, that was quickly cut short by his sudden burst out of the room, giving me no opportunity to see his fit of rage unfold, and I had to believe that he knew if he stayed a second longer, I would’ve easily been able to distinguish the drug he was on. I wouldn’t put it past him, he was smart enough, that much I could admit.

I followed him with my eyes as he flew out of the lab, dodging the stupefied Agent Gideon.

“Reid?” Gideon called out to him, as if he was a dad checking on his hormonal teenager, but neither I, nor the agent, heard a response back.

Now, turning his attention back to me, Agent Gideon entered the lab, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together in anticipation, completely disregarding what happened only moments ago. It wasn’t even like he was truly uncomfortable and trying to brush it aside so that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable, it just genuinely seemed like he didn’t care. He didn’t feel the need to bring any more attention to the situation, but judging from his reaction, I had doubts on if there had been any attention being paid to the doctor’s drug addiction - ever.

“So, what do you got for me?”

“Two things - first, this is clearly Deuterated Chloroform, which is an isotopologue of Chloroform with a single deuterium atom. CDCl 3 is a common solvent used in NMR spectroscopy-” I paused when I realized my toxicology jargon was flying right over his head. “So in other words, this type of Chloroform can daze or knock out people even when it's consumed in small doses.”

“And the second thing?”

Without missing a beat, I asked, “What’s up with that guy?”

His hands unfolded to reach out on either side of him in a shrug as a sign of incomprehensiveness. “Spencer?” He finally pointed with his thumb to the door, which Dr. Reid had just stormed out of.

I nodded.

“Ehh, I prefer to leave it alone.” He threw his hands up in surrender, but I wasn’t about to let him maintain his attitude of ignorance.

“Why? Isn’t it better if he talks about it? I mean, it’s obvious there’s something going on. He’s clearly displaying habits of an addict.”

The room was shot dead with silence. I could tell he couldn’t believe I’d just said that so bluntly, addressing what I assumed he had yet to even come to terms with.

“Agent Gideon, I mean this as no insult to you, but I’d surely hope that, even as someone that analyzes behavior for a living, you were sincerely unaware of his addiction and not deliberately avoiding addressing it only because it makes you uncomfortable. Addiction is a very common thing, more common that people would like to believe, and I would hate for Dr. Reid to feel that he’s alone in a room full of people that could help him - that should help him. Or that he can’t turn to any of you without being treated like he's a victim in one of your cases.”

I wasn’t exactly sure which of my words was the one that crossed the line, but I knew, as a whole, I ventured far beyond the boundary. He didn’t even answer me verbally, but his body language did the talking, and if I heard it correctly, he was dumbfounded by my audacity.

“You have a good day, Miss.” He finally said with a forced smile, while snatching the evidence bag from my hand.

Amicably, I had to let it go the minute Agent Gideon left my lab. I shouldn’t care more about the doctor’s wellbeing than his own coworkers, than his own team - than his own family. And even though I was incredibly passionate about proper drug use, I couldn’t be too invested in the care of Dr. Reid. At least not until he started caring about me, too.

After my minor back-to-back confrontations, I was more than ready to go home. Once I cleaned my station and removed my gear, I was out the door. When I got to the parking lot, I saw that on either side of my car, there were two black SUVs I’d never seen here before. The government license plates were all that I needed to see to come to the conclusion that they belonged to the BAU. Having just instigated something with both Spencer and Agent Gideon, I knew I had to leave before they did, otherwise I might risk running into them, which would’ve been utterly humiliating.

It was the sudden chirp of familiar voices that caused me to bolt into my car and try and start it, but naturally, buried somewhere within the Bermuda Triangle that was my purse were my keys, and I couldn’t find them in time.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I faintly heard from behind me.

Keys! Keys! Keys! Where are you?

With animalistic speed, I rummaged through my purse, literally starving for the feeling of my fingers touching the jagged metal and the remote of my keys before I’d have to -

“Looking for these?”

I tore my eyes away from my purse to peer up at the sound of my jingling keys as they hung from the index finger of the man I shouldn’t care about. I wryly chuckled, taking them with a goony smile when he handed them to me with much more caution than earlier when he handed me the evidence bag.

“I saw you left them behind in the lab and I figured you might need those. Especially if you’re trying to run away from me.”

“I’m not trying to run away from you.”

My words were unaffecting, only leaving him with more reason to doubt me, evidenced by his deadpan stare.

“Really! I wasn’t!” It was beyond me why I thought speaking more loudly would make him digest my words any better, but at any rate, it did.

“Okay, okay, relax. I believe you.”

We shared a brief laugh, the euphoria of which was fleeting, and then, we were right back to where we were before. Back to square one - not knowing what to say. The uncomfortable silence pressed me to leave, but he must’ve registered my sudden movement as a tell that he needed to say something so captivating, so shocking, so bewitching, that would stop me from leaving.

“Thank you.”

To say that I was baffled would be a gross understatement. I was in complete awe and disbelief. Hearing those words from his lips was enough to stun me, but even more so because of how sincere it sounded.

“I was going to come back and apologize when I overheard you and Gideon talking about me. You left before I got the chance to thank you for what you said back there. So . . . thank you.”

And yet again, he thanked me, and surprisingly, it wasn’t any less pleasing to the ear.

“Yeah, of course. I was just worried about you that’s all.” Unknowingly, I revealed too much out of the blinding bliss of the moment.

“You were worried about me?”

His own question brought me to the realization of what I’d just said, and in his tone of voice, I also became aware of the connotation behind it. He already knew the answer and just wanted to hear me say it again, so I nudged him playfully to avoid reciting my confession.

“Actually, I take that back. Why should I worry over someone who didn’t even bother to know my name?”

He looked quite offended; his neck recoiled in distaste.

“I know your name.”

“You didn’t ask me for it.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know it, (y/n).” Drawing out my name just to demonstrate his honest knowledge of it.

“Actually, it’s Doctor.” I corrected, earning a hearty laugh from him, one that made him throw his head back with an open mouthed smile.

In my playful jest, he was reminded of himself and his own uncannily similar humor. He could see himself in me. (Mind you, this distinction was completely unknown to me). It was only he that could see we were foils of each other - parallel lines that ran side by side, never fated to intersect but forging a connection in spite of that; a connection formed on the basis of close proximity and congruence in shape.

“Anyway, thanks for bringing my keys. I’ll see you later.”

Our goodbye was too quick, I knew that, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep talking to him and avoid bringing up the conversation of his addiction. I wasn’t nuanced like that. I was too eager to solve problems head on to keep my determination at bay. I couldn’t dance around the very thing that was killing him slowly. I just couldn’t. Had I drawn out our conversation any longer, I’d sooner touch that tender wound he restlessly picked at; a wound that might never properly or fully heal if he kept doing so. I knew he was too stubborn to let me clean it, so in favor of his pride, he insisted he could fix it himself and simply put a band-aid on it in an attempt to do just that, foolishly thinking it would be enough. However, like a real gash, tear, or cut, it may only be worsened by the lack of adequate disinfection. He could just as easily reap the benefits as he could suffer the consequences of the absence of a proper enabling agent that stings badly, but successfully targets the root of the problem. The choice was up to him. Would he suffer the consequences or reap the benefits? To be quite frank, there’s no way around that disinfectant. It’s that or nothing, and I found myself to be the confrontation to the problem that he lacked. So now that I’d addressed it, it was up to him to decide what to do. I had done all that I could, and I had to accept that.

Maybe a minute more of talking to him and I might’ve even seen that connection he was seeing. I assure you, a few more soulful glances was all it would take to kill me in cold blood. If you could get intoxicated on someone’s eyes, I’d be drunk on his. I saw worlds behind them - raging waters of words unspoken bursting from overflowing dams, calm seas of his thank you’s, maybe even lazy rivers of useless stored information and memorized book passages I could dawdle in forever. An overwhelming guilt consumed me when I realized I’d only been staring at them for as long as I had to probe further and satisfy my own selfish desires. I felt all the worse for the unsuspecting object of my gaze who was led to the hopeful, naive notion that I was looking at him out of admiration. He had no clue what I was really doing.

I was profiling him.

Earlier in the day, I would’ve gloated about my ability to use his own job against him by employing the skill of profiling, but now, it was different. He was different. The guilt was escalating quickly and I made haste to get in my car, not even waiting to catch his reply to my sudden goodbye before I shut the door. If I had to assume, he must’ve said something in agreement because the minute I turned on my ignition, he stepped out of the way, letting me leave with no protests. Quite haphazardly, I drove out of my parking spot, reducing him to just a blurry figure in my rear view mirror that would haunt my dreams at night and occupy my thoughts in the day. Consider it merely a precaution to part from him so promptly. I needed my distance before I did something we both would have regretted.

Before I started to love him.

. . .

“Positive for Alprazolam. Positive for Carboxy-THC,” I mumbled to myself while I jotted down the results of my preliminary toxicology report. You’d often find me in this state and by that I mean, it’s been more than one occasion where someone walked in on me talking to myself. I found that it was easier to make note of things when I spoke it out loud, even if just to myself in a hushed tone. “Negative for -”

“Am I interrupting you?”

I pulled my eye away from the lens and upwards to the voice beckoning me at the door. To my surprise, it was Spencer.

“No, not at all. What’s up?”

As he made his way to my station, I instinctively shot up in my seat to fix my posture into one more ladylike and graceful, pulling my shoulders back as if there was a string tugging at them. It was a stark contrast to my previous hunched over position that rounded my back out almost to the point of looking like a half-circle. It was the most natural position for me, and arguably more comfortable, too, but now in Spencer’s presence, I wanted to assume a more flattering position. For what reason? I didn’t know.

“I, um . . .” He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his shirt frantically. “I’m going to see a film tonight in Sky Meadows State Park. I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

It was easy to meet his eyes until he said what he did. Reflexively, I looked down at my microscope to shy away from his gaze so he might not see the color forming on my cheeks.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I began. “But I should probably get this report done first.”

I wouldn’t have noticed I was tapping my pen on my paper anxiously had it not been for Spencer’s eyes drifting to the motion. After consciously stopping it, he looked back at me, seeing that similarity again.

I was just as nervous as he was.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Next time, then.”

My heart sank at the visceral blow to his ego. I didn’t intend to shatter his confidence, but by the time he turned on his heels with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets, I knew it was not the first time someone declined an offer of his.

“Actually,” One word was enough to draw him in. “I can finish this up another time. I’d much rather catch that movie with you instead.”

I wish I could tell you that my intentions were pure. That I was going because I knew I would enjoy his company and he would enjoy mine, but that wasn’t it at all. It was that familiar itch again that made my ‘yes’ easier to say.

The itch to dig deeper and to know more.

“Great. I’ll wait outside for you.”

The rational part of me knew that if I couldn’t let his addiction go, it’d be the death of me. But if I did, it’d be the death of him. Literally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #soft angst #love & other drugs

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bauslut · 3 years

Text

ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

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“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,” the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

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