#unsub!hotch fanfiction

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- epilogue

Well, we've reached the end guys. Thank you endlessly for going on this wild ride with me. I didn't really know what to expect when I started posting this fic because I wasn't sure it would be anyone's cup of tea, but as usual, you guys went insane with me for it and it never gets old. Love you guys so so much (and thanks for letting me be the evil author that tortures you with such sad stories) 💛💛

Warnings: sadness. just so, so much sadness.

“I have survived, but I have not been spared.” --Catherynne M. Valente

“You understand the agreement you are entering by accepting this retirement package from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit?” Strauss reads aloud for the tape.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply with a nod, signing your life and career away.

“You are not to disclose any of the details of this case with anyone. Family, friends, coworkers past, present, or future, and so on. You understand?”

It’s not like I want to tell anyone. “Yes, I understand.” You sign again.

“Please give me your credentials.” Your firearm was taken days ago. You slide your badge and keycard across the table toward Strauss. “Thank you.”

She recites her name and title, the date, this case number. You recite your name, your former title, the date. 

The tape clicks. Strauss exhales. You stare blankly at the space in front of you, drained of all energy.

“I am sorry,” Strauss says. “For all of this.”

You look up at her. You nod slowly. “Thank you.”

“If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod. Slow. Everything moved so fast. Now time struggles to breathe.

“You are dismissed,” Strauss says finally. “Thank you for your time. During this interview, and at the FBI.”

You manage a smile. Both of you stood and exchanged formal handshakes, and you left.

The rest of the team is waiting for you in the bullpen by your desk. Your go-bag and cardboard box of your belongings that you packed sit on your chair. 

You don’t say a single word. Rossi pulls you in for a hug first, soothing you while you openly sob into his shoulder. Everyone gathers around you in a group hug, and it isn’t long before everyone is crying, too.

No one knows what else to do. The BAU will never be the same, nor will you, or anyone here. All there is to do is hold one another and cry. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to do anything else.

They help you carry your things to your car. Derek has your go bag over his shoulder. Reid is carrying the cardboard box. Rossi is holding onto your coat until you’re ready for it. Penelope hasn’t let go of your hand. Emily is rubbing perpetual circles into your spine. JJ has her arm linked with yours, and you rest your head on her shoulder in the elevator. 

“Dinner at mine tomorrow,” Rossi says in the elevator. Everyone nods their silent agreement. 

Nothing in the world can fix this feeling or make any of it better, but a homemade dinner with expensive wine in Rossi’s back garden will, at the very least, take the edge off.

Derek insists on driving you to your apartment and you don’t have it in you to argue. All it took was one look from you and he knew.

After another round of hugs, you’re in the passenger seat as Derek drives your car out of the Quantico parking deck for the last time. You fall asleep on the way home.

He wakes you gently when he gets to your apartment, unbuckling you and helping you out. Up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You stand like a ghost in the middle of the kitchen. The place on the counter that once held the bottle of wine you shared with Aaron now sits empty, glaring. The couch where you have tossed and turned countless nights -- and where Aaron once slept -- threatens to swallow you whole. 

You didn’t realize how much of Aaron is in this apartment until he’s gone forever. He’ll never be here again, but there is no getting rid of these memories, his shadow that still dances on the far wall. A time long forgotten, a man that hasn’t existed for some months. 

You turn around to see Morgan watching you, tears filling his eyes. You blink and feel the warm tears rush down your cheeks. Morgan has his arms wrapped around you in the next second, tucking you into his chest.

“I know,” he says softly, propping his chin on the top of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

Your sobs only grow louder, your grip on his shirt tighter. You’ll fall over if he doesn’t hold you up. He holds you up for as long as you need.

“I can’t stay here,” you say, the words muffled into his chest. 

But he hears you. “I know.”

+++

You move out of the apartment the next week, after staying in a guest bedroom at Rossi’s. Derek lets you live in one of the properties he recently renovated, free of charge, until you can find another place of your own.  

You don’t know if you’ll stay in the area, or if you’ll move farther away. The truth is, no amount of distance would suffice. No matter where you go, you’ll forever be running away from the memories of this.

So, you decide to stay close to your friends. Derek becomes Unit Chief (Rossi refused to take on that much responsibility). JJ becomes less liaison and more field agent. Emily toys with the idea of leaving, but nothing sticks. Reid is going nowhere. And as long as Derek is there, Penelope is there. You don’t know what the next years will bring, but for now, everyone is close, and dinners at Rossi’s house are frequent.

You’re in therapy twice a week and meeting with your psychiatrist once a month. You don’t know how much any of it is helping, but you’re able to eat and somewhat sleep, so things are better. Relatively.

Aaron is buried next to Haley and Jack. You visit him once. You haven’t gone back since. But you think about him every day.

Love is a funny, funny thing. For you to still love him after everything that happened, after the attempts on your life. For your heart to still hold onto the small parts, the moments before it all, when he was nothing but a crush, a casual affair, a man you stumbled into bed with while laughing, a man that if he had stuck around a little longer, you might’ve seen a future with. 

Letting go of him means letting go of all of it -- good days included -- and a part of you just isn’t ready for that yet. 

So, you spend your days floating. Making it through. Fighting the ghosts that crawl their way onto your back. Letting them linger and letting them go. One by one. Until the only one left is Aaron himself, hanging off of you, arms around your neck, face nuzzled into your shoulder. 

You’ll always miss him, probably as much as you’ll always love him. The version before he became the person you killed. Part of you died when you fired your gun that day. A part of you that you’ll never be able to get back. But you’re not sure if you want it back. Maybe it was meant to die. The consequence of killing him meant you killed part of yourself, too. 

So, you get through your days as best as you can. As a person half-alive. Forever changed, and not for the better. Always wishing for the past to return, hating the present, and dreading the future.

Because you were happy once -- with Aaron. You don’t know if you’ll ever be happy again.

You dream of him almost every night, though you don't tell your therapist the dreams are that frequent. You dream of what could've been. The life the two of you might've built. A fantasy world where you moved on from the BAU, he stayed Unit Chief, and the two of you grew closer, bought rings, settled down. A life worth living. A life better than the one you got.

He will always be gone. You will never be in his arms ever again. And these are the facts that haunt you every morning when you open your eyes.

You killed a man. Who happened to be the man you loved. Facts you can't escape. A judge ruling in favor of your self-defense doesn't quiet the thoughts, the questions of if you had behaved differently. You took a life. And it was the life you wanted most to save.

In the end, are you any better than he was?

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #unsub!hotch x fem!reader #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch fanfiction #hotch fanfic #unsub!hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

[bau-drabbles]

mafia hotch finding out he has a soft spot for the reader and being confused and slightly angry about it 🥹 (i love our man finding out he’s in love and mafia version?? 😵‍💫)

i love mafia hotch sm 🥹❤️‍🔥 this is so soft and sweet :")) feel free to request anything with mafia hotch! <33

i haven't really worked out the details for this so just pretend for now he's a double agent 😩 also might be ooc 🥲

hotch looked up from his desk, his hands paused as they flipped to the next page. it was utterly useless, he couldn't get much further than a few lines. he was too much in his head as he sighed and slammed the case files down, unable to concentrate on anything.

tonight was a big mission, he couldn't afford to lose his head so easily. he knew his team would be on the case which would only make it that much more harder, he couldn't afford to slack yet the only thing he could think of was you.

the frown on his forehead was unmovable, his face was unreadable as he moved his files away and reached for the half empty tumbler. he let the burn of the alcohol swirl on his tongue, inhaling a deep breath as he sank further into his seat.

hotch never claimed to be perfect, he knows his hands are scarred with the blood of many people. he knows his horrible path, he's manipulative and cruel and sly. with a flick of his wrist, he was able to have a person down in seconds. he was never a good guy, he never claimed to be.

but there you were, your annoying presence lighting up his day. perhaps that was why he never liked you

you saw him.

you saw your unit chief fight bravely for every case, working to the bone every night when everyone had already left. true, you didn't know the real reason why he did those things. but his mind liked to indulge in fantasies every so often, liked to think that you could possibly accept him for what he was. maybe you'd be the belle that tamed the beast? maybe this time someone would see the real him and stay? but love was for fools, he had to remind himself.

he hated you, he needed to.

you and your annoying presence, something he thought he could do without. being in the mafia was hard enough, living a life as a double agent was already risky. adding pleasure to the mix was a surefire way to death.... yet despite that all he couldn't seem to understand why he missed your presence?

a strange feeling entered him, something foreign. something he hadn't felt in years, a promise. promise of hope, promise of companion around this time. only the last time time he was this vulnerable to someone, she ended up being the biggest thorn in his side. so he forced it down, forced it to not rear its ugly head ever again. he promised himself he could never fall for another person, not like this. he would never put himself through that again.

hotch leaned back on his chair, his hand around his glass of whiskey. his head was ever so gently tilted to the right, his eyes sparkling under the lights. his heart thumped with an emotion he hasn't felt in years. he noticed something different about him in the last few years, a genuine smile.

oh.... oh

#asks #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #unsub!hotch #unsub!hotchner x reader #mafia!hotch #mafia!hotchner

[0and0its0doctor0]

So I'll leave you gagged and bound

(Song that inspired the fic) Unsub!Spencer Reid x Reader Aaron Hotchner x Reader TRIGGERS: Kidnapping, Light blood, Forced kissing, Knives, minor violence, mentions of drugs Summary: You have been dating Aaron Hotchner for a few months and when he introduces you to the team Spencer Reid can't help but fall in love. The problem is Spencer's mental health is declining and fast. When he gets fired and realizes he has nothing to lose...he takes you. Will Aaron find you in time?

WC: 1,925

Why was your head throbbing? Your eyes blinked slowly open and you winced at the harsh overhead light that assaulted your blurry vision, Spencer was standing directly in front of you. You tried to move and that was when you realized you couldn’t. You tried to scream. “Shh. Shh. Shh.” Spencer said gently caressing a hand along the length of your face. His thumb wiped the drool dripping down your chin from the cloth that was stuffed in your mouth. His fingers trailed down your arms to the rope wrapping your wrists together behind the chair that you were bound to. He checked the tightness making sure that they weren’t hurting you, not yet at least. 

You whimpered as he caressed your face again and you sharply turned your head away from the touch. He roughly grabbed your chin, squeezing it and turning your face back so you were looking at him again. “None of that. Eyes forward.” He said, giving you a smile as he leaned forward and kissed your lips the best he could with the gag in your mouth. His thumbs gently brushed the tears off your cheeks and you lunged at him not getting very far since you were tied to a chair. Spencer chuckled and took a step back clapping. “Now there’s the fire I fell in love with.” He said fondly. 

You struggled violently in the chair, the rope digging into your sore flesh. The rope burn was the least of your worries at the moment. You tried arguing and yelling but your words were distorted and muffled by the cloth. This wasn’t exactly how you were planning on spending your day. You were walking to your car in the parking garage after visiting Aaron when you were hit over the head with something hard. You could feel blood trickling down the side of your face. You still couldn’t believe it was Spencer Reid standing in front of you. You had met Spencer when Aaron introduced you to the team. You had been dating Aaron for a few months now and had met the team a small handful of times. You tried to talk again even though your words just came out as more drool. 

“Let's get this off you.” He said leaning forward to unwrap the towel from your face. “Why are you doing this?” You asked, a shakiness to your voice. “Well Hotch fired me. Something about mental health. I was becoming ‘unhinged.’ I had feelings for you the second Hotch introduced you to us. I realized now, I really had nothing to lose and I wanted you bad, so I decided if I can’t have you, no one gets to have you.” He said, holding the knife up watching as it glinted in the light. 

You gulped and winced as the blade touched the skin of your shoulder. He drug it across your skin watching as goosebumps followed in its wake till he got to the strap of your dress. A quick flick of the wrist and the strap fell down, he repeated the action on the other side and watched with fascination as the fabric slipped down to pool at your hips leaving you in a bra. You struggled against your binds again. “Ah Ah. That will get you nowhere.” He said brushing back a strand of hair. 

—----------------------------------

“Hey Hotch what’s wrong?” David asked, looking at Aaron who was staring at his phone as it sat on the desk in front of him. “She always texts me or calls me when she gets home. It’s like an unspoken rule. But it’s been over an hour since she left and she hasn’t contacted me. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.” Aaron said with a sigh dragging his hand over his face. “Did you try calling her?” David asked and Aaron looked up, his brows furrowed deeply. “6 times no answer. Which just really isn’t like her. I have a bad feeling.” Aaron said, grabbing his phone and standing up. “I’m just going to see if Garcia can pull up the garage cams just to make sure she got to her car okay and left. Just to have a little piece of mind.” He said walking over to Penelope's office. He knocked on the door then stepped inside.

“Hey Garcia, can you pull up the garage camera footage? I just want to make sure she gets to her car and takes off.” He fidgeted nervously with a pen in his hand and Penelope nodded, pulling up the footage. When he saw your car still sitting there he got concerned. “What if I try to ping her cellphone and see where it is? Maybe she walked to the coffee shop down the street or something?” She suggested and Aaron frowned for a moment not really comfortable with the invasion of privacy but eventually agreed. Penelope typed quickly. “Okay. It’s still in the parking garage which is kind of weird.” Penelope looked up just as Aaron walked out of her office.

Aaron made his way to the parking garage and saw your car still sitting in its parking spot. When he walked up and saw your phone on the ground next to several spots of blood he felt his heart sink into his stomach. He ran back to Penelope’s office and threw the door open. “Pull up the garage cameras for the last hour. Fast Forward.” He ordered, watching the screens intently. When he saw a person in a hoodie walk up and nail you over the head he cursed. “Can you zoom in and see who it is?” He asked and she typed on her keyboard trying to pull up a better angle. “Nothing.” She then got an idea and pulled up the traffic camera facing the parking garage entrance. “It was Spencer.” She gasped looking back at the computer screens, she was hoping that she was wrong even though she knew she wasn’t.

—--------------------------------

A hand caressed your face again, that seemed to be one of his favorite things to do and his thumb brushed across your bottom lip. You kissed his thumb just to draw it in a little so you could bite down hard. He smacked you across the face and you could taste blood in your mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He said gently touching the red mark on your face. You flinched away from his touch and he pouted. “You know Aaron will find me. You know he will kill you.” You said glaring up at the man who simply shrugged. 

“I know. It’s not like I’m exactly hiding. They’re probably tracking my car or my cell phone right now. It will lead them to one of the old abandoned warehouses in the Fremont district and they will come bursting in. Bla bla bla.” He said running a hand through your hair. “But till then you are mine.” He said leaning forward to kiss you again, this time shoving his tongue in your mouth and groaning slightly as he tasted the faint spots of blood from biting your lip when he smacked you. 

“You see, I used to be a really successful Agent. Sure I had some problems with Dilaudid and other things but I worked hard and I contributed to the team. But then I started developing signs of mild schizophrenia and I panicked. I didn’t want to end up like my mother. So I started taking medication but the medication just wasn’t working. And it started getting worse. Started affecting my work. And I guess Hotch started to notice. Well now here we are.” He said pacing again. You kept quiet but started rubbing your wrists together feeling the ropes start to loosen. You just had to hope that Aaron was tracking Spencer’s car or cell phone or something. Which thankfully he was. 

You felt the ropes slip from your wrists, your feet weren’t tied to the chair and you were glad you were wearing boots today. When you heard the sound of sirens approaching you noticed Spencer started to panic a little bit. He walked up to you and placed both hands on either side of your face. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” He said and you leaned back a little managing to deliver a decent kick to the center of his chest knocking him down. You stood up and booked it to the door, throwing it open just as he grabbed you from behind and yanked you back. “Clever but not clever enough.” He said holding the knife to your throat as the rest of the team stood in a line with their guns drawn. 

“Spencer, I need you to drop the knife and let her go.” Aaron said his voice was calm and level as he looked at the two of you. “You know I can’t do that Hotch.” Spencer said with a sigh. “Come on Reid, we can get you help.” Derek said with a frown. Aaron holstered his weapon and stepped forward causing Spencer to step back and press the knife tighter against your skin drawing little droplets of blood. “Come on Spencer. She didn’t do anything to you. You don’t need to hurt her. Deep down I think we both know I’m the one you want to hurt. I fired you.” He said taking another hesitant step forward. Spencer bit his lip and looked at his previous team, his family, all standing there. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He said quietly, it was like his reality was starting to shift back to normal. 

You felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest with how fast it was beating at the moment and you winced as the knife pierced your skin a little bit more. He sighed and shoved you towards Aaron roughly causing you to hit the ground right at his feet. Spencer dropped the knife and dropped to his knees putting his hands behind his head. Aaron rushed forward to pick you up in his arms and quickly run you to the other side of the SUV putting you out of harm's way as Derek and Emily both came forward to handcuff Spencer. Derek pulled him into a hug not really sure what else to do.

You felt tears on your cheeks and you started sobbing as Aaron wrapped his jacket around your shoulders buttoning it up to cover up your bra. “Hey shh. It’s okay. I have you now.” He said leaning in to kiss you repeatedly. You were quiet but shaking like a leaf as the paramedics checked you out. After putting a few bandaids over the cuts he made and giving you an ice pack for the rope burn you were cleared to go home with Aaron who quickly took you back to his apartment. 

You changed into one of his shirts and he pulled you into bed holding you close to his chest with his hand resting over your heart so he could feel the steady beat under his fingers reminding him that you were still alive. “I’m so sorry.” He muttered into the side of your neck as he placed kisses against your skin. “It wasn’t your fault.” You tried to reassure him. He nuzzled into your shoulder and held you even tighter, almost making it hard to breathe. “I love you. So much.” He said and you finally smiled for the first time that night. “I love you too.” You said kissing his forehead as he rested his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat.  

#trigger warning #tw kidnapping #Unsub!Spencer Reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds angst #light angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #Unsub!Spencer #thank you #famous last words #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #david rossi #bau team #Youtube

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 1 (Aaron Hotchner and male reader)

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Word Count: 2443

WARNINGS: Bear traps as restraints, barbed wire as restraints, blood, description of injury, gore (not too bad but just in case), injured reader, injured hotch, creepy unsub, creepy whumper, a lot of hurt

I’m lowkey amazed I managed to write this all in one day? 

@whumptober-archive

You groaned as you woke, head pounding painfully. What on Earth happened? You remember walking with Hotch back to the hotel - it was only a block away - talking over details of the case and then a yell and then nothing. Hotch, where was Hotch? Despite the sharp pain behind your eyes, you forced them open, you couldn't see much. It was dark, annoyingly dark. You weren’t quite sure where you were, there was nothing that you could see that you immediately recognised.

Your eyes drifted to a figure laid on the floor. Hotch! You moved to stand up, to help him, pain flooded through your foot. Curiosity getting the best of you, you looked down. Your heart dropped to your stomach. A bear trap, your foot was trapped in a bear trap. 

“Oh god,” You whimpered, “Oh god, Hotch? Hotch! You need to wake up! Hotch?! God, Hotch, wake up! Please!” You gave a loud sob, not caring that you were supposed to be a hard-ass FBI agent. No, right now you were twenty three year old (Y/N) who was scared out of his mind because he was trapped in a fucking bear trap.

“God, will you just shut up?” You froze at the voice. Someone else was there too? “Thank you, about time too.  Now, make another sound and I’ll give you something to cry about, okay?” You nodded quickly. “Good. And, stop worrying about Mr Boss over there, he’s fine - well, all things considered.”

“Is-  Is he-” You paused, not sure how to continue.

“Stuck in a bear trap?” When you nodded the unsub laughed, shaking his head, “No, that’s just for you. I was only expecting one of you, so I had to improvise with him,”

"What did you do to him? When's he going to wake up?" 

"You know, I'd be more worried about myself, if I were you. Hotch isn't the one stuck in a bear trap," You gulped at the reminder before mentally shaking yourself out of it. You needed to focus on something else (Hotch) to take your mind off it. 

"When is he going to wake up?"

The unsub scoffed, "Do I look like a doctor to you?"

"I can't actually see you," You snapped back, causing him to chuckle. 

"You're funny," He replied dryly. "We'll see how long that lasts," 

A moment of silence passed, you focusing on a way to get you and Hotch out of this situation as quickly as humanly possible. 

“I’ll be back later, when he’s awake and the fun can really begin,” You strained your eyes, trying to track the Unsub’s movements despite the darkness. You heard footsteps and the door open (which annoyingly didn’t let any light in), more footsteps, the door close, and then nothing. You breathed a sigh of release. He was gone. Good, now you could figure out how the fuck to get out of this situation. Okay, bear trap first, then wake Hotch up, Hotch could take over from there. 

Your hands hovered over the trap, trying to gain the courage to pull your foot out. You drew in a deep breath, settling your hands on the cold metal of the frame. Drawing in another deep breath, you shut your eyes, preparing to pull when your hands were yanked away from you. 

You gave an expected cry as your hands were forced behind your back, you pulled against the hands as hard as you could, not knowing what was going to happen. The unsub growled, backhanding you across the face, taking the time it took you to recover as an opportunity to grip both of your wrists in his hand, you didn’t have much time to ponder why the unsub was wearing gloves before you heard fumbling behind you. 

You wiggled feebly in his grip, which simply tightened as a warning and you stopped. Even if you did get out of his grasp, then what? Hotch was still unconscious and your leg was injured, you wouldn’t be able to leave him and you couldn’t carry him in your condition. 

You shut your eyes, hoping to pretend that instead you were simply having a nightmare and would wake up any moment. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. You shivered, feeling cold metal being wrapped around your wrists. Metal? The confusion was short lived, when the unsub wrapped the wire around your wrist a second time, you felt multiple spikes prick into your skin and you gave a yelp. Barbed wire? This prick was using barbed wire!

“Make another sound,” The voice growled into your ears, you shut your eyes tightly, “And I’ll shove it down your throat,”

Before you knew it, your wrists were tightly tied together with a long piece of barbed wire. You felt sick. Apparently the bear trap on your foot wasn't enough. Oh god, what if that's what he used with Hotch? You flicked your eyes over the body, trying to see if you could make anything out, huffing when you couldn't. How the fuck were you going to get out of this?

“Perfect!” The unsub chimed, crouching down in front of you, he gently wiped away a tear from your cheek, “Don’t cry, (Y/N), we’re going to have so much fun,” He gently kissed your forehead before standing. “Now, no trying to run away while I’m gone,” He chuckled, “I’ll see you soon,”

You shut your eyes until you knew for sure he had left, breathing deeply, trying your best to think of anything else but the pain. Hotch, think about Hotch. You strained your ears, managing to pick up on the older man’s breathing, your eyes snapped open when you heard a quiet groan. “Hotch?” You whispered, scared that the unsub was still in the room.

There was another groan, this one louder than the last, “(Y/N)?” 

Relief flooded your veins, “Hotch?” You asked timidly, “You awake?”

You heard him huff a small laugh, “Yes, I’m awake,”

“Okay, good, that’s good,” You said with a nod. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Hotch said, “He used barbed wire to restrain me though. What about you?”

Hotch had become a surrogate father to you since you joined the team six months ago. You were the youngest member of the team, Reid included (who was twenty eight), and so everyone had quickly become protective of you - which you secretly loved (not that you’d tell them that). Pretty much all of them had all become like your siblings. But Hotch, Hotch had mentored you, checked up on you, protected you, he had become everything a father is. 

“(Y/N)?” He asked, “Are you injured?”

“Um…” Your voice was higher than you cared to admit - a telltale sign you were lying. You heard Hotch shift, probably turning towards you. 

“(Y/N)? Are you hurt?”  

“Er, sort of,”

“‘Sort of’? What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Just as he had asked the question, the lights flickered on, causing the pair of you to squint your eyes shut. You forced your eyes open, trying your best to fight against them trying to flutter closed. No. You needed to see where you were. 

Hotch pried his eyes open, stomach sinking when he saw the small puddle of blood that had been collecting under foot. Then his eyes focused on the bear trap and he felt nausea flood through him. Oh God. This was not good. He flicked his eyes to yours, trying his best to seem unworried. You were staring at your leg, face pale, chin quivering from the adrenaline, “(Y/N)?” When you turned to him, your eyes watered further, something about seeing the man who had become your source of comfort (not that you were going to say that out loud either), a few spilling down your cheek. “Hey, listen to me, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of this and we are going to be okay,”

“Now, now, Aaron,” A voice from the corner of the room made you jump, it was the man from before. You couldn’t see his face, just a white mask, he was leaning against the wall, looking bored. “Don’t lie to the kid,” He turned to you, “You’re both going to die here,” 

You shook your head. No, no you weren’t. You weren’t going to believe some idiot over Hotch. Not after the month you had known each other - he had never lied to you and you trusted him completely, and that wasn’t going to stop now. “No, Hotch doesn’t lie,” You insisted, Hotch found the corner of his mouth turning upwards, glad that you still trusted him after he led you into this situation. 

The man in the mask laughed, “It’s sweet that you think that, really it is,” He snorted, “But you’ll see the truth soon enough,”

You didn’t answer, focusing all your rage into a glare aimed at that stupid mask. He kicked himself off the wall as he walked closer, “It’s alright, soon you’ll realise that I’m the only one you can trust,”

You huffed a laugh, despite your pain. “You’re funny, really, you’re funny,” The eyes behind the mask flashed with fury, storming up to you, he grabbed you by the collar, lifting you up, and slamming you against the wall, causing you to cry out in pain - both from the barbed wire, and the jolt on your foot it caused. Aaron gave an enraged yell as he struggled against his restraints, not caring as they dug further into his skin, as his blood slowly cascaded down his hands.

“Well? What do you say after you hurt someone’s feelings?” When you don’t answer, the unsub rolls his eyes, slamming you into the wall again. “Well?!”

“S-sorry!”

“Good, just don’t let it happen again,” He said, letting you drop to the floor in a heap, “I wouldn’t want to hurt you. Understood?” You nod. He bent down, leaning close to you, “Just to make sure you do…” He stood, walking over to Hotch, he kicked him to the ground, you watched with wide eyes as the steel toe of the unsub’s shoe repeatedly landed itself into Hotch’s side. 

“Stop!” The word was so rushed it felt like you weren’t the one saying it, “Stop! Get off him! Stop! Leave him alone!” You fought against the wire sat on your wrists, ignore the warm blood that dripped down your wrists to your hands, you pulled against the trap on instinct, not caring for the pain it caused. You needed to stop him. You needed to help Hotch. 

The unsub turned on his heels and left, shutting the door behind him. He took most of the light with him too, dialling down the setting to it’s lowest possible whilst still producing light. 

"Well," You mumbled, face pale and clammy, "I think it’s safe to say that this wasn't supposed to happen," Hotch huffed a laugh, wincing at the pain it caused in his chest. You frowned, eyes focused on the floor in front of you, "I'm sorry,"

"This isn't your fault, (Y/N)." His voice was stern, you looked down at the floor. "I promise you, this isn't your fault." 

“I should have been more aware of my surroundings,” You slurred, “‘ll be more aware n’xt time sir,”

“(Y/N),” Aaron responded sternly, “This isn’t your fault, neither of us knew this was going to happen. The team will find us, and we will both be okay,”

Unsure of what to say, you gave a short nod. It must have been hours. Your leg throbbed dully to the rhythm of your heartbeat and it was slowly driving you crazy. You just wanted to sleep, but Hotch wouldn’t let you. Everytime he noticed your eyes beginning to droop, he’d ask you a question about a previous case, or your opinion on a technique, or your favourite thing. Just anything to keep you awake. 

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, “What’s the best interview technique to use?”

“Depends,” You hummed.

“Yeah? What’s it depend on?”

“Factors based on the witness,”

“What’s Morgan’s favourite type of interview?”

“Cognitive,” You said with a small chuckle. 

The door swung open, your head snapped towards it. The blood loss might be getting to you, you blinked slowly, hoping that your double vision would go (although, it was more like triple vision). 

One of the figures went to Hotch, you followed the figure, you had to make sure Hotch was okay. Two of the figures approached you. God, you hoped this was just a bad dream. One crouched by your leg and you instinctively tried to pull it closer to you, whimpering when it caused a wave of pain to ripple through your body. The other figure crouched in front of you. 

“Hey, kid, you’re okay,” His voice was soft. You knew that voice from somewhere. Where did you know that voice? You blinked sluggishly before it clicked.

“Morgan?” You asked, blinking up at the figure in front of you, trying your best to stop it from blurring. You had to see who it was. You had to make sure Hotch was okay. He was the team leader, he was needed. You blinked again, the face of Derek Morgan coming into view. “You here?”

“Yeah, I’m here kid,” He answered, “We got the bastard, we’re just going to get you and Hotch to the hospital, okay?” You hummed, fighting back sleep. “Hey, hey, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

You nodded. Stay awake. You could do that. “Okay,” You replied.

“Good, that’s good, kid,” He answered, “I’m just getting this wire off you’re wrists, okay? Then we’re getting your leg out of that trap okay?”

“‘T’s still there?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s still there,”

“Huh,” Morgan’s eyes flicked up, sharing a concerned look with Rossi, who was currently cutting the wire that bound Hotch. Hotch was oddly quiet, eyes trained on (Y/N) with worry, watching his every move. “This whole day’s been wild man,” 

Clipping the wires, he managed to pry them from your wrists as gently as possible before he sat behind you to ensure you wouldn’t fall back. He nodded at Spencer, who inched closer to the contraption on your leg. You gave another whimper, trying to edge away. “I know, kid, I know, it’s going to be okay, you’re gonna be fine,”

“We’re here now, (Y/N), you’re going to be okay,” You turned your head, meeting eyes with Hotch, who gave a soft nod and a small, comforting smile. You relaxed in Morgan’s arms, finally allowing your body to rest. You were safe, your team was here. You were going to be okay.

#No. 1 #whumptober 2022 #criminal minds fanfiction #x male reader #male reader #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #hotch #derek morgan #morgan #david rossi #rossi #blood #gore #creepy whumper #creepy unsub #injury #description of injury #hurt #bear traps #barbed wire #spencer reid #reid

[film-bro-hotch]

Queen of Nothing (Hotch x Reader) - Chapter Two

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks so much for the support on the last chapter. Loved logging in every day to see some new notes. To be absolutely honest, I wrote a lot of this chapter while distracting myself from my undergraduate thesis. So I hope you enjoy this issue of my procrastination project!

Chapter Warnings: allusions to domestic violence, murder

WC: 1.9k

Chapter Two - I Know the Bravest Thing I Ever Did Was Run

“Sometimes, the only way to get justice is to take it for yourself.” ― Leigh Bardugo

You blinked a few times, trying to process if the loss of sleep was making you see things. There was no way this could be real. Out of all the possibilities, out of all the stores, out of all the people, Aaron Hotchner could not be in front of you.

What made this scene feel just a little more real was noticing the changes in him. The crow’s feet by his eyes were a little more pronounced, as were the creases on his forehead and his laughter lines. You were sure the last two were more from scowling than laughing, though. His under eyes were darker than usual. He just looked…tired. What had 5 years done to him?

You finally managed to find your voice through the violent wave of shock and nostalgia as you managed out an, “Aaron?”

Time away had made reading him a little harder. You couldn’t quite tell if his gaze gave excitement or apprehension. “It’s been, what, five years now? You - ah - you look good.”

Before you would have been so sure, but you couldn’t tell if he had truly counted the days since he had last seen you. What you were sure of, though, was that he was undoubtedly profiling you. And so were you. One of the first things you noticed besides the changes in his face was the absence of a wedding ring. So he and Hailey finally called it off? They had been on the outs when you and Aaron started your…honestly, you didn’t know what to call it. He stayed at your place so much, he made you dinner and gave you morning kisses on your cheek after he had slept in your bed. You never actually fucked, not even a real kiss. You wanted to call him your boyfriend because that is what nearly everything pointed to, but because of the tension with Hailey, you never brought it up. 

“Thanks,” you said, one end of your lip curling up in a sort of half smile. “You too.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each wondering what to even say next. You couldn’t possibly treat it like you never left, like nothing ever happened. Aaron was the first one to speak up. 

“So what brings you back here? I figured you didn’t stay in Virginia after you left.”

Left was accurate but felt hollow compared to what really happened. But it also reminded you that you needed to come up with a story. Fast. 

“Yeah, I didn’t. I sort of had my crisis and found myself back home with my parents. I helped my dad with the ranch for a good four years I think. It was nice being back with family and all, but I was a little restless. I think part of me missed all the travel from the BAU. So I’ve kind of been trekking across the country for the past year or so,” you started. Good, giving yourself a stable place in your story, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. During your tour of America, you went back to the ranch in the middle of nowhere Texas a few times. Your parents never understood your job, so they didn’t question it much. “Now I’m trying to make my way up to Maine, maybe go into Canada, maybe join some fishing boat, who knows,” you joked with a shrug, and Aaron gave you a half-hearted smile. Pretty good for him. 

“It sounds like you have had more adventures than we have.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that. Come on, tell me how the team is. What have I missed?” You know it’s dangerous, but you want to know how they are doing.

“Some things haven’t changed. Morgan and Garcia still flirt every day. Reid looks like he should be in a boy band,” he gave pause after seeing the shock on your face. “I don’t think that was what he was going for, but it doesn’t look half bad. We have a couple of new agents… Agent David Rossi and Agent Emily Prentiss. Gideon and Elle don’t work for the BAU anymore.”

So things really had changed. Part of you felt upset for not being there, for being just another person that left the BAU. He probably noticed the way your face fell a bit, but you were quick to resume your expression. “So a diplomat’s daughter and one of the best agents of all time? Seems like you are running quite the team.”

Aaron wasn’t one to boast like some prideful fool, but he wasn’t meekly humble either, so it was a comfort that his reply was somewhat familiar. “Yeah, they are doing well.” There was a pause near the end, one where you almost wish he filled it with a but it’s not the same without you or an I’ve missed you, maybe even a would you come back? You weren’t getting any of those. You knew Hotch well enough to know he wouldn’t say something like that, and you knew yourself enough to know you would never accept. There was a reason you left in the first place. 

There was another long moment of silence, and you were finally the one to break it. You needed to get out of there before you did something reckless. “It was really great seeing you again, Aaron. I should let you get back to shopping. It’s getting late.” You struggled to read his expression at that moment, but you decided you might have seen a bit of disappointment.

“Yeah. It was good seeing you too.”

Was that all? You felt like there should have been more, but you tried not to let yourself think about it too much. You couldn’t, or else you would do something stupid. Something that would get you caught. You offered him a small smile before moving your cart away from his, starting to finally move in the direction you had been before you ran into him. You felt your shoulders deflate a bit, almost in relief that nothing more happened. Or maybe it was dejection. After five years, was that really all their reunion would be? A simple conversation in a grocery store that they would both forget in a week? You cursed yourself for this foolish thinking, for wanting something more. That time was long gone. You started to pick up speed, hoping to get out of the grocery store before running into him again.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Well shit. Your instinct was to leave everything there and run. The fear that ran through you was that somehow he had found that, but your calmer part knew there was no logical way. You took in one deep breath before turning around to face him. Aaron had left his cart and was jogging over to you. Damn, you missed seeing that. 

He handed you a card, one he presumably thought about for a few seconds and then pulled it out before running back to you. “If you stay in Fairfax a little longer, you should give me a call. We can have dinner and catch up a little more in depth.”

Your calloused hands touched his as you took the card, and a wave of longing ran through you. Having him so far away made it harder for you to miss him, but now he was right here, and he wanted to see you too. “I-uh actually went no contact when I started this little road trip. No phone,” you say. It was truthful, but also an excuse. It was dangerous to get mixed back up with him. 

Hotch didn’t wait a second as he pulled out his wallet, fishing out a $50 bill and setting it in your hand, wrapping your fingers around it. “Get yourself a burner phone and then call me. You can throw it out once you leave Fairfax. You know, to keep up the no contact. But maybe keep my card if you get bored on that fishing boat up in Maine.”

Was that a joke? Did Aaron Hotchner just make a joke? You found yourself laughing, and he was too. “Aaron, I-”

“I know what you are going to say, and I have already thought it through. You are going to want to pay me back, and instead of doing this little dance about who pays for what, we are just going to make it even and you pay for ingredients for dinner. Yes, we are cooking at my place. Why are you giving me that look?”

Everything he said was with such a deadpan seriousness that you were almost shocked by how much he seemed to know you. You hadn’t even noticed your expression change. Slowly, you put the business card and the money in your pocket, admitting defeat. “Okay,” you said. “I’ll call you.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You turned your back to him and couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you started to walk away. You hadn’t heard Hotch move. He was still standing in the middle of the store, watching you leave for the first time in a long while. 

---

You debated even getting the phone. It would be so easy to simply leave him with the ghost of you, do your job and get the hell out of Dodge. But you were weak, and you missed those gray eyes of his like some sad dog. So you bought the cheapest burner phone you could find and spent the remaining $10 on a fast food dinner. That night you didn’t even bother to plan your next day before your head hit the pillow and you fell asleep.

You spent the majority of the next morning looking for possible cases to follow. You looked mainly at domestic and child abuse cases, ones that were dismissed by the court for any number of reasons. From there you did your own research, tailed the people, men most of the time, that you were hunting to see if these accusations were truly unfounded. Sometimes you came to your answer pretty quickly, other times it took a few days longer, but rarely were you wrong. You were bringing more people to justice than you ever had while working for the BAU. 

This research led you to a man in his early 40s, Christian Wright. Two kids who weren't in his custody. Three years ago he was in a nasty divorce with his wife, Catherine. Seemed like Wright came from a pretty wealthy family, and didn’t have his wife sign a prenup. He was coming back for his money and his reputation given that she had claimed neglect and abuse in the divorce papers. She disappeared a few months after the divorce was finalized. Most figured it was Christian, but no body, no crime. So he got off the hook. You knew his wife was most likely dead, but you were going to bring her killer to justice. 

You had gotten in your car to start your first stakeout when you noticed Hotch’s business card you had left on your dashboard. You stared at it for a long moment, part of you knowing you shouldn’t call. You had work to do, work that couldn’t be disturbed. But then you remembered how he held you in the mornings, how on the weekends when he was there he would put that stupid record on and make breakfast while whistling along to Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. You bought The Beatles’ white album just for him. And an echo of you wanted that back.

Against your better judgment, you pulled out the burner phone and typed in the number. 

“Hotch? Hey, it’s Y/N. You free tonight?”

Chapter One Chapter Three

#ssa hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #fem!reader #criminal minds #unsub!reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fanfiction #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #Aaron Hotchner fanfic #Aaron Hotchner x unsub!reader #criminal minds fanfic #Queen of Nothing

[skylarmoon71]

Aaron Hotchner - Oneshot (Criminal Minds/Grimm Crossover)

“Can we just go over what happened again?”

When you were called to Aaron Hotchner’s office, you didn’t think it was for another report. Earlier that day the unsub they’d been tracking had made a bold move. He’d infiltrated the BAU. Unlucky for him, he’d decided to take you hostage. When they found him he was unconscious with a claw mark across his face.

You’d confessed to striking him, after all it was self defense. But you insisted that the mark was not your doing. No one asked questions. No one but Hotch it seemed. You worked in another department. The meeting was purely coincidence. So now why did the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit want to run through the events again.

“I don’t mean to be rude sir, but I spoke to the agents earlier. I defended myself. That was all. “

“You don’t seem affected, most people have a harder time dealing with an attack like what you experienced. “

“I’m well adjusted. This is the FBI after all.”

“Those marks, they were already on his face.”

“That’s what I said.”

You were getting a bit agitated.

Hotch closed the folder in front of him, and when he stood, shutting the blinds, you could feel yourself becoming a bit tense. He was now standing at the door, facing you.

“Let’s not waste each other’s time. You’re wesen.”

You flinch, instinctively woging. Hotch barely reacted when the white fur took over your skin. The glow of your green eyes is now prominent.

“A Pflichttreue, that explains a lot.”

You jumped back, changing back.

“Y-You’re going to kill me.”

You looked terrified, and Hotch shook his head. He moved back to his desk, and you backed up into the wall.

“I was just curious. I need to know you aren’t a danger to my team and anyone else here.”

“That’s rich coming from a Grimm!!”

He understands the reaction.

“I’m not some unhinged vigilante if that’s what you’re worried about. I have no reason to come after you. Not unless you give me one. “

That was definitely a threat.

“That’s all. “

Hotch sat back down, and you barely moved. A part of you really thinks this is a game. Maybe a test.

“Is..is that it?”

“What were you expecting?”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe you, jumping from over your desk and chopping off my head.”

“I don’t walk around with a machete. You should stop reading those nursery rhymes. “

Now he was mocking you.

“Have a nice day.”

That’s all he says, and you send him a look before carefully moving to the door. The second you’re outside, you pace, not before sending a look in his direction.

Of all the places you could have encountered a Grimm, why did it have to be at your work.

You weren’t exactly looking forward to meeting him again.

~~

“Hold the elevator!”

The call makes you smile, and you hold it open as Penelope runs over in her usual floral outfit.

“(Y/N)!!”

She’s wearing that bright smile.

“Good morning Garcia, beautiful outfit as usual.”

“Thank you, thank you.” She gives a little curtsey, and right before the elevator begins to close again, a hand stops it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”

You’re quick to apologize. Whoever it was had dropped their briefcase, and you kneel, picking it up as you send them a smile.

“Here you g..” When you straighten, the male is not who you expect. You swallow. It’s almost a reflex.

“Thank you. “ You backtrack, and he steps in.

“Good morning Hotch!”

Garcia greets, then goes on a rant about something or the other. You barely hear it. You only process it when the conversation ends.

“I’ll see you up there boss. Bye (Y/N)!!” Garcia waves and you try to step out with her.

“Garcia, wait!” The door closes in your face. Hotch isn’t standing that far behind you. You step to one side.

“I already told you I won’t hurt you. “

“Sorry if I don't have absolute faith in a killer.”

That apparently has struck a nerve, because he turns around and you back into the wall when he gets closer. He’s so much closer, and you have to hold your breath.

“I’m not a killer.”

You want to bark another retort, but his eyes, there’s sincerity. Not something you thought you’d ever see from a Grimm. You can’t look away. Truth is you’re just surprised by it all. Because you knew what he did. He saved lives. Had you never found out about his true identity, you would have still admired the profiler. He was a hero. In more ways than one.

But his legacy, that’s what scared you. Seeing him on a daily basis was alarming. It felt like you were tempting faith every time you came into work. Every other wesen in their right mind would have immediately put in for a transfer, or simply quit. Money wasn’t worth losing your head over.

The ding echoes, and Hotch takes a step back.

“Have a good day Ms. (L/N).”

When he’s gone, you finally release your breath.

“Mothertrucker.”

He may not have been a killer, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.

~~~~

“(Y/N).”

The call from your boss makes you turn.

“Yes sir.”

“Aaron Hotchner has requested your assistance. Their tech analyst is currently unavailable. A family matter.”

“That’s right.”

She’d gone back home to visit family because of the passing of one of her relatives. You’re sympathetic, but then his request runs over in your mind.

“I’m sure there is someone more qualified.”

“He specifically requested to work with you. Apparently Ms. Garcia thinks very highly of your skills. “ Your boss sounds proud. The last thing you want to do is let him down, but you’re not exactly ecstatic.

“I’ll do my best sir.”

Getting a request from the BAU of all departments is every tech head's dream. You excuse yourself, moving to gather your stuff. You know Garcia was just trying to be helpful, but Hotch, he knew. Yet he still asked for you.

“He’s either a sadistic moron.”

Or..someone is in real danger.

Both options make you a bit queasy. You step into the elevator, and the second you’re in there, you have a little mantra to get through the day. The ding alerts you that it’s time to get to work. You step through the door, and you search for Hotchner. The familiar dark haired female is who you run into.

“(Y/N), I heard you’ll be running the case with us.”

Prentiss' smile is inviting, and it helps to calm your nerves.

“Yes. Mr. Anderson was really excited when your boss called for me. I think I almost saw him crack a smile.” Prentiss laughs as she guides you to the round table. When you get there the case files are already laid out, and JJ has the remote, about to start the briefing.

Hotch is standing, eyes moving in your direction the second you’re inside.

“This is (Y/N) (L/N). She’ll be going with us until Garcia gets back on Friday.”

They all nod, giving little introductions. For the most part you know all of them pretty well. Garcia was always very descriptive when talking about her friends. You’ve met most of them at least once. You take a seat, and JJ begins.

As she’s running over the case, you fail to catch the look Hotchner sends you.

It's fleeting.

Gone in a blink of an eye.

~~

“Something you want to tell me Hotch?

Rossi thought he’d imagined it on the plane ride, but spending two days on the hunt for a killer in the streets of New York, he was sure about it now.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hotch’s focus is on the map.

“That new Tech analyst. You haven’t taken your eyes off her since she came. You’re either concerned she’s the unsub we’re looking for or..”

Hotch didn’t reply to the insinuation.

“I’m just being careful.”

“Of course.”

Rossi didn’t sound convinced, and he left the room when the detective they’d been talking with entered. Hotch looked down when he heard the buzzing of his phone. He flipped it open.

“Hotchner.”

“I know where he’s holding them.”

That was all he wanted to hear. Hotch gestures to Rossi and they all head in the direction of the office you are working in. Prentiss and Reid are strapping on their vests.

“Hotch he has a stream going. We need to take it down. He lives for the attention he gets.” Morgan explains.

Hotch’s eyes turn to you.

“Can you disable it from here?”

You shake your head. He’d caught the slight tremble in your hands as you worked to try and remove the feed. The views were increasing with each passing second. It’s clear that the graphic video is not what you’re used to. But you’re doing a decent job of holding it together.

“Whatever he’s using is doing a good job of rerouting my connection. Just watching this right now is a task. He’s streaming through a very sophisticated program. I..” You let out a breath.

“I need to access his computer, or at least be in the same room as his router.”

He was afraid you would say that.

“We’ll find another way.”

“NO!”

They all turn at your yell.

“People are…they could die if I don’t help. I have to help.” Hotch exchanges a look with the others.

It looks like there isn’t another choice.

“We need to get you a vest.” You nod, and they begin gearing up.

You swallow.

“I can do this.” You need the mental talk, because this wasn’t cleaning a computer virus, or uploading software. You were about to encounter a real killer. Whether you liked it or not.

~~~

“We have the area surrounded. He’s not getting away.” Hotch nods.

“Morgan, Reid JJ, take the back. Rossi, Prentiss you’re with me and Ms (L/N).” Your hand tightens on the laptop in your hand.

“Are you ready?”

Was anyone ever really ready to face a serial killer.

“I’m ready.” They begin to fall out, and you follow closely. The plan was simple. Hotch’s group was tasked with protecting you. Morgan’s squad is handling the unsub. They know the moment the feed is gone, he would come looking, and they would have an opening.

Everyone spreads out. Sneaking into the house is easier than you expect. But you supposed the team knew that too.

“Narcissists are overconfident. He thinks he won’t get caught.” Hotch is watching your back as you work through his program, and you nod at the explanation. You’re clicking at the keys, and when the green bars pop up, Hotch recognizes the way your shoulders relax.

“Almost there.” You whisper.

“Overconfident?”

The new voice makes your body stiffen, and when you hear a gun cock, your fingers stop their tapping. Hotch has his gun aimed in the unsub’s direction. He’s on the opposite side of the room, a grin on his face, gun in his hand. You don’t move an inch, and Hotch stands in front of you protectively.

“They wanted it, all I did was give them what they wanted.” You clench your fist, your eyes glow, teeth gritted. Hotch can hear the low growl behind him.

“They did huh.” You challenged.

You woge, and his eyes grow wide, he falls backwards dropping the gun in the process and Hotch rushes forward, dropping and cuffing him quickly. You roll your neck, changing back, but the unsub is still screaming. His yells draw in the rest of the team. When Morgan enters he’s a bit confused at the fearful cries.

“We found them, all safe. We made it just in time.” You release a sigh, and Hotch begins leading the killer out the room. Your eyes follow him all the way out. Morgan walks over giving you a pat on the shoulder as SWAT begins falling inside.

“Good work. Not bad for a rookie.” He gives you a little grin, and you nod.

This was not what you expected at all, but at least his victims are safe. That’s all that matters.

The ride back is fairly quiet. Not much is said. Hotch notices the way your eyes are directed out the window.

You’d been evaluating a lot.

After getting off the jet, everyone had pretty much called it a night. You were at the round table gathering your tablet and computer. Hotch’s gaze stays planted on you as he stands by the door.

“You’re not at all what I expected. “

You finally turn to him.

“I’m sorry for what I said. You’re not a killer. Not even close.”

Seeing the way he’d saved not just you, but all those victims, it was incredible. You’d spent so many hours behind the safety of your screens. A barrier you suppose that kept you protected from the part of the world you rather not see.

“If you ever need my help, I’m here.”

He respects that declaration. Hotch knows what it took for you to even work the case with them. Although the seriousness of the situation outweighed your personal views, you still could have refused. But you took it regardless. Even after finding out he was the one that requested you.

You hold out your hand, and Hotch moves closer, shaking it.

When you pull back, you smile.

“In the future however, I’d advise against boring holes in the back of my head. Your coworkers think you have the hots for me.”

Hotch couldn’t hide his surprise at the observation, which just made your smile widen.

“I may not be a profiler, but I’m not stupid. I can tell when someone is marking me.”

Your eyes glowed, and you let out a soft growl, chuckling. Heaving your bag on your shoulder, you blinked the light away.

“See you later sir.”

There was a bit of mocking in your tone, and Hotch himself smiled when you left.

#grimm #Criminal Minds #oneshot #care #trust #fear #boss Hotch #bau #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #Penelope Garcia #jj #family #secrets #wesen #unsubs #crime #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch x reader

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Reaaaaally wanna try my hand at unsub!Hotch and I have a few ideas but also don’t know where to start or what the scenario would be 😭🥲 ITS TORTURE

#unsub!hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #unsub!aaron hotchner #I NEED HIM SO BAD

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers. 

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers. 

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?” 

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers. 

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad. 

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects. 

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete. 

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree. 

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.” 

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued. 

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.” 

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized. 

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.” 

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.” 

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on: 

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.” 

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.” 

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration. 

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him. 

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.” 

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.” 

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it. 

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on. 

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.” 

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.” 

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.” 

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.” 

Prentiss visibly cringed at this. 

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together. 

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought. 

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.” 

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain. 

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?” 

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory. 

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.” 

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit. 

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again. 

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room. 

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about. 

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her. 

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.” 

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued. 

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain. 

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?” 

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile. 

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced. 

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from. 

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.” 

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk. 

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.” 

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-” 

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.” 

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned. 

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,” 

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed. 

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.” 

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.” 

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.” 

… 

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office. 

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through. 

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did. 

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers. 

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.” 

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.” 

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned. 

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed. 

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.” 

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it. 

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever. 

It was you. 

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools? 

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully. 

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day - 

You had a son. 

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now. 

And his birth date was… fuck. 

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again. 

One thousand, seven hundred and two days. 

Four years, eight months, and two days. 

It wasn’t difficult math. 

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child? 

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.  

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life? 

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally? 

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with. 

What the fuck was going on? 

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions. 

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe- 

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention. 

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically. 

“Did you find something?” 

… 

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them. 

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before. 

It could definitely work. 

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone. 

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house. 

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,” 

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts. 

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air. 

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?” 

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend. 

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated. 

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation. 

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up. 

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago. 

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again. 

It had been four years. 

JJ was someone he could lean on right now. 

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest. 

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked. 

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it. 

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?” 

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look. 

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned. 

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer. 

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.” 

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.” 

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply. 

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him. 

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.” 

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time). 

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world. 

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby? 

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud. 

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together. 

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment. 

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face. 

“One thing at a time, alright?” 

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning. 

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother. 

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more. 

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly. 

And now the two of you likely had a child together. 

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang. 

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.” 

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you. 

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing. 

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’. 

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open. 

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return. 

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone. 

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you. 

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock. 

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever. 

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot. 

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him. 

You were breath-taking. 

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already. 

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock. 

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date. 

The first night that he knew he was in love with you. 

… 

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra. 

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on. 

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night. 

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness. 

It was a perfect night. 

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat. 

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves. 

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled. 

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind. 

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place. 

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?” 

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic. 

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.” 

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this. 

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued. 

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.” 

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.” 

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer. 

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.” 

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more. 

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this. 

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.” 

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more. 

“Interesting.” You replied. 

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.” 

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail. 

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.” 

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this. 

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.” 

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile. 

“And see-” 

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his. 

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin. 

It was perfect. You were perfect. 

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was. 

But Spencer was nothing like that. 

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips. 

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours. 

“That was… wow.” He sighed. 

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle. 

“Well, I - you - wow.” 

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter. 

Back then - everything had been perfect. 

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

[pathologicalreid]

next of kin | S.R.

disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: actually might be gn! but i'm too scared to say it is. death, orphan-ing, funerals, child custody issues, blood, general cm violence, like actually an abhorrent amount of death. sorry i killed your parents for the sake of my fanfiction can we still be friends? word count: 3.33k a/n: this is the fic that this post is about. i am in fact my own worst enemy. i hope y'all like it actually genuinely i am most definitely overthinking this. if your name is maya im sorry that sucks.

“What did your parents say?” Spencer asked, walking into the conference room that the local precinct had offered to you.

You had been staring blankly at your phone since you got off the call with your mother, “Uh, they said thanks, but no thanks.”

The uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach as soon as you found out the team was being called to your hometown, and you had been nauseous ever since you found out the UnSub’s pattern.

Married couples with an older child who had moved out and a younger child who was still at home.

Your little sister was a surprise, you had incorrectly assumed your parents were done having kids.

Until today, you wouldn’t have traded Maya for the world, but now you sat in fear of your family being targeted by a serial killer. Hotch had offered them a protective detail, but they declined. Self-righteous as they were, they told you it wouldn’t feel right for them to accept help that couldn’t be offered to everyone.

Clenching your jaw, you stood at the table, “I’ll go by later and check in on them.”

Spencer had met your family twice by now. Last Christmas he had tagged along to meet them and celebrate with your family before the two of you spent New Year’s with his mom. Then, while your sister was on Spring Break, they flew out to Virginia, and you and Spencer had shown your family around Quantico and the District.

Maya had loved Spencer, partially because you loved him, but mostly because of his magic tricks.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked, stepping up next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back.

You sighed and shook your head, “No, not if you’re needed here.” You reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling softly, “Thank you for offering, Spence.”

He nodded affirmatively, “If you change your mind,” he offered. Gently, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before the two of you returned to the rest of the team.

The fact that your parents lived only five minutes from the police station gave you some relief, but you still felt tightly wound. Everyone had noticed. You just needed this case to be over.

The porch lights were on when you got there, and you used your house key – which you had never taken off of your keychain - to open the front door. “Hey, kiddo,” your dad greeted from the couch. A peek into the kitchen showed you that your mom was wiping down the counters. It all felt so eerily normal.

It was dark by the time you had gotten there. Maya was already asleep, but you tip-toed into her room anyway and kissed her goodnight before going back downstairs. Once you had hugged both of your parents and told them you loved them, you made your way back to the police precinct.

By nearly three in the morning, there was no new information, and the team was starting to consider calling it a night until the police chief got a call.

“We just got a call. Lady reported shouts coming from her neighbor’s house at 86 Meadowbrook,” he informed you, putting his hands on his hips and looking around at the team.

None of them even spared him a returning glance, everyone’s eyes were on you.

Blinking rapidly, you nodded assuredly, “I have to go get Maya.” You didn’t even recognize your voice even as you said it. It couldn’t have been your voice. That was the rasp of someone far away from you.

All of the other voices around you were muffled, you couldn’t hear what people were telling you, let alone understand them.

Maya. Maya. Maya.

Brown eyes. There they were, right in front of your face. “Let’s go get her,” Spencer whispered.

You had been speaking out loud. Repeating your sister’s name like a prayer without even realizing it.

Hotch let you go with them, but he made it abundantly clear to you – and the rest of the team – that you weren’t working this case anymore.

Surrounded by reverent voices in an SUV, JJ drove while Spencer stayed in the back with you. He held your hand tightly in his.

The house was closed off with police tape. Bright yellow plastic fluttered in the wind as you watched your team and other emergency personnel enter and exit. At your insistence, Spencer went in to get Maya, it felt like it had been hours before he walked out, carrying her in his arms.

Carefully, he brought her to you, and you pulled her close to your chest, blocking her eyesight as two body bags were brought out of the house.

You didn’t hear anything after that. You just let yourself be moved to wherever you needed to be, holding your kid sister as she cried for your parents.

They had to take their bodies to the hospital even though they were already gone, and you needed to be the one to confirm their identities. Spencer stayed with Maya while you were busy. She had cried herself to the point of exhaustion, you were grateful that she was sleeping, and then you felt cruel.

By sunrise, she was still asleep, and you had been set up in that same conference room from earlier. Sitting across from you was a social worker, a representative of the state. Your lips had parted in shock as you looked at her, “What do you mean they denied my request?”

In an attempt to be helpful, JJ worked with you to file an emergency request for custody of Maya, and the case worker had just told you that the request was denied. “The state doesn’t believe your request is valid,” she told you.

Your mouth went dry, “I don’t…” you glanced over at your little sister. “Our parents were murdered last night, and they won’t let me take custody of my sister?” You asked indignantly, peering at the social worker. It wasn’t her fault, somewhere in your grief-ridden brain you knew that, but you couldn’t help the feeling that she was somehow your enemy.

“They don’t believe you can provide her with a stable living environment,” the social worker, Brittany, explained.

Narrowing your eyes, you responded, “A stable living environment like a foster home? I’m her sister. We’re family – the only family each other has left.” You stood up, excusing yourself for a moment before walking out of the precinct. Once you were outside, you promptly hurled into the bushes.

That was how he found you, to the side of the building with your hair haphazardly moved out of your face, dry heaving into the shrubbery. Gently, Spencer placed a hand on your back before starting to rub small circles on your back, “You should eat something, love.”

You just shook your head in response, you weren’t hungry. “They won’t let me take her,” you whispered morosely, straightening up, you kept your back facing him.

“What?” He asked, his hand abruptly stopping its movement on your back.

Taking a deep breath and sitting on the curb, you looked up at Spencer. “The state thinks I’m not stable enough to take her in,” you said, resting your chin in your hands.

Your boyfriend crouched down so that he could sit next to you, “Are you going to challenge it?”

“Of course I am,” you cried. “But what happens to her in the interim, Spence? She gets placed with whatever foster home here and I go back to Virginia? I see her when the family court resolves this in two years?”

Treading carefully, Spencer cleared his throat, “What are you going to do?”

Defeated, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m…” your voice trailed off. “My parents are dead, Spencer,” you murmured softly, tears welling in your eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, “I know, darling. I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you whispered, leaning gently into him.

Spencer turned to kiss your temple, “It’s a good thing you’re not alone then. I’m not going anywhere.” He waited for a moment before continuing, “Give me something to do. Give me a job to take off of your shoulders.”

In the end, you let Spencer take over funeral planning. He thanked you for trusting him before the both of you went back into the precinct.

You had just hung up with a family lawyer who had offered to take your case, letting your phone drop to the floor, you let your arms hang at your side. Someone had taken Maya to get breakfast while you spoke with the lawyer.

At the sound of the phone falling to the floor, Spencer stepped into the conference room, letting the door click shut before him. “Hey, what did he say?”

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you took in a deep breath, “Um, he said he’d be willing to take the case if I could put together a case plan to present before the judge.”

Before that phone call, you didn’t know what a case plan was, you could’ve gone your whole life without knowing what a case plan was.

“I need a year-long plan for how I’m going to prepare to have Maya in my custody, but he said a year is the best he can do,” you said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of you. “A year?” You whispered aimlessly, “I’m not waiting a fucking year to take custody of her. I have to take her home, Spence. I have to.” It wasn’t your intention to snipe at him, but you felt like you couldn’t help yourself.

The events of the last twelve hours threatened to take you down, but you had to stay strong for Maya.  

Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at Spencer, “Why is it that every time I convince myself that it’s going to be okay, I get tossed to the ground again?” You asked him.

Maybe because you weren’t fully convinced. Maybe it was because it had only been seven hours. You needed to remind yourself of that.

“She’s a ward of the state?” Spencer asked for clarification, holding you tightly.

Nodding absentmindedly, you rested your head on his shoulder as he swayed gently. “She can stay with me until after the funeral, and after that, she has to go with the social worker.”

The sad look on Spencer’s face told you that he was running out of ideas, and you were coming to the very same conclusion. “We could get married,” he offered.

“Stop, Spence,” you said, shaking your head. You couldn’t believe this was where he was going.

He shrugged helplessly, “I’m serious, Y/N. If we get married, they might think we’re stable, as a couple. They might give us custody.”

Your shoulders slumped, “I don’t want to get married just to get custody of my sister.” It certainly wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Spencer, just not like this.

He nodded understandingly, “I know, but I’m just saying. If that’s what it takes, then I’ll do it.” Placing a comforting hand on your knee, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. “Do you have any ideas?” He asked you carefully.

Looking through the blinds of the conference room, you saw the rest of the team coming back to the precinct. Setting your jaw, you nodded, “I might.”

Opening the door, you had Maya go in with Spencer while you approached your Unit Chief. “Hey,” Hotch said, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. “How are you holding up?” He pulled you away from the people, wanting to give you privacy.

This wasn’t fair, they were still working on an active case. A case that was disturbingly close to you, and yet, you felt you were out of options. “I need a favor,” you blurted to him, wringing your hands. Your nervous energy made it impossible for you to stay still.

Hotch nodded, “What do you need?” He asked, studying your composure with the eye of a profiler.

You took a deep breath, “I was… I need you to call in a favor with someone. Anyone, really. The state won’t let me take custody of Maya, but I can’t let her become a ward of the state. Not when I’m right here, ready, willing, and able to take her.”

“Okay,” he responded, not even pausing to think about it.

Taken aback, you looked at him curiously, “I- that’s it? I had groveling prepared.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly as if he was trying to tell you it wasn’t necessary. “You’ve been a part of this team for years and not once have you ever asked for anything in return for everything you do for everyone else. This is the least I can do,” he told you.

You couldn’t help it. Overwhelmed, you tackled Hotch in a bear hug, “Thank you.” Your voice was low, “Thank you so much.”

Succinctly, Hotch hugged you back before you pulled away, “I’ll go make some calls.”

It was the smell.

The smell that you’d sensed countless times before on the job, the metallic tang of the blood. It should’ve been mostly dried by now – you supposed you were more susceptible to the scent, considering it was your parent’s blood, but it put you on high alert.

Emily had brought you by so that you could pack a bag for Maya, but you found yourself stuck on the landing. To one side, there was your childhood bedroom and Maya’s room. On the other side, there was your parent’s room.

“Y/N?” Emily called your name from downstairs, “Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, but you bit your tongue, scanning the house you had grown up in. “This doesn’t belong here,” you told her, glancing behind you as she made her way up the staircase.

You didn’t have gloves, so instead you pointed at the figurine that was resting on the bookshelves, a little bear facing in the direction of your parent’s bedroom door. “This is in the wrong spot?”

Nodding, your eyes followed the ceramic bear as Emily picked it up with a gloved hand. “It’s mine, it should be in my room,” you informed her. Your parents never changed anything about your childhood bedroom, not since you moved out. “It was like it was watching them,” you thought aloud.

“Do you think the UnSub did it?” She asked you gently, her voice was low but steady.

Blinking rapidly, you kept your eyes focused on the figurine, “Little Bear,” you murmured, “They called her Little Bear.”

Emily shook her head in confusion, dark hair swaying as her head moved. “Who was called Little Bear?”

Dropping the bag you had packed to the floor, you buried your face in your hands, “I should’ve seen it sooner.” The victimology, it all suddenly made sense to you. “When I was a kid, there was a family like mine. A brother who was in his twenties when his parents had another baby, a girl. They called her Little Bear.”

Realization dawned on Emily’s dark features, “Like this bear?”

You picked up the bag and started making your way back down the stairs. “Their mother made those figurines. The parents died in a fire two weeks ago – they left everything to the younger sister. It was all over the news. God, I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

��Hey,” Emily said sympathetically, “You had other things going on. None of this was your fault.” Her voice was stern, harsher than you’d ever heard her, as she pulled out her phone and called the team.

Your teammate drove, passing the police station on the way to drop you off. They left for the takedown, and you felt yourself floating into the precinct. Maya was waiting in the conference room for you, watching cartoons on someone’s laptop.

Kneeling in front of your little sister, you tapped the space bar, pausing the video. “Hey, kiddo,” you whispered, reaching over, and smoothing her hair away from her face. “How are you feeling?”

She had cried herself to sleep earlier, and you felt like you hadn’t been around enough. Maya sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, they were red, but not teary. “I miss mommy,” she told you, pouting slightly.

You nodded gently, moving to sit next to her before you pulled her into your lap. At six years old, she was all gangly limbs, just starting to grow into her own person. Just old enough to understand death, “I know, baby. I miss them too.”

“They wouldn’t lemme go home,” she continued, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I wanted Thumper,” she whined, sounding younger than she was.

Looking up at the light, you silently begged for your tears to go away. “I got him for you,” you told her, reaching into your bag and producing the small stuffed bunny that you had given her as a baby.

You savored the way her eyes lit up as she grabbed the stuffed animal from you.

“So, you and Thumper are gonna come to stay with me in Virginia. Do you remember going there? You said you liked it?” You kept smoothing her hair back as she held her toy.

She was silent for a moment, “Will Spencer be there?” She asked quietly.

Smiling slightly, you nodded, “He and I live together, so he’ll be there with us.” Slowly, you started rocking back and forth, trying to soothe the both of you simultaneously.

“As long as he doesn’t pull money out of my ear,” she answered succinctly, shutting her eyes as she leaned up against you.

There was approximately an hour before you watched the team return to the precinct, slowly, you laid Maya down on the couch before walking out. “It was a clean shoot,” you heard Rossi tell Morgan, and one look at the rest of them told you everything you needed to know.

The team went back to the hotel, and Spencer filled you in on the funeral arrangements he had made on your behalf. You were about to try to get some sleep when Hotch approached you and told you he needed to speak to you.

“I called a good friend of mine on your behalf, and he gave me some information. We were able to work out a plan,” he told you, sitting across from you in the hotel lobby.

You were about to tell him that a case plan wouldn’t work, but he held his hand out, telling you to wait.

He nodded before he kept going, “He was able to file an emergency request to grant you temporary custody of Maya, and it was granted.”

You felt sick to your stomach, “She’s mine?”

“Temporarily, you’ll have to take care of some formalities back in Virginia, but you have full custody of her,” he informed you. “You’re being granted family leave, and I’ve encouraged Reid to apply for it as well,” Hotch told you, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I am… I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through this but thank you for coming to me when you needed the help.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your head still whirling with the information that you had just been given. Stumbling, you walked back to your hotel room that you were sharing with Spencer and Maya.

The funeral was planned, the custody issue was solved, all there was left to do was…

“Baby?” Spencer said softly as you swung open the door, “Everyone else took Maya to get ice cream, I figured it couldn’t-“ his voice broke off at your first sob.

Everything you had held in came bursting out, all of the grief and stress and exhaustion nearly knocked your legs out from underneath you.

But Spencer was there to catch you.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort

[gubsbuubs]

Trophy wife

Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut. Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.

Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.

"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”

“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.

Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"

"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.

"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.

As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”

“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.

And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.

Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.

And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.

To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.

"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."

Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain." As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus. A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”

"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.

“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.

--x--

As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.

By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.

"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.

"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.

Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.

As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.

"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"

"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."

"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."

"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."

"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.

"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."

"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.

He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."

Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."

"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."

"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"

Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."

"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.

Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."

Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance." His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?" The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.

"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."

"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you." My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.

"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.

"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.

"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.

--x--

JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.

My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?

I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.

Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.

From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well. We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.

"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."

With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back. "Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand? "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.

"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk. My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.

"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.

“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.

"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.

From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.

I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.

"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.

"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling. His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain. "If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused. "It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.

"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him. "Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.

--x--

As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.

The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."

As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.

Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.

The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?

The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.

The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.

As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.

His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.

"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.

His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."

"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."

We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan. It was just all part of the plan.

"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine. "What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"

His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder. "How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.

"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.

I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?

"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck. "If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."

"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting. "Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.

“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”

Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."

I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.

"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction. "Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.

His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."

His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.

Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace. "He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby. Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me

"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.

"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.

Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.

As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.

As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.

Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."

Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.

Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?

The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.

My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.

"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."

My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.

"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.

I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.

“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.

"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.

"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."

“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.

"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go

"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.

"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.

Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.

After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out. "Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.

Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."

"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"

And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.

His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid imagine #mgg x reader #mgg smut #spencer reid x you #mgg x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg

[poorwritingandstalecoffee]

don't let me go

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Summary: Y/n gets a concussion in the field but thinks nothing of the headache and later ends up in the hospital with a worrysick Emily.

Notes:

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written fanfiction so if I’m rusty, just bear with me okay, and hopefully the burst of inspiration with last long enough me for to get back into the flow of things.

* Part 2 will be the ending probably.

Rating: 16+

Warnings: mentions of dizziness, headache pain, nightmare, and a very sad Emily (not forever though)

Word count: 1,638

It was supposed to be a regular Tuesday. That’s all.

You hadn’t intended any for this. The pain, the darkness, the silent, deadly suspension between life and death. The cold isolation from everything and everyone you loved—from her.

It just was supposed to be a regular fucking Tuesday. Where did it go wrong?

**

You couldn’t catch your breath; your lungs were on fire and pumping over time from the relentless running, running, running. Sweat matted the hair to your forehead and neck while your ponytail lashed at the wind and your arms and legs muscles screamed from the exertion. You didn’t feel it, though, not with the adrenaline and anger coursing through your bloodstream and the news that a 7-year-old girl’s life was hanging by a thread in a hospital bed and five more lay dead in the morgue because of the motherfucker.

You couldn’t stop. You knew if you did, he would disappear from your radar only to pop up 2-3 years later with the flashing headlines of another murder taunting and screaming at you from a pixelated screen for letting him get away.

So you kept running and running and running. Down street after street, Derek and Emily running perpendicular to you, and the rest of the team split into two cars coming from other directions.

Hotch was giving you orders, and the comms line was buzzing with information from the rest of the team as they tried to predict which direction he would turn next.

But you didn’t hear any of it; it was all white noise, with your surroundings blurring into flashing colors. You were the closest to him. So close you could nearly reach out and touch his shirt collar. So you gritted your teeth into near pain and pushed your tired limbs to go just a little farther, just a little faster.

Your lungs screamed because you hardly had any breath left to give, but you didn’t care—you nearly had him dammit.

Just. A. Little. Farther. And at the last second, without even thinking of it, without feeling a thing… you jumped. Careening toward him, clasping around his torso with an iron grip, you sent both yourself and the unsub flying in a mass of limbs through the street.

Your body smashed against the gravel and rolled with your head slamming into the concrete…but you never let go because you had him dammit. And you didn’t feel a thing.

**

“Y/n!!”

“Y/n! Hey, wake up!”

You jolted awake and flinched away from the warm hand on your already burning body. You couldn’t see a damn thing in the dark, and the air wasn’t reaching your lungs because part of your exhausted mind thought you were still back there—in the dream that wasn’t a dream but a faster and more truthfully terrifying version of the reality you faced the day before.

The sheets were becoming twisting, confining vines around your legs. You still couldn’t breathe right, and the shadows in your room were morphing into ghouls and demons that only caused the sweat on your body to run cold with quickening fear.

Just as you were making up your mind to run, a light flicked on, and a familiar face came into your hazy vision.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s Emily.”

Briefly, you looked at her with trepidation before your mind finally caught up with you, and your crumpled look of fear and confusion relaxed.

“Em.” Sighing, you fell back into your sweat-soaked pillow and closed your eyes while the first breath since waking up eased into your tired lungs.

Emily lightly brushed the matted hair from your forehead and looked at you with concern and solemnity. Because she knew this would come, had learned to expect it not just with you but herself also. After years of fighting the flesh and blood monsters, the imaginary ones would come to take their place until those two could be conquered.

“Deep breaths, angel. That one was rough,” she said while rubbing your arm gently. She would never admit it to you, but it scared her to see you like this.

Your eyes were still closed to try and stop your vision from spinning, but you could hear the soft tremor in her voice. “Hmm, oh, I don’t know. I give it a 4—you pulled me out of it pretty quickly, huh?”

“You still haven’t caught your breath, though, nor opened your eyes.”

At that you did look at her. Slowly, you let your eyes wander over her face: the telltale wrinkle of worry between her brows, the adorable bed hair that she would never stop arguing with you about how it is, in fact, not cute; the soft, flushed cheeks that you can’t help but want to kiss every second of the day; those completely kissable lips that are pressed into a frown; and finally, the endlessly beautiful dark brown eyes that could hold a thousand emotions at once and whose depths you could happily become transfixed by and lost in for eternity.

You looked at her with a familiar comfort and love that is as old as time itself. The kind of love that could cross time and space to reach two people who will continually find one another in every lifetime, in every universe.

“I’m okay, Em. I’m here with you, so I’m okay.” You reached for her hand, kissed her palm, and placed it against your chest so she could feel for herself.

Emily laid back down next to you and let her hand feel the steadying of your heartbeat. Moving her eyes over the plains of your face, she still marveled at how beautiful, strong, and human you were. After nearly two years together, she still was amazed at how much she loved you, at how you could continually make her feel like the most important person in the entire world, at how alive and human you could make her feel after years of feeling numb and cold to the world because of her demons.

“You’re okay. We’re both okay,” she said quietly. Without taking her eyes off of you, she turned off the lamp and pulled you closer to her.

“I’m still sweaty–”

“I don’t care. Let me hold you, please.”

“Okay, Em.”

She could feel you smiling against her neck, and she kissed the top of your head before burying her nose in your hair. Sighing in relief, she let herself be lulled back asleep by your soft breathing, because you were okay.

Right?

**

Later that morning.

“I still think you should go in—at least to get some stronger painkillers than fucking ibuprofen.”

“Emily, I’m fine,” you sighed in exasperation. You knew her worrying would only increase; it always does for either of you when something like this happens. “I got checked out yesterday, remember? And the headache will pass. It went away yesterday, and it’s going to go away today. Just give the pills time to work.”

You could see your words weren’t getting through to her with the way she was watching you like you would drop dead right in front of her. Her fingers were fidgeting already, and you knew she was fighting with herself not to start biting them.

Grabbing her hand, you rubbed soothing circles into her palm. “If it gets worse, I’ll tell you and will go, kay?”

Emily stared at you for five more seconds, letting the colors of your eyes, the feeling of your hand in hers, and your soft smile ease the stuttering, painful feeling in her chest before giving in. She pulled you back into her embrace, leaned back into the couch with you, and exhaled into your shoulder. “Okay…”

**

Five, ten, fifteen minutes into the movie that was playing, you could still feel her eyes on you—watching you for any signs of pain or discomfort. And to be honest, you could feel the headache creeping into unbearability and part of you hated both the headache and your body for falling out of your control.

The stabbing pain escalated to explosions across the back of your brain, the characters on the TV blurred in your failing vision, and you could feel the dizziness slowly clouding your senses.

“Alright, fine, let’s go.”

Emily’s breath hitched because you are always an inch more stubborn than she is, and if you're giving in, then it’s real this time, and no matter how many times you get hurt during a case, she will never be ready for it.

Slowly exhaling, she whispered, “I’ll get the keys and let the hospital know we’re coming,” because to say it any louder is like solidifying your pain into reality.

She lightly kissed your forehead and went to the kitchen to call the closest ER. You could hear her talking in the other room, and even that was becoming increasingly unbearable as the headache worsened.

Breathing in unsteady but measured breaths, you slowly stood and walked to the foyer where your shoes were, and just as Emily came out of the kitchen, you glanced up at her, and time slowed.

The explosive headache pain swallowed your mind, and black dots sporadically burst into your vision. You could feel the strength leaving your muscles, the sound of her voice escaping your ears, and for the first time since waking from your nightmare earlier that morning, you were terrified again. Your body felt so weightless and heavy at the same time—like you might fall through the floor or float up into space without a single tether to your life with Emily.

Slowly, you watched your hand limply reach out to her before the growing black dots finally swallowed your vision, and the last thing you saw was the look of terror on Emily’s face as she dropped her phone, screamed something you couldn’t hear, and ran to catch your body before it fell to the floor.

#michelle's works #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

Welp. Once again I have nothing to say for myself. I find this way hotter than it should be. Nobody @ me idk what happened to me

Warnings: 18+ duh, this one definitely teeters more on the non-con/dubcon line than the last, just a heads up! listen there's...so much. gun play, knife play, face fucking, choking, unprotected sex, reminder that he is not a Good Guy and this is meant to make you hot and bothered (emphasis on bothered)

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

Twelve: [REDACTED FROM THE RECORD]

Your mind fought your body as Aaron pressed into you, grinding against you, listening to you whimper. 

The cold barrel of his gun traced your jaw. It made the unbearable heat flood your entire body, and you felt ashamed. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to feel good.

“I think you’re just as gone as I am,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I could shoot you. Right here, right now. Instead,” he paused, pressing the barrel to your lips, “you’re squirming underneath me like a whore.”

“I hate you,” you snapped, taking a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

“No you don’t,” he cooed, taking his gun away to cover your lips in a blistering kiss. He ignored your protests and worked his tongue between your lips until you surrendered, relaxing against his body, giving in. “There she is,” he laughs, returning to your neck. “Undo my belt,” he said. He lifted his head, looking into your eyes. “Try anything, and I’m pulling the trigger.”

You believed him. You nodded, your eyes heavy. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling some of his weight off of you. “Go on.”

With your arms released, you worked him out of his belt, unzipping his pants, slipping your hand inside. He fell against the car the moment your hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked into your hand, his lips pressing against yours again.

His sounds were addicting. Listening to him fuck into your hand, his shaky breaths on your lips. You felt in control, just once. Until he took it back.

“Down,” he groaned, his hands pressing onto your shoulders. You resisted, shaking your head, until he pressed harder, and with the gun. “I said down.”

You sank to your knees, knowing what came next. He pulled his boxers down, and gripped your hair with one hand, shoving you forward.

He hit the back of your throat immediately and you gagged, not prepared for the intrusion. You barely had half of him, and he forced more, until your nose was against his stomach. You squirmed, trying to get away from him, from the pleasure that you hated you were feeling. He noticed. He gripped your hair tighter, and shoved his foot between your legs.

“Since you clearly need something,” he laughed darkly. “Grind on me, baby.”

He lifted his foot and the bump against your clit was all you needed. Your pleasure won over your logic. Nothing felt more right, grinding against him, swallowing his cock down your throat, letting him hold you down. 

“That’s it,” he hissed, pulling back to give you air before you went back down, and he held you there. He gripped your throat with his free hand, feeling his head beneath your skin. “Fuck.”

You felt him twitch only once before he spilled down your throat, refusing to let you up. You coughed and choked, your vision speckling right when he pulled you up. He hauled you up to your feet by your hair, pressing you against the car, covering your lips with his. He ground his hips into you and you sobbed. How was he still so hard? It made your core ache with a need you had never felt before. 

You were close to an orgasm, and he ripped it away from you, but now he was bringing you back to the edge. He gripped your hips, pressing his knee between your thighs as he lifted you up. 

“I have never,” he groaned, leaving bruises beneath your pants, “wanted to cut someone open as badly as I do with you.”

Fear ricocheted through you at his words.

“But I won’t,” he grumbled, pulling back to look at you. “Because what fun is it, to end it here?”

He set you down and spun you around, pulling your pants and underwear down in one swift move. You leaned over onto the hood of the car, accepting your fate, accepting your shame because you wanted it. You wanted this so bad, you spread your legs without being asked.

He traced your spine with the gun, then you heard him toss it to the ground. If you weren’t out of your mind, you’d reach for it, but it was far from your priorities. 

“I know how we can make this interesting,” he whispered, and then you felt a blade against your lower back. “Don’t make me hurt you, and I won’t. This can be pleasurable.”

You rested your head on the hood of the car, taking a deep breath, whimpering when you exhaled without meaning to. 

“Shhh,” he soothed, rocking his hips against you as he drew circles on your back with the knife. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He pushed into you with no warning, immediately hitting your cervix, causing you to cry out in pain. He began rocking in and out of you until the pain resumed to pleasure, and as he brushed your G-spot, he dug in with the knife. You felt the skin break, but felt no pain, only a sting, and it was intoxicating. You wanted more.

He felt your walls flutter when he did it, and he laughed, leaning over you to whisper in your ear. “I knew you’d like that.” The knife found your neck, lightly tracing your main artery. “Sick and twisted. Just as bad as me.”

Your eyes rolled when he rolled his hips, nicking you with the knife just under your ear. Nothing compared to the white hot pleasure that ripped through you with your first orgasm, or the way he chased you right to your second.

“Now that is addicting,” he breathed, pressing his hips into you. “If only you weren’t following orders.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that. Did he want to kill you, but would he refrain since your whereabouts were known? You never had time to think about it. He continued fucking into you until you couldn’t see straight.

You didn’t remember how many marks he left on you with the knife, just that each one felt better than the last. And that more than once, the feel of the knife nearly sent you over the cliff of an orgasm.

You were done only when he was done, and Aaron made sure you had four orgasms before he let himself cum inside you, sending you flying into a fifth climax. He wanted you fucked purely dumb, so he didn’t have to worry about you fighting him. And it worked.

He righted himself and returned his gun to his holster, choosing to use yours to make you obey him if necessary, but he didn’t think he’d run into any problems. You laid there against the hood of the car for a while, with your pants around your ankles, his cum running down your thighs. It was a sight he wished to take a picture of.

Until he remembered he had a bigger issue at hand.

“Get yourself together,” he instructed. “You’re driving me back to the motel.”

You nodded and pulled your pants up, your legs shaking as you attempted to move. You didn’t think you’d be able to drive, but you didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

You climbed into the driver’s seat and tried not to think about what you did. But the cuts from the knife screamed when you rested your back against the seat. A black shirt was your best decision this morning. “Now,” Aaron said, settling into the passenger seat, now pointing your gun on you. “We need to talk.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #unsub!hotch x fem!reader #unsub!hotch smut #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x you #unsub!hotch fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #Devil's Backbone #unsub!hotch

[bau-drabbles]

(hello hope you're doing good 🤠) MAFIA HOTCH BUT HE "hates" READER. THEY'RE TURF ENEMIES OR WHATEVER AND HE ALWAYS HAS THE OPPORTUNITY TO GET RID OF HER ONCE AND FOR ALL AND TAKE OVER HER STUFF BUT HE NEVER TAKES IT CAUSE HE LOVES THE CAT AND MOUSE GAME WITH HER BUT HE REALLY GETS ON HER NERVES (kinda giving enemies to lovers or Batman and Joker if you squint lol)

OMG PLS 😵‍💫😵‍💫🫶🫶 i really want to write a more in depth version but tumblr deleted it 😭

hotch such a cocky bastard, he knows exactly how to get under your skin and he will test every limit in your body. to watch you snap or break, you're not sure which one. he has every means to dispose of you and your team, he knows every trick in the book. and being a bau profiler on top of that, he's almost unstoppable.

you're so sure he hates your guts, everytime he looks at you is with a frown or a manipulative smile when he knows he's gotten what he wants. he barely even acknowledges you unless it's to point out your faults and how you're too unfit to run a dangerous business. how he always threatens to swipe everything from under you, leave you in the dust

only you don't catch the small hint of the smike behind his facade, watching you for a second longer than he should. the small hint of emotion crossing his eyes when you reply back with a sparky comment, his mouth curving into the smallest hints of a smile when he sees your face crumpled up in anger. who knew anger could look gorgeous on someone? he dares wonder how you look with a smile, how you'd look like smiling to him? but those fantasies are too painful to imagine so he settles for the next best thing he gets.

he could overpower you, take everything you've ever built away, eliminate everyone who works for you in a second but he likes the competition. or rather he enjoys the company, your company. even if you're constantly scowling at him, it's better than nothing 🥹

#asks #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mafia!hotchner #mafia!hotch #unsub!hotch

[0and0its0doctor0]

Welcome! Masterlist!

Hello and welcome! My name is Bella, I am 30, I write Criminal Minds fanfiction for Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid and David Rossi. Please feel free to send story suggestions or prompt ideas or just say Hi! Here is a little masterlist of my current stories. 

Aaron Hotchner

I don't dance Summary: Aaron had a bad day. Twirling you around the kitchen makes him feel better.

I won't let go Summary: You wake up thinking everything is perfect. In reality you've been stabbed.

Unsub Kisses Summary: Aaron has to go undercover and makes out with the unsub. You get jealous.

You are the only thing I need. Like coffee in the morning Summary: Aaron asks you out…in front of everyone.

Why Wait? Summary: Vegas hotels have wedding chapels in the lobby. Aaron makes a decision.

Love you out loud Summary: Hotch cuddles. What could be better?

Shut up and dance with me! Summary: When you are asked to attend the annual FBI Gala you dress up. Hotch can't help himself.

Hostage Kisses Summary: He didn't mean to kiss you....No that's a lie. He totally did.

Sandwich Hearts Summary: You make Aaron's lunch and he gets lightly teased for it.

Lipstick smeared accidents Summary: When Aaron is checking over an injury on you he just can't help himself.

Keep on dreaming Summary: You fall asleep smushed between Aaron and David.

I’m dirty but you play clean 18+. Summary: Handcuffs. Hotchner. Lack of clothing.

I will not give you up this time Summary: Facebook memories are bringing you down. Aaron decides to do something about it. 

They tell me your blue sky’s faded to gray Summary: You can't sleep. Aaron helps. 

Asleep on the jet Summary: You fall asleep on Aaron’s shoulder on the jet.

Do I deserve this hurting? Summary: Your depression is plaguing you. Aaron helps comfort you. 

Spencer Reid

Marry me today and everyday Summary: Spencer has never been more nervous for anything in his life.

Heat Stroke Summary: You are self-conscious about the scars on your arms so you wear long sleeves. And wind up getting heat stroke. Spencer takes care of you.

We've all got bruises Summary: You mess up on a case and take it out on yourself. Spencer finds out and confronts you about it.

Sleep Issues Summary: Spencer can't sleep. You help just by being there.

There's no turning back now Summary: First kisses can be a scary thing.

Why? That's what I keep asking Summary: You don't fit in with anyone anymore. You can't keep faking it. You're so sorry.

Tonight will be the night I will fall for you Summary: Spencer suspects your boyfriend is beating you. When you show up on his doorstep, beaten, he vows to protect you.

They say we're crazy, I say well maybe that's true. Summary: Spencer is having a bad mental health day. You try to help him

I’ll wear out the words I love you Summary: Spencer finally asks the question that’s been on his mind for months…just not when and where you’d expect

So I’ll leave you gagged and bound Summary: You have been dating Aaron Hotchner for a few months and when he introduces you to the team Spencer Reid can't help but fall in love. The problem is Spencer's mental health is declining and fast. When he gets fired and realizes he has nothing to lose...he takes you. Will Aaron find you in time?

A subtle interest Summary: Emily drags Spencer to see her ballerina friend perform. Spencer falls fast. 

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage Summary: Spencer is not doing well. This is not a happy story. Trigger warnings apply. 

David Rossi

You belong to me I believe Summary: An unsub gets a little too flirty with you. David steps in.

Date Night 18+  Summary: Bella is new to the FBI and literally runs into David Rossi who she happens to have a massive crush on. He takes her out to dinner and they wind up on his couch.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #david rossi #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #david rossi x ofc #david rossi x reader #rossi x reader #masterlist #anons welcome #welcome to my blog #requests open

[lovingrosewho]

Grudges

So here we go again: many many years ago (around 2017), I wrote this Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader! fanfiction, I never published it ‘cause I was always making corrections and re-reading it, I tried to publish it around 2019 I think, but then I lost that tumblr account… anyways. After all these years, I bring it to you again, with no new corrections, just myself from 2017 speaking/writing. Hope you like it!

MULTICHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader!

Rating: T

Word count: 4128

Summary: the BAU is investigating a series of murders in your hometown, and you’re right in the middle of it, but Dr. Spencer Reid takes a particular liking in you.

Warnings: usual tv series stuff (absent father, missing relative, murder and crime scene descriptions)

(set after season 8)

It was just another day at the BAU, Penelope had just called everyone into the conference room to explain the next case.

“Delaware. Three victims. First victim was killed two weeks ago, his name was Adrien Sanders, he was 57 years old, 5’7 feet tall; second victim was killed almost a week ago, Philip Moore, 56 years old, 5’9 feet tall; and third victim, Dennis Barnes, was killed yesterday, he was 59 years old, also 5’9 feet tall. All three were males, and as you can see, with similar physical features” she explains pointing with a laser to the pictures “Although, they were shot in different places; Sanders was shot in the stomach, Moore on the neck and the right leg, and Barnes was shot several times in… pretty much everywhere” García says, getting goosebumps from the images shown.

“He’s escalating, acting out of rage. Are there any connections besides the physical similarity between the victims?” Morgan asks.

“None, apparently. Sanders was a salesman, he was murdered in Pike Creek, getting out of a bar at night, Moore was a lawyer, killed in plain daylight, near his house in Glasgow, and Barnes was shot at his job, a car factory in Wilmington. No witnesses”.

“I believe we’ve got ourselves an unsub who uses his victims as surrogates for someone else due to the extreme resemblance they present. We’ll keep discussing it on the plane. Wheels up in 30” Hotch declares.

“There’s no evident pattern on the map, it just seems like the unsub picked… random locations” Reid says frowning while looking at the map, tracing lines on it.

“If he’s using his victims as surrogates, wouldn’t it be possible that these men are just victims of opportunity? Maybe the man who killed them is in some kind of delusion that they are who he really wants to kill, they cross paths with him, looking almost, or exactly like his target, and then… that’s it. They’re gone”. JJ says.

“Why are we assuming he’s a man?” Rossi questions.

“That’s a good point…” Spencer speaks “Nothing makes it look like it… this unsub… it doesn’t look like he had a special or knowing management of a gun given the places where he shot his victims, he didn’t use his hands, so there are no traces on the bodies, there’s no signature, no murder weapon, no sign that it was personal, there are no witnesses… there’s no way we can know if it’s a man or a woman”.

“Then we’re back at square one” Morgan concludes “We can’t move forward if we don’t even know if the killer is a male or a female ‘cause we’ve got nothing else, no signature, no nothing”.

“Of course we have something: victimology” Hotch points out “Try to stop looking for the unsub directly, start looking for the next victim, who fits the description and how could he be connected to the unsub. When we land, Reid and I will speak to Delaware authorities to find out what else they can tell us about the case, Rossi and Morgan, go to the last crime scene and let us know what you can tell about this last murder, JJ, go talk to the families of the victims, see what they can tell you about them, if they have any suspicions of someone who could’ve killed their relatives, and if they know of any connection at all with the other victims”.

“You got it” JJ assures.

“We’ll meet you again at Wilmington’s offices”.

While the BAU is busy trying to catch the killer in your town, you’re busy going to work riding your bicycle at the same time you brush your teeth.

You get to the flower shop almost half hour late and start giving Irene, the old lady you work for, explanations as to why you are late, she just looks at you all messed up and laughs, telling you it’s fine since it’s the first time you’re late and that it is no big deal.

You sigh, trying to calm your nerves. You stayed up pretty late last night, waiting for Connor’s text, letting you know he was okay. He’s been doing that for the past couple of weeks he’s been missing. At first you wondered if it was really him, he must’ve guessed that, because he sent you a voicenote, telling you not to worry, saying he needed to clear his mind, apologizing for his behavior… since then, he had been texting you everyday at the same hour every night, but last night, he didn’t text you until 4 a.m.

You figured it was normal, after meeting with your father again, who you hadn’t seen in your 25 years, until then.

You think about all of that while arranging all of the flowers on the counter and changing the signboard from “CLOSED” to “OPEN”, when you do that, you sigh again, sitting behind the counter, pulling a book out of your bag, waiting for the doorbell to ring, indicating you have a customer.

It takes less than 5 minutes for it to ring, which is weird. You frown without taking your eyes off of your book until you’re done reading that sentence. You look up with your best smile and ready to work, when you see your dad standing on the doorway. You roll your eyes and pinch your nose bridge on that precise instant, sensing an oncoming migraine.

“What do you want?” you ask, not raising your voice so Irene doesn’t get startled.

“I told you. I want to make peace with you. And your brother” he says, smiling. What a hypocrite.

“Sir. I’m gonna need to ask you to get out” you say, still not raising the volume.

“(Y/N)…”

“I told you that day at the coffee shop… neither me, or Connor, are going to make peace with you… you weren’t here… ever… the few things I know about you, are that you used to beat Connor and my mom up, and that you left the second I was born, how am I supposed to forgive you uh? Tell me” you rant.

“I told you, I am truly sorry”.

“No you’re not… and even if you are… it is not enough. Look, sir, I’m going to ask you to leave again, if you don’t, or if I see you again, I’m gonna call the police and accuse you of harassment, understood?” you state, voice firm and impassive. He looks at you, surprise in his eyes, but nods and turns around, opening the door.

“If you ever change your mind… I’m renting a small apartment here in Wilmington, in front of Stapler Park” he says before getting out and start walking.

“Screw you” you whisper, getting back to your book, when Irene comes to stand behind you.

“Your old man?” she inquires with her Alabamian accent.

“Nah” you say, not removing your eyes from the page you’re in “He’s not my anything”.

A couple of days went by, the team was at Wilmington's offices, discussing the case all over again after each of them had researched enough but came up clean.

"JJ what did you come up with?" Hotch interrogates her, frustrated about not getting anywhere near catching the unsub.

"Not much, I mean... I’m trying to make connections but... the three victims were pretty much... average Joe's... Adrien Sanders was out drinking with a couple of friends, nothing unusual according to his ex wife, Philip Moore was supposed to come home to his son and wife, he was only a couple of blocks away from his house, and Dennis Barnes was working on fixing some car engine, according to his coworkers. Nothing out of the ordinary, no leads..."

"Okay then, let's start thinking, if they're surrogates, who are they surrogates for?" Hotch follows up.

"Could be an ex husband?" Rossi suggests.

"Or perhaps it would be more likely to be an abusive relative?" Morgan thinks.

"Statistically yeah, 3.3 million American children are exposed to domestic violence in their homes each year, 45 to 70% of the same number of children who are exposed to domestic violence are also victims of physical abuse, because of the trauma, they have higher risks of alcohol/drug abuse and juvenile delinquency" Reid states, almost like quoting it from a book.

"The victims were 56, 57 and 59 years old, which means we're looking for someone between the ages of 25-30" Rossi says until Reid comes in again.

"Actually, I think we should consider 25-35 or more, statistics show that it is more likely to suffer from domestic violence when they come from an unwanted pregnancy, which means..."

"Teenage parents" JJ guesses.

"Exactly... we shouldn't even dismiss someone who is 40 years old" Reid assures.

"Okay then what are we looking for? Males or females who suffered from domestic violence, delusional, probably with a criminal record..." Hotch starts.

"Kids who suffer this, don't usually have social skills nor education" Rossi interrupts.

"I think it's time we give the profile" Hotch declares getting out of the conference room.

"We're looking for males or females between the ages of 25-40 years old, who suffered from domestic violence, they're more likely to have a criminal record, no social skills, and barely any or no education at all" Hotch says to the authorities who are present in the room.

"This unsub doesn't know how to manage his anger, he uses his victims as surrogates to what we think might be an abusive relative" Morgan informs.

"He or she might as well be delusional, he kills his victims because he thinks he saw his real target. The victims he's looking for are males from 55-60 years old, with a fair complexion, dark hair, and about 5"9 feet tall. When you relieve this information to the press, let them know the characteristics of the victimology, in case someone knows anyone who has this specific features. Thank you" Hotch concludes before getting back to the office with the rest of the team to call Garcia.

"Ready to act, sir" she answers.

"Garcia we need you to check reports from children who suffered from domestic violence in the estate of Delaware, more specifically in the cities of Pike Creek, Glasgow and Wilmington in the last 40 years" Hotch demands.

"Your wish is my command sir, and... oh... I've got 17,334 results..."

The team keeps trying to crosscheck results for a while, but none fit the profile.

"Maybe they weren't even born here" Rossi says, frankly exhausted.

The phone rings and JJ answers.

"Yeah... could you give me his name? Barry (Y/L/N)... okay, thank you, what about an address? That's okay, thank you ma'am" JJ hangs up and looks at the team "Someone fits the description of the victims".

"Garcia, could you look for a man named Barry (Y/L/N) please?" Hotch asks.

"Right... he is 57 years old, got married in Washington D.C... and... oh my god..."

"What is it babygirl?" Morgan questions, worry in his voice.

"It's just... there are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... and... he has a daughter. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)".

"What can you tell us about her?" Hotch interrogates.

"She is 25 years old, lives here, on the city of Wilmington, she has no social media handles, but... something's not right".

"What do you mean?" JJ says.

"She doesn't fit the profile even though her father does fit the victimology. She went to kindergarten and the first year of elementary school at Washington D.C, then she continued studying but here in Delaware, graduated from college with honors from the University of Delaware, with a degree in fine arts."

"What about a criminal record?" Morgan inquires.

"None, she's... perfect..." Garcia says, giving up.

"Okay, thanks Garcia" Hotch says and hangs up, frustrated again "It doesn't matter that she doesn't fit the profile, we should still check her out, see what she can tell us about her father. Reid, I need you to take care of that, while the rest of us try to figure out if something went wrong with the profile".

"Why just me?" Spencer frowns.

"Because you're closer to her age, and given the facts Garcia gave us about her, she sounds pretty similar to you, maybe you can get her to tell you something relevant" Aaron tells him. Spencer doesn't look so comfortable going on his own but agrees at the end, when he's about to leave the conference room Morgan yells at him.

"Hey kid! Just wrap it up!" he says mocking him and starts laughing, the whole team starts giggling, except for Hotch who only looks at him and shrugs. Spencer's cheeks turn red and he rushes to get out of Wilmington's offices.

Meanwhile, you get home from the flower shop, still no sign from Connor.

You go to your room, dodging the canvas and cans of paint so you can change into something more comfortable when there's a knock at the door. You close your eyes and frown, waiting to hear Connor's voice.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" a man says through the door "I’m... Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI, could you please open your door?".

Panic starts flooding you when the thought of Connor being in trouble pops up.

You walk slowly to the door and open it, revealing the most beautiful man you've seen in your entire life. Spencer is taken aback by your beauty as well, he looks at you in shock, as if he was expecting someone else.

"Are you...?" he starts.

"Yes" you interrupt “Uh... come in please".

When he enters the small house, the first thing he notices is a huge amount of books spread all over the place, you start picking them up and trying to pile them somewhere where they don't get in the way.

"I'm so sorry" you apologize "I wasn't planning on having any visits".

He giggles softly "It's okay" he says, helping you pick up the ones on the couch, leaving them on a table near it.

"Would you um...? Like some coffee? Or tea or water or... something?" you ramble.

"Coffee is fine, thank you".

You bring two mugs of coffee to the table in front of the couch, along with sugar and milk in case he’d like to pour some. You sit next to him, holding your cup between your both hands.

"So... how can I help you?" you finally ask.

"I'm with the BAU... the uh... the Behavioral Analysis Unit, we... profile the unsub... unsub stands for unknown subject... we-uh-we are investigating the recent murders that take place here in Delaware" he explains.

"Oh... okay" you say, still not understanding how can you help them.

"Do you... do you know this man?" he asks, showing you a picture of your father, you look at it, not even taking it to get a closer look.

"Yes, he's the son of a bitch who abandoned my family the day I was born" you whisper, holding your cup more forcefully than necessary.

He looks at you with a look you can't decipher.

"There are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... I was wondering if... I could ask you a few questions about it, about your life in general" when he says this, it hits you.

"Are you considering me a suspect?" he scratches the back of his head, bowing it down.

"Your father... matches the victimology, and even though you don't fit the entire profile, we shouldn't dismiss any possibilities... I just... I want to know a bit more about you and your family, that's all, I'm not assuming anything".

"What do you want to know?" you murmur.

"What do you remember about your father?"

"Nothing. I told you. He left the day I was born, my mother died 6 years after that".

"What...? What do you mean? Who raised you then?" he looks surprised. You thought he would know that part of your life if he already knew who your father was.

"My brother of course".

He stays quiet for a couple of minutes, staring at you.

"I didn't know you had a brother" he confesses "What's his name?"

"Connor" you look down at your, now cold, cup of coffee, and take a sip.

"Can you tell me more about him?" he asks politely.

"Well... we were both born in Washington D.C... my mother had him when she was 18 and my father was 20, it was an unwanted pregnancy... for all I know, he used to beat my mother up, and Connor as well, when he tried to defend her. 12 years later, my mother got pregnant again… the day I was born, my father left, so my brother started working as a carpenter's assistant... after dating several guys, abusive, just like my dad, my mom got into a severe depression and died when I was 6 years old... by then my brother was already 18, and he had saved up enough for us to move here to Delaware... we've been living here ever since" you explain, the images of your mother, lying dead on her bed tormenting you again.

"So your brother... he worked and studied at the same time?" he questions.

"No... he... he couldn't afford to keep us both in school, he wasn't even able to finish elementary school but... he made sure I went to and finish college. He raised me... as if I was his own daughter" you say, feeling kind of guilty.

“What about his social life?” he asks, worry starting to show up on his face.

“Neither of us has what you would consider a social life… I’m always buried either on my books or my paintings, if not, I’m working on the flower shop, and he’s always buried on his work… we have each other, and that’s quite enough, when we come home we have dinner together, talk about our day, watch a movie or something… it’s… pretty much just the two of us against the world. It’s always been like that” you acknowledge, a single tear streaming down your cheek.

Spencer looks at you almost with pity and cleans the tear with his thumb mindlessly, even though he’s not too keen of physical contact, it just seems appropriate. The gesture sends butterflies to your stomach.

“(Y/N)… listen to me carefully… I need you to tell me where your brother is”.

“What?” you exclaim, fear coming out of your voice “You think he did this? No. Spencer… no, I’m sorry but that’s not possible. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t… no… the fact that the victims are similar to my father is just a coincidence, Connor is just… not capable of this… I mean…” you ramble with your voice cracking at the end.

“(Y/N)” he stares at you, looking directly into your eyes, it is as if he can see right through you “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” you shout bursting into tears “He disappeared two weeks ago”.

“Why didn’t you report him missing?”

“’Cause he’s been sending me texts every night, letting me know he’s okay! I figured… we saw our father again… after 25 years without seeing him, he found us… I thought… I thought it was normal that he wanted some time alone…”

“What’s his phone number?” he asks, pulling out his own cellphone, dialing a number “Garcia, I need you to run a name for me and track a number”.

“Okie dokie” a woman says at the other end of the line “Shoot”.

“Connor (Y/L/N). He’s (Y/N)’s brother. I just sent you the number”.

“Alright, let me do my magic… mmmh… oh. Wow. This is weird. I’ve got nothing”.

“What do you mean you’ve got nothing?” Spencer says, raising his voice.

“He’s not registered. At all. Not even a birth certificate. And the cellphone’s off”.

“He was never registered” you inform “Our parents never considered it important, so...”

“Where does he work?” Spencer cuts you off in a desperate way, you give him the address of the truck company “(Y/N), I need to go with the team. Will you be okay on your own?”

You nod slightly “Just… call me when you find him… please” you plead, still sobbing.

“Yes. I promise. I will. Thank you” he says reaching for the doorknob “(Y/N)… please be careful. Connor is delusional… please, lock the doors and windows... and stay safe” after telling you this, he leaves in a hurry, leaving his cup of coffee intact on top of the table.

You sit on the couch, laying down slowly, you close your eyes. You fall asleep crying, wishing that when you wake up, everything going on around you is just a nightmare.

Spencer joins the team when they’re about to leave Wilmington’s offices to go to your brother’s workplace, the moment he hops onto the van, the whole team starts bombing him with questions.

“Reid, what did (Y/N) tell you?” Hotch inquires while driving.

“Her father left when she was born, her brother is 12 years older than her which means he’s 37, their father used to abuse Connor and her mother… the anonymous reports of domestic violence must’ve been done by him, but no one ever did anything. They saw their father two weeks ago”.

“That must’ve been the stressor” Rossi affirms.

When the team gets to Connor’s workplace, they don’t find him, but they do find his boss.

“Michael Turner?” Hotch asks a bald man approaching them, showing him his badge “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is my team, we’re with the FBI investigating the murders that take place here in Delaware”.

“How can I help you?” Mr. Turner asks unsurely.

“We’re looking for Connor (Y/L/N), I believe he works for you”, Michael laughs ironically.

“Not anymore” he says “That kid hasn’t come to work for days, the last time I saw him, he had to drop some packages in Pike Creek and Glasgow, when you find him, tell him he’s fired”.

“Mr. Turner, why did you hire Connor in the first place if he had no identifications?” Spencer interrogates.

“’Cause he was just a boy… just 18, having to take care of his 6 year old sister… I took him under my wing, how could I not? But for what I see, this is the payment I get” he exclaims angrily while turning around “Excuse me gentlemen, but I have work to do”.

“Thank for your time” Aaron says, turning back to the team “Where else could Connor be?”

“If he’s been looking for a specific target, that could be his endgame” JJ suggests.

“We need to know where his father lives currently, if he’s delusional about people who look like him, his father is his endgame” says Hotch.

“We need to be fast, he hasn’t killed anyone in days, that could mean he already knows where his father lives, I’ll call Garcia” Morgan decides and dials the number “Hey, talk to me babygirl”.

“My chocolate thunder, what can I do for you?” she answers.

“I need you to tell me where Barry (Y/L/N) currently lives”.

“Okay let me check, he… oh no. He just rented an apartment in front of Staple Park, here in Wilmington, I’m sending you the complete address right now”.

“Thanks Garcia, we’re on our way ” Hotch indicates, turning the siren on and starting the engine of the SUV.

When they arrive to Barry (Y/L/N)’s apartment, they discover he is just fine, watching TV on the livingroom.

“Can I help you?” he asks standing up, clearly mad about some stranger breaking into his house, his voice is hoarse from drinking.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re with the FBI, have you seen your son Connor (Y/L/N)?” Hotch asks annoyed by the man in front of him.

“My son?” he chuckles “I don’t think my son will want to see me ever again”.

“He hasn’t talked to you? Threatened you?” Morgan inquires.

“No, but who did threat me, actually, was his sister” the team notices right away that he said ‘his sister’ instead of ‘my daughter’. Barry rolls his eyes “She said she’d accuse me of harassment if I came near her ever again”.

“She’s not our unsub” Reid claims abruptly.

“We know that, Reid” Hotch tells him, dismayed by his sudden behavior “Mr. (Y/L/N), please don’t hesitate on calling if something strange happens”.

“Stranger than a bunch of FBI agents breaking into my apartment?” he huffs “Yeah, okay, I will”.

The team gets out of the house, confused by the pattern Connor has been following.

“He hasn’t killed anyone else, that can just mean that he’s looking for his endgame, the one who made it imposible for him to live the life he wanted or deserved” Rossi intervenes.

“Unless…” JJ starts “Unless his father isn’t his endgame”.

“Who else could it be?” Morgan exclaims, raising his eyebrows.

“(Y/N)” Reid says, running towards the SUV, followed by the rest of the team.

Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

#spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #bau team fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

[film-bro-hotch]

Queen of Nothing (Hotch x Reader) – Chapter One

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a Hotch fic, but I am super excited to see how this one goes! I’ll probably keep this up just for my own satisfaction, but I am a full-time college student, so updates will be slow. Also chapter names are probably going to be from songs/poems, so feel free to give them a listen or read. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: murder (mostly alluded to, no details)

WC: 1.7k

Synopsis: Reader is an ex-BAU agent. There was only so much work profiling could do, and it was something you and your boss, Aaron Hotchner, seemed to clash over. So you decided to take justice into your own hands, hunting down those who had evaded justice. You have been traveling around the country for the last 5 years serving your own form of justice, that is until you end up back in northern Virginia. You run into your old boss and ex-boyfriend, Aaron. He invites you to dinner, and you can’t say no, but you also can’t stop the work you’ve been doing for the past 5 years. You were a profiler, you can evade the FBI, right? Anything for love.

“Rats and roaches live by competition under the laws of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.” ― Wendell Berry

You think he knew that day you left the BAU that you wouldn’t be back. You only had a few things from your desk, it was only supposed to be temporary. You remember the look on his face when you set that request for leave on his desk. The two of you had been arguing a lot more lately, about your relationship, about your differences in opinion at work. You told him it was getting harder watching some of these unsubs go because they didn’t have enough evidence for a court, but you knew they were guilty. Aaron had told you that sometimes that happened, that you would get used to it, that you hadn’t been working in the field long enough. So you requested leave, two weeks, and agreed to a psych eval upon your return. 

“I just need a little air between me and the BAU,” you had said in his office.

He swiftly signed the paper. “Enjoy your two weeks, Agent L/N.” His words were dry like normal, but you could see the hint of pain in his eyes, the little extra crease at the end of his brow and the way it tilted up just a little more than usual.

Part of you wished he called for you as you left his office. The other part didn’t let you feel a thing as you walked through the door, gave simple half goodbyes, the ones you give to a friend after hanging out but are sure to see them again. Hotch was right. You never came back to the BAU. 

No, now you were in the middle of nowhere town on the coast somewhere between Louisiana and Mississippi and a little too close to New Orleans. You usually brought your justice to larger cities if you could. With so many people coming in and out, no one was sure to notice you as you didn’t stay anywhere for long. You never killed in the same place twice. At least not for a long while. You had to stop in the little halfway town to get some rest before making the drive to your next destination - which you still had to figure out.

You had burned your clothes an hour before, scattered the ashes into the bay. The man you had brought to justice was a little messier than you would normally go for, but he was much more aggressive than the men you usually take care of. This one required a sawed-off shotgun. Untraceable, but blood managed to get on your clothes, and you would rather not risk it, so you burned a pair of jeans you really didn’t want to get rid of. 

In that motel bathroom, you scrubbed your fingernails with a small toothbrush, a part of paranoia making you do so even though you had worn gloves. You tried not to look up at the mirror, see just how tired you were. You didn’t like the way you looked after a crime. You hated to even consider it a crime. You were doing more than you had ever gotten done at the BAU. Justice the legal system couldn’t provide.

You scrubbed until the hot water ran out, splashing your face in hopes to wake yourself up a bit. You still had to decide where to go next. One more rub of the face, a deep breath, and you left the bathroom, only sparing yourself a partial glance. 

To ensure that your destinations were truly random, truly untraceable, you let dice decide. One triangular die with four points would determine the first number of the latitude while a ten-sided die would determine the second number for the latitude. Longitude would be determined by a twenty-sided die and another ten-sided die. The numbers would hopefully keep you in the parameters of the United States, though if you needed to, you would reroll.

The crumpled map you tore out of an atlas was scribbled with red, places you had already been and tried to stay away from, but you didn’t want to influence the roll too much. Somehow someone like Reid would find a connection if you didn’t keep it completely randomly generated. Pulling the dice out of your bag, you gave them a quick kiss and rolled the first set. 

3 and 9.

So 39N. The line that seemed to run right through the middle of the country. You could end up anywhere. “Let’s hope west coast. This humidity is a bitch,” you mutter. You gently pick up the other two, rolling them in your hand for just a moment before letting them fall onto the map in front of you.

7 and 7.

77 W. You trace your finger along the lines on the map and feel your chest constrict as they meet. Fairfax, Virginia. Too close to Quantico. Too close to D.C. Too close to all those people you left behind. In all 5 years of this, you hadn’t even landed in Virginia. And now you were to go into the belly of the beast. 

What are you even afraid of? So many of your coworkers could have moved on, gone to different departments, you thought. Maybe they don’t even live in Fairfax. Besides, you’ll be out of there in no time if you stay focused and don’t do anything stupid.

You grabbed the dice from the map, shoving them back into your backpack and haphazardly folding it. It seems you had a long drive ahead of you, and you were going to need to get some sleep so you didn’t psych yourself out on the drive. It’s what the dice said, so it will be fine, you kept repeating to yourself as you pleaded for sleep to take you.

--

            Most of the drive was coming up with ways that made you feel only slightly better about the move. You knew the area decently well considering you had lived there for some time, but not well enough to be considered a local if any authorities began to suspect you. Even if they did, you hadn’t lived in the area for five years. As far as anyone knew, you didn’t live there anymore. The more you thought about it, the more confident you felt. You couldn’t do your job worrying about little things.

            Once you reached Fairfax County, you found the cheapest motel you could, the one that probably looked the most rundown and maybe wasn’t the safest, but that’s why you were there. In your experience, the people who ran these didn’t ask questions. 

            There was a woman behind the counter, blonde curly hair that was more frizz than curl. She had a stocky build and wore an old shirt from some county fair. In one hand she had a lit cigarette, the other held some cheap tabloid. She didn’t look up when you entered, though she undoubtedly heard the bell at the door.

            “Any vacancies?”

            She didn’t look up at you, but she did put the tabloid and look at what seemed to be an old appointment book. “How long?” she asked in a voice that made it clear she had been smoking for years. 

            “Two weeks,” you settle with, pulling cash out of your bag to pay. She seemed to raise a brow for just a moment, but took it without another word, handing you the keys to one of the rooms. 

            “Room 8, outside and to your left. Checkout is at 11:00,” she says, scribbling your stay down in the book, not asking for a name before going back to her tabloid. 

            Like you figured, the room was run down and shitty, but it would help you keep a low profile. It smelled like cigarette smoke the moment you walked in, but the sheets seemed relatively clean, so you would take what you could get. There was no television, but you had grown accustomed to living without one. Doing your routine checks of the place, you gave yourself just a moment to relax. 

            It was then that you realized not only just how late it was, but how hungry you were. You didn’t make many stops on the way for food, only when you needed more gas. Most places you stayed didn’t have a minifridge or anything, but you usually kept a cooler in the car so you could have some meat and cheese for sandwiches. Not the best, but you got by well enough. That seemed to be the theme for your life the past five years. So like every usual move, you were tired after the drive but reluctantly got up and drove to the nearest grocery store to grab just the necessities. 

            By that time in the night, it was a little after 10:00, and there was hardly anyone else in the place besides the few workers that seemed to mill about. The fluorescent lights made your eyes ache a little, but that could also be due to straining them driving all day. You were trying to be quick, just wanting some food so you could go to bed. You had to be well rested to start your research for the next case.

You had grabbed what looked to be the cheapest bread and was around the corner when your cart hit something else metal, a loud metallic sound rang in your ears a bit. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You must have been a lot more tired than you originally thought if you clipped the shelf.

            “Y/N?”

            Oh. You didn’t hit the shelf taking a turn a little too sharp. You hit another cart, and you would have apologized if you hadn’t known that voice. That fucking voice that still hunted you every now and again and you prayed would go away. You hoped that this instance was one of those hauntings, that you hadn’t spent the past 16 hours in a car driving back to the place you fled. You would wake up in that little town outside of New Orleans and your dice would roll something else. But you weren’t that lucky.

            You could never be that lucky because the person standing in front of you was the last person from the BAU you ever saw. Right in front of you was Aaron Hotchner.

Chapter Two

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