#seriously my FBI agent must be so confused

[writersdrug]

CIA: why is she looking up computer hacking software like "password cracker devices"? And searching "Dutch Intelligence Agency"? and "c-17 Aircraft" and "Long range automatic rifles"?!

My FBI Agent: *looking at my masterlist on their phone* she's making plot for porn

[hiramaris]

Dusk til Dawn

Part 14

Summary: Following Episode 9. And spoilers for Episode 10. 

Author’s note: As Episode 10 is just released I just want to say heads up for those who are not yet finished. Completing the game without spoilers really made a difference, and as much as possible I want everyone to experience that. And for those finished, I’ll gladly welcome you to my domain where MC took a different route.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Duskwood or any of the related characters. Duskwood is created by and owned by Everbyte Studio. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Duskwood story belong to Everbyte Studio.

Warning: Mentions of blood, suicide, violence, pedophiles, drugs, gun, murder, sex offenders, kidnapping

gif from weheartit.com

“Officer Alan! The stream was cut off! And the hatch won’t open!”

“What?! Miss Donfort and Y/n are still there! Go force it open!” Alan was barking orders. From sending more paramedics and firefighters to talking with the newly arrived FBI.

“The fire is spreading fast! Hurry up!”

Urgent shouts filled the air.

Lilly couldn’t comprehend anymore what was happening around her. One moment they were still inside the cabin panicking about Jake and Y/n’s lack of updates since they descended from the shaft and then Jessy got a call from an agent who claimed she was Y/n’s subordinate. Not long after, they were all escorted inside a vehicle along with the rest of Y/n’s squad.

They couldn’t understand what was happening. Why was the FBI here? Did Y/n contact them to finally capture Jake? But that’s unlikely, you would never do that to him. So just why?

The woman who contacted Jessy must have noticed the look of confusion among their group and began to explain. “Our Chief likes to do everything on their own. You can imagine how stressful that might be for our squad,” Agent Hartmann chuckled wryly. “But they mean well. We just wish they'd allow us to help more. After all, we're a team.” Her gaze hardened. “Now Chief L/n needs our help more than ever. That’s why we are here.”

“Did Y/n inform you of their location?” Cleo voiced the question that was likely on everyone's mind.

The raven-haired agent shook her head, her expression serious. “We tracked them.” She motioned all five of them to follow her to the back of the vehicle to see loads of computers and gadgets set up to perfection. If Lilly were to imagine Jake’s setup, it would probably look like this. “Did you finally manage to breach into our culprit’s laptop, Aerith?”

A redheaded woman swiveled her chair to face them, fingers dancing across the keyboard as she worked on her screens. “Affirmative,” she confirmed before returning to her task. “The guy doesn't even have a password on his computer. Seriously, who does that?” She scoffed as she manipulated the keyboards, bringing up multiple camera feeds. One screen displayed a blinking red dot on what appeared to be a map—presumably Y/n's location.

However, it was one particular monitor that seized their attention, and Lilly's heart sank at the sight.

A hand suddenly clutched Lilly's shoulder. “Lilly…” Jessy's voice trembled as she whispered, her eyes fixed on the monitor. “Why is Richy pointing a gun at Y/n?”

Agent Hartmann swiftly made her way to the driver's seat, her urgency palpable. “Viktor, we need to hurry!”

A loud screech of tires brought Lilly back to the present moment as another vehicle came to a sudden halt, and she strained to see through the commotion. Lilly could see Agent Hartmann, who had been in a heated discussion with Alan for a while, go pale as a tall figure emerged from the vehicle. The man was easily surrounded by men wearing the same uniform as Y/n's squad.

It didn't take long for her to realize that this must be the Director they had mentioned earlier. His presence seemed to command attention effortlessly.

Identifying him was not difficult. His deliberate, measured steps and the pristine condition of his black suit, along with his impeccably styled blonde hair, marked him as a man of authority. Even without doing anything, an aura of power seemed to radiate from him.

Shit. Lilly's mind raced. What could the Director be doing here? Her anxiety surged as she watched the unfolding scene.

Not long after, a gunshot rang out, followed by the harsh, echoing sound of metal striking the ground. The men who had been gathered around the hatch, attempting to force it open earlier, scattered to the sides.

Smoke rose from the newly opened hatch, obscuring the view. However, through the haze, the unmistakable silhouettes of two figures can be seen.

Tears welled up in Lilly's eyes, and all the emotions she had been trying to hold back since the FBI had dropped them off overwhelmed her. She watched, her heart pounding, as Hannah and you emerged from the hatch. You held a Glock in your other hand, which you had probably used to open the hatch, while your other arm was wrapped around Hannah's shoulders as she helped you walk.

However, before they could race toward the two of you, you were both escorted to the paramedics. The men surrounding the Director began to disperse and held Lilly and the others back, preventing them from approaching your location.

“Let me go!” Thomas bellows as he struggles to get past the agent. “Hannah! Hannah!” But the man didn’t budge. Thomas yanks him by his collar. “That’s my girlfriend!”

The agent, maintaining a stern demeanor, responded, “we understand, sir. But we can’t let you in just yet. Especially Chief Y/l/n is gravely injured.”

“B-but…” Jessy sniffed. She has been crying nonstop since they arrived here. “You already forbid us to see Richy and Jake. Now Hannah and Y/n?!”

“Ma’am, you need to understand.” The agent prompted indifferently. “Three of them are injured and Miss Donfort is still shaken up. So, please. Just give us a moment. We will let you see them once we’re through.”

“Damn,” Dan mutters, his shoulder slumping.

“We understand, sir,” Cleo responded, her voice cracking didn’t go unnoticed by Lilly.

Cleo urges them to back up a bit to the side despite the general protests from the gang. It was significantly far from Y/n and Hannah’s position, but they could still see them from here. Lilly is glad that despite the situation, Cleo was able to keep a level head which is exactly what the group needs right now because honestly speaking? Lilly is on the verge of going to her sister herself.

“Unfucking believable.” Dan rasped out.

“We need to calm down, okay?” Cleo faced them. “The more we resist, the more they won’t allow us to see them.”

“I just don’t understand!” Thomas couldn't contain his frustration. He covered his face with his hand, voice strained, “Why can’t they just let us see them? We’re not just some bystanders! For god’s sake, Hannah’s sister is here, too! At the very least, they should have let Hannah see Lilly!”

Lilly began to zone out as her eyes focused on where Hannah and you were. She can see your squad dotting on you as they carry you to the paramedics. Lilly’s mouth went dry as she noticed the numerous bruises and cuts on your body. And with your clothes being black, it's hard to make out any other wounds beneath them but the droplets of blood trickling down on the ground from what seems to be a wound on your abdomen already tells her you have a serious wound.

And Hannah…

Hannah seemed to be okay. Apart from her smoke-etched face and slight scratches from her arms, there don’t seem to be any noticeable wounds on her. Thank God.

But the look of sheer horror is written all over her face. She looked emotionally wrecked. The blanket and what seemed to be a mug of warm drink did little to Hannah’s shaking form. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were puffy and grim as she focused her sole attention on Y/n as the paramedics began to treat their wounds. If Hannah had noticed Lilly and the group, she didn’t show; not daring them any single glance.

Hannah’s still shaken; Lilly noted. Who wouldn’t? What happened down there was fucked up. And despite the irresistible urge to approach their place, Lilly knew deep down they wouldn’t be able to give much help.

****

It felt like ages before any of these people acknowledged their group. Jessy only allowed herself to breathe freely when she saw you stand up from the stretcher. The paramedics had you remove your shirt to treat your wounds, and now your whole torso was almost covered by gauze. There was still a glaring red stain on your right side despite the blood being stopped by the bandages. Your head was also wrapped with bandages, but the dried blood from the side of your head had been cleaned now. You seemed okay now, too, better than earlier when Jessy had almost thought you weren't breathing at all.

Once Agent Hartmann gave them the signal, Jessy practically raced towards you. You only have seconds to react on time when Jessy’s body collided with yours in a searing embrace. It didn’t last longer than she would have preferred because she heard you groan in pain, only realizing she held you a little too tight, earning one member of the paramedics to admonish her.

“I’m okay, I’m okay…” you managed to say amid grunts as you gently pulled her back into your arms. Jessy is careful now to not put any pressure on your wounds.

“Damn, Y/n!” Dan made a move to slap you lightly on your arm, but Jessy swatted his hands away, daring him to continue. “Geez, I just want to praise them.”

After ensuring you were okay, Jessy turned her attention to Hannah, who throughout the whole ordeal remained staring from the distance. Even when Lilly, Thomas, and Cleo tried to embrace her, she flinched away, unconsciously gravitating closer to you. Lilly and Cleo quickly understood and gave her space, but Thomas was a bit persistent in trying to comfort her. Just as he was about to reach out to her, Hannah scampered away, seeking refuge practically behind you, whimpering softly.

Thomas quickly withdrew his hands like he was burned, finally getting the message. “Hannah...?” He questioned, a hurt expression crossed his face at the thought of his girlfriend flinching away from him.

“Hannah,” Jessy started carefully. But when Hannah darted her eyes to her with a fearful look, Jessy closed her mouth shut.

“Uh…” you begin as you start shielding Hannah behind you away from their prying eyes. You only stopped moving when you were able to create a significant distance between both of you and the gang. “She’s still shaken up.”

“Hannah… no one’s gonna hurt you anymore,” Lilly finally spoke after a long while. She was practically begging for her sister to talk to them. And despite the guilty feeling rising in Jessy’s chest at the notion that she was far more worried about Y/n than her friend, she couldn’t help but notice how Hannah was holding onto Y/n’s arms like some sort of lifeline. And from the look on Thomas’ face, she knew he noticed it too.

“What happened inside…" you trailed off, shaking your head. "It was horrible. Give her some time.”

Thomas began to open his mouth, likely to voice his protest, but the man from earlier returned. Jessy watched as you visibly stiffened at the sight of him. Despite any discomfort, you tried to stand straight, fighting back the wince that threatened to cross your face as you attempted to salute. “Director,” you greeted, your voice steady.

“Agent L/n.” The Director replied, his voice a few notches lower.

His cold cobalt eyes bore into yours, and Jessy observed as you, for the first time, seemed to shrink in your place. It might have been imperceptible to others, but Jessy can easily see through your facade. That despite trying to battle the eyes of your own superior, fear can still be seen etched from your eyes.

“Agents,” the Director cleared his throat to address his men, but his gaze never left you. “I need a private moment with Agent L/n, if you may. You can assist Agent Hartmann and the others in securing the hacker and the mechanic. Do make sure they are patched up accordingly before you do so. After all,” he added with a small smirk that made your expression harden, “we are not that cruel.”

Jessy and the others visibly bristled at how the Director referred to their friends. What did he mean by ‘restrained’?

Richy may have done something horrible but that doesn't make him a terrible person! And Jake! Y/n has stated he was wanted with the same people they are working with. What happens to him now?

This is the only time Hannah acknowledges the Director's presence. Her eyes widened and there was obvious panic in them. Lilly almost wore the same expression. Jessy's not entirely sure but they are probably just as shocked about the words that flew from the Director's mouth.

“Everyone,” you said, commanding their attention. Everyone but the Director was surprised at your sudden change of demeanor and tone. It was cold and calculating. There was barely any trace of emotions that could be seen in your eyes and that scared Jessy. “Please give us a moment.”

For a brief moment, nobody moved, and silence enveloped the atmosphere.

“Now, please,” you stressed. You turned towards Hannah, giving her what Jessy assumed was an encouraging nod. Hannah seemed to understand and let herself be guided by Lilly a little further to Y/n's location.

“What the hell was that?” Dan was the first to react. “Richy's a douche I know, and Hackerman's weird and all but what the fuck? What are they going to do with them? Is Y/n going to let something happen to them?”

“Calm down,” Cleo interjected. “I'm sure Y/n wouldn't let anything happen to them.”

“If they are going to arrest them,” Hannah spoke for the first time. Her eyes are a bit different now. Despite the tears staining her cheeks, there's a subtle fire in them. “They should arrest me, too. After what...” She shook her head as she fought the tears from coming. Thomas instinctively tried to reach out to her but— “DON'T TOUCH ME!” She shrieked and everyone froze.

Hannah had never been one to raise her voice. Actually, the words ‘shouting’ and ‘Hannah’ are two completely different concepts. It was quite hard to picture the past Hannah to the Hannah in front of them now. But Jessy couldn't really blame her if this whole ordeal changed her.

Her outburst was loud enough to capture your and the Director's attention. Jessy could see that you wanted to go to them, but it seemed you were in the middle of a heated discussion, even if it didn't look like it.

“Don't touch me,” Hannah repeated with a sob. Now quieter that it was barely audible. Thomas, once again retreated back, clutching his hands as if to physically stop him from doing something. “We're murderers, okay?! And we deserve to be in prison if that's what they want!”

“Hannah, honey...” Cleo took a cautious step but didn't dare to touch her. Tears glistened in Cleo's eyes as she struggled to find the right words. “None of that. We heard everything. Ted's responsible to...” Cleo paused, not wanting to bring out Jennifer's name in the middle of Hannah's outburst, “to everything that happened. Not you. Not Richy...”

“You don't get it!" Hannah cried. “Accident or not, we moved the body. Can't you see how sick that is?!” She turned to Thomas, her eyes searching for any sign of his feelings, her chest heaving with emotion. “What do you think about me now, huh? Do you still want to stay with someone like me?! Do you still think I can be able to tell you something like that and expect you to accept it?! Were you disappointed when you got to know me? The real me?!”

“Hannah!” Lilly bellowed, her voice cutting through the heated exchange. “Enough!”

“But that's the truth!” Hannah shouted back with a bitter laugh, her voice trembling with emotion. “You all probably go all through all this trouble just to find out your sister, your lover, and your friend was a murderer all along.” She looked at each of them in turn, her eyes filled with pain. “Can you really say that it was all worth it?”

“Y/n and Jake go through the lengths of the world just to get you back to us.” Jessy finally spoke. Her tone wasn't angry or argumentative. She was trying to make her understand. “Try to look at them and tell yourself that what they did is meaningless.”

Hannah went silent, her shoulders slumping as she wiped away her tears.

“It wasn't at all meaningless. I admit that we weren't exactly prepared for the truth.” Jessy went on, taking a tentative step closer. “But we go on as before. All we ever wanted was to find you, and that already meant something. And that something is you. You're our friend Hannah. You and Richy may have done a terrible thing, but that doesn't mean you're terrible people.”

“You don't understand...” Hannah's head shook slowly, her voice filled with despair. “After what happened... even if I could go back, I wouldn't belong here anymore.”

Jessy placed a hesitant hand on Hannah’s shoulder, and this time, Hannah didn’t resist. “It's okay if you don't accept it just yet, but please do remember,” Jessy said softly, her eyes filled with empathy. “We didn't go through all this for nothing.”

****

“We will take the hacker into custody,” you announced as you approached them, Alan following closely behind you. Your agents moved with practiced efficiency, swiftly dragging a barely conscious Jake toward a waiting black SUV, its engine idling and the doors held open by two agents.

“Y/n!” Lilly exclaimed, her voice filled with disbelief. Her eyes darted between you and the vehicle. “What the hell?”

“As for the case of Miss Donfort and Mister Roger,” you continued, maintaining a composed demeanor amidst your friends' shock, "we will have to discuss it further at the Headquarters."

You could feel their stares burning into your back, but you resisted the urge to turn around. And for the sake of your own self-preservation, you didn't turn to witness Jake being ushered into the van. You didn't want to see the betrayal in his eyes.

“I expect to see you in my office, Officer Bloomgate,” you added, addressing the man beside you.

Alan almost scoffed. “Just earlier, I was inviting you to my precinct, not the other way around. But I will see you there, Agent L/n.”

“And the media?” you asked.

“We'll handle them.”

“You better make sure,” you replied, your gaze fixed on the van as it prepared to depart. Not daring to meet the eyes of your friends, all bewildered and questioning your actions.

“Y/n…” You felt Lilly tug your arm to face her. “What the hell is happening? Why was Jake–” she couldn't finish her sentence. “I thought…”

“I will handle him,” you answered as truthfully as you could. You turned to Hannah who wore the same expression as Lilly. “don’t worry. I got everything under control, okay?”

“Okay…” she nodded, her mind still clearly racing with confusion.

Your eyes briefly caught the Director's gaze, and you knew it was time to go. Despite the pain surging through your body, you straightened up. “Officer Bloomgate will explain everything to you.”

With that, you forced yourself to leave, but you were well aware of how stubborn your friends were. They wouldn't back down easily, and you could feel their questioning eyes on your back as you walked away.

“Y/n! Hold the fuck up.”

You sighed, not daring to turn around. “Mister Anderson, as I said–”

“Drop the formalities, Y/n, you know that’s crap!” Dan shouted as he tried to follow you with his wheelchair, frustration, and anger clear in his voice and demeanor.

With a deep breath, you willed yourself to continue walking. The vehicle's engine rumbled softly in the background, a stark contrast to the tension in the air. As your foot finally touched the cold, hard floor of the vehicle, a hand shot up to grab you back, and you turned to face a very angry redhead. A crack seemed to appear in your façade, and you desperately tried to fix it before Jessy noticed anything.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice dripping with disbelief, the words echoing in the confined space of the vehicle. Her eyes bore into yours, demanding answers. “You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Miss Hawki–”

“No!” She cut you off vehemently, her words laced with frustration. “You don’t get to call me that! What is wrong with you? What happened? Was it the Director? Did he tell you something? Did he threaten–”

This time, you silenced her with your lips, a brief and intense kiss that tasted like a mixture of desperation and farewell. It was a dangerous move, and you knew it. You knew you shouldn't. You knew the risk. You had convinced yourself that it was better to leave without saying anything. The less you opened your mouth, the less you'd screw this up. But seeing Jessy this way, almost broken and full of questions, almost broke down your resolve.

You knew to yourself that you just couldn't allow yourself to leave without saying the words to her.

The night air hung heavy with tension as you drew close, your lips almost touching hers. "I love you," you all but whispered to her lips, the words a fragile promise, a plea. You hoped she heard it, felt it, and understood the depth of those words. "Trust me."

With that, you gently pried her fingers away from you as you finally entered the waiting vehicle. The engine hummed to life once more, vibrating beneath you, and the door closed with a soft thud. As the vehicle pulled away, you couldn't help but steal one last look, seeing her standing there as Lilly and Cleo tried to hold her back from even following after you.

Your heart broke at the sight.

"Are you okay?" You felt a hand squeeze your shoulder.

"Yeah..." You answered absentmindedly. Charlotte took that as her cue to leave. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You left her. Leaving her nothing but a chaste kiss and two words. Two words you badly hope she will hold.

She didn’t have to believe the three words you uttered. After all, you just left. But you hoped she believed the two words. There was so much you wanted to say, so many emotions you wanted to convey, but you were afraid that no words would suffice for you to stay. It’s the only thing you could say at the moment. It’s the only thing you could give.

It was funny, in a bitter way, to think that Jessy only needed to be herself and nothing else for you to love her like this. It never took too much to love her. But it took everything in your willpower to even step away.

As you settled into the vehicle, your eyes glanced at the moon on the horizon, its pale light fading as the sun began to rise. You couldn't help but laugh quietly to yourself, a hollow, rueful sound. Like the moon, you left as quickly as you came.

You left.

And you didn’t come back for a long time.

~~~~~

Previous

A/n: Apologies for the wait. I lost track of time from the past days reading some awesome fanfictions. Anyway, I was wondering if I should end it here. Actually, I'm already thinking of ending it here, and possibly starting another series or providing one-shots or drabbles or prompts whichever y'all prefer in the same verse so let me know what y'all think. Also, I'm not really certain if I have given this story a satisfactory ending so I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts about it.

[ddejavvu]

Hi mei!

can i request some dbf!hotch except bc reader is an adult he doesn't actually realise the much younger person he's been dating is bestie's child. (i picture the dad working in fbi/law enforcement so maybe they run into one another at an fbi gala or whatnot)

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

--

Aaron had thought nothing of the fact that the chief of the city they're in had the same last name as you. He's known the guy for years, and when you'd signed onto his team he made a vague connection in his head, but nothing ever became of it. After all, they've met a dozen Morgans in the field, even more Garcias, and even Reid was more common than he'd thought at first.

Plus, he's kinda sorta been mentally referring to you with his own last name for a few weeks now, after you'd pointed out a wedding ring ad in a magazine to him. Said you were 'just looking', but he'd seen the glimmer in your eyes. Bottom line, it takes an effort not to introduce you as Y/N Hotchner to his old friend.

"Chief Y/L/N, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," He gestures to you with a soft chuckle, "Maybe you're related."

You give Aaron a funny look, a silly smile on your face, "Uh, yeah, maybe."

"Honey," The chief greets you, and Aaron's polite smile dims as the man reaches out to hug you.

"Dad," You gush beside the man's ear as he squeezes you tight, "It's good to see you again."

"You too," Your dad reluctantly lets you go, after all, there's still a serial killer on the loose, "Aaron, I thought you knew we were related?"

"I didn't," He admits sheepishly, "And you- uh, I didn't know you had a daughter. At least not in the workforce."

"My younger sister is ten," You explain, and Aaron marvels at the age gap, "He probably only talks about her cause she's his favorite."

"She's my favorite because she doesn't excuse me of picking favorites between my children," Your father elbows you with a good-natured grin, "And because she's less rebellious than you were."

"Rebellious," You scoff, "I was an angel."

"A fallen one," Your dad leans in to stage-whisper to Aaron, "The next time she gives you trouble, just call me and I'll tell you about what she was like when she was younger. Whatever she's done will pale in comparison, I guarantee it."

Aaron is only able to chuckle along to your dad's teasing, internally stunned and struggling to comprehend the situation. When your dad turns to head into his office, you pointedly fall back beside Aaron, turning to face him with an amused grin.

"You seriously didn't know?" You cross your arms over your chest, "It's in my file."

"I must have missed it," Aaron admits, brow creasing in confusion and sudden, epiphanic understanding, "Is that why you always turn my picture of the chief and I to face the wall before we have sex?"

"Yes," You laugh, "Why did you think?"

"I thought you didn't like my shirt or something," Aaron muses, "You know I donated that shirt for you!"

You let out a snort, one that you seem embarrassed by if the way you cover your mouth and let your eyes flutter shut is any indication. You take a moment to breathe, "The shirt was fine. Not the best, but not as unsexy as my dad."

"Not the best," Aaron grumbles, turning to busy himself with the whiteboard the precinct has set up, "I loved that shirt."

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: nightmares, swearing, cheating

Word count: 2283

Series

A house on fire, screams, his father, a crying child, creatures hidden in the shadows.

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes, and could see with relief that he had only had a damn nightmare.

Y/N seemed to be awake for hours and was standing in front of the bed.

"Hey. Are you okay?" She asked.

The man rubbed his face, holding back a huge yawn. He noticed with surprise that it was already morning from the rays of the sun that filtered through the window into the motel room, yet the time he rested had seemed so short.

"Mh, yeah, I'm fine. What time is it?" he asked hoarsely, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, confused by sleep.

"It's almost seven a.m," Y/N replied, giving him one last look as if to make sure he was really fine, then shaking her head and going back to what she was doing, getting ready to leave. She was wearing some kind of secretary's suit and Dean couldn't help but think that it fit her very well.

He found himself observing the way her clothes enhanced her body in all the right places.

"Well, that sure doesn't help," he muttered to himself, alluding to something that usually happened to all men early in the morning.

"What?"

"Nothing," he murmured, waving a hand dismissively. "Forget it."

He sat up and sighed. Y/N repeatedly told him to hurry up, that whatever they were hunting would attack again. Dean, after getting ready like her, dressed in a suit and tie, reminded her that without having breakfast he would not go anywhere.

So, after three pancakes and a slice of pie, the hunter got behind the wheel and Y/N got into the passenger seat.

"Recap: I'm Agent Hetfield, FBI. You're my lovely colleague. We're here because we find there are similarities to some of our old cold cases. Okay?"

"It's not the first time I've pretended to be an FBI agent, Dean" she replied "And I can even pick better fake names than yours. James Hetfield? Seriously? Just hope that woman isn't a Metallica fan." She laughed reaching out her hand to remove his badge from his jacket and check with her own eyes that that was the right name. Dean let her do it, not giving her the slack she wanted.

"Fix your tie," she murmured waiting for someone to open the door.

"Okay, mom," muttered Dean in a childish way but following her advice that seemed more a threat.

When an elegant woman appeared before their eyes, dressed in black and with a handkerchief in her hand, they understood that they were facing the widow Dubois, wife of the first victim.

Before Dean could pull his badge out of his pocket, taken away from Y/N's hands only at the end of the car ride, the girl anticipated him.

"Hello Mrs. Dubois, I'm Agent Cobain and this is Agent Hetfield," she indicated him with a quick serious and professional glance.

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, so he couldn't pick the Metallica singer's name but she could use that surname surely borrowed from the Nirvana singer.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband."

The woman, at first seemed reluctant to let them in but then she made them sit inside her immense residence.

The house very large and obviously belonged to someone very rich.

Bernard Dubois was a financier, the woman explained.

"In the financial field, it's impossible not to have enemies," said Fleur, also of French origins like her husband, between sobs. "The police said it was a wild animal."

A wild animal? In their house??

"We have to consider all possibilities," Dean informed her cordially. Routine sentence of a hunter that everyone believed.

"Do you know if your husband knew this man?" Y/N asked, showing her the photo of the second victim who died under the same circumstances.

"Of course. He was my beloved Bernard's business partner. The manager."

Bingo!, Y/N thought immediately, exchanging a knowing look with Dean, sitting next to him.

So as Dean imagined the two victims had known each other and also for quite some time.

"They were working on the Lake Eire project," explained the woman, her nose red and her eyes tired.

Dean and Y/N raised their eyebrows in the exact same confused expression.

"They're building a dam," she added, when she noticed their questioning faces.

"Oh," they said in unison.

There was a silent pause during which Y/N ​​and Dean looked at each other, accomplices. Both were thinking the same thing: it was a matter of revenge, and since the victims were business partners and therefore knew each other, there was a sure connection to that lake.

"Your husband was found here, right?" Dean asked.

"Yes" the woman nodded and began to sob again.

Dean and Y/N felt sudden discomfort, both of them looking in opposite directions, not knowing what to say. "He was in our bedroom...how a-am I going to live without him?!"

Dean cleared his throat and asked Mrs. Dubois where the bathroom was. He followed the staircase, as suggested, but instead of reaching the last door on the left, he sneaked into the woman's bedroom, where the victim had been found. He pulled out the electro magnetic frequency detector, hopeful. But it didn't light up, nor did it make that weird, usual sound.

So he put aside the revenge-seeking ghost theory.

He sighed deeply and shook his head slightly then noticed something on the floor, it looked like a leaf or something. Dean frowned and picked it up. It was a seaweed... what was a seaweed doing in Bernard Dubois' bedroom?

So the targets all had something to do with that project. Y/N really hoped that that was the right lead because, frankly, she didn't see any other way to solve that fucking case.

As soon as she saw Dean get up from the couch, she knew his intentions. He would check upstairs while she continued to question the woman, even though she didn't seem to know much about business, at least not as much as her husband.

"Has this project been going on for a long time?" She could hardly ask her: the widow kept sobbing and sniffing.

The woman shook her head but not to convey her ignorance about it: it was a no.

"We came back from Paris specifically for this job. We've been here for a week... and now my beloved Bernard is dead!" And she started crying again.

"Excuse me, but these days have not been easy..."

"I can imagine that," Y/N nodded.

"I've seen him so seldom. Since the works began he was always on site: he monitored progress to calculate an approximate deadline." The woman said blowing her nose.

"So the dam is already under construction?"

"Agent Cobain, it will be better to go back to the police station" Dean's voice announced as he returned to the room: he had found something.

"Look at this!" Dean said handing her a plastic bag, back in the Impala.

"What the hell is that?" she asked looking at it.

"What does it look like to you?"

“Okay, let me ask you in another simpler way: what do you think a seaweed was doing in that guy's bedroom?”

He shrugged. "We need to check that dam."

It was quite obvious at that point that the answers to their questions were in that project. Whatever was affecting the victims was in that lake and had left them a souvenir before leaving.

"I bet that crap was also in the second victim's room," Dean said with conviction.

He drove until he reached Lake Eiere, where the dam seemed to be already under construction. There were a couple of workers here and there in orange hats setting up a surveillance system. A man dressed in black, in a suit and tie, observed the area with a dull gaze. Another, a little taller, clapped him on the shoulder in consoling pats.

Dean and Y/N glanced at each other and, as if reading each other's minds, decided that those two were the right ones.

"Hi," Dean said, showing them his FBI badge. "Agent Hetfield, and this is my partner, Agent Cobain."

“We're investigating the deaths of Bernard Dubois and Mark Stern,” he added professionally.

"Weren't they attacked by a…?" stammered one of them, the shortest, in confusion.

"No," Dean replied dryly. "They were killed."

The two looked frightened, as if they were aware of the danger they were all in, because they were the other two business partners.

"You are?" Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Michael Connors and Peter Johnson," answered the taller man, considerably less traumatized than his colleague. “Bernard and Mark worked with us on this project.”

Dean and Y/N exchanged a quick glance, aware that those two would be the next victims.

After the usual routine questions, they didn't come up with anything new: no enemies in particular (not to want them dead, at least), no suspicious behavior from builders, engineers or anyone working on that project.

"We have to follow them," said Y/N as they walked away, raising her head to the sky, noticing that the sun was already setting over the construction site. And from what they understood that thing that was attacking business partners especially loved the dark. "We'd better keep an eye on them, after all that thing probably lived in the lake and could attack them even now." Y/N said next to Dean once they got back into the Impala.

They walked around the block to make the two think they were gone but after a few minutes they were hiding in the small place around the lake, an ideal location for a stakeout.

"So we are going to follow them, probably spend a sleepless night and wait for a monster to attack them. And we don't even know what it is or how to kill it?" She heard Dean complain. "Right, that's so clever!"

“But it's the only thing we can do. We don't have time to go back to the motel and do more research, we risk losing another fucking partner!"

"We don't even have anything to eat!" Added Dean dramatically, Y/N rolled her eyes even though, thinking about it, it wasn't a good plan at all.

"And which of the two are we gonna follow?" He asked indicating Michael and Peter with a nod of his head. "As lucky as we are, we'll end up following the man dropped from that bastard's menu."

"I don't think it will be a problem," she murmured with a frown, following the shadows of the two men moving towards the same car. "Company car?"

"I don't know, but we'd better keep up with them."

The two partners got into the dark and shiny car, then they left and Dean did the same, following them staying a bit far away, without attracting attention. The journey was very silent, neither of them spoke, maybe because they were too tired even to fight, even though that was their favorite hobby when they were together.

"Look" Y/N said after a while, nodding towards the car in front of them.

It had just turned right, entered an alley that led to the garage of a small house. Dean watched the scene frowning, then exchanged a look with his colleague. He pulled up across the street and they both stopped to look at the two guys. They looked like they were hiding something, and they moved stealthily, as if they were afraid of being discovered. Were they going to do something illegal or something?

It was clearer when, after the two men had entered the house, one of the ground floor windows lit up and they saw the two guys right there, looking into each other's eyes. The taller man slowly approached the other and then pulled him to him to kiss him on the lips.

Dean's eyes widened.

"Well, they say never reveal your next move, right?" The girl sitting next to him laughed.

"Y/N, c'mon! Those two are married and have kids."

"Do you think I've never seen worse?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes. “D-do you think… we should go in there?”

"What is it, you wanna join them?" She laughed and Dean just snorted.

Night continued to fall, dark, making that scene more intimate for the two in the house and more complicated for the hunters in the car who, unlike the first ones, were certainly not having a good time.

"How do we kill it?"

"I like to improvise," Y/N said, brushing her hair back with a lazy wave of her hand: just another way of saying she didn't have the faintest idea.

"Very enlightening, thank you," Dean said sarcastically, shaking his head.

He noticed with relief the two had disappeared from in front of that window. They had probably moved upstairs to the bedroom. He glanced at his watch: midnight.

"Well, at least they'll die happy and fulfilled," he joked, with a smirk that faded as Y/N glared at him. "I'm just trying to look on the bright side."

Several hours passed and when Dean checked his watch again, it said two in the morning. He was desperately trying to keep his eyes wide open, but his lids were closing on their own from exhaustion. Y/N, on the other hand, seemed attentive, staring at the house as if she expected to see something at any moment.

"Dean?"

"I'm awake!" he exclaimed suddenly. He was not always a good liar.

He had dozed off despite his best efforts, but he opened his eyes and rubbed his face, stifling a yawn.

"What's up?"

"The thing. It's here."

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

Series: @stitchintimefan

[honeypiehotchner]

painfully professional (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Special thank u to @vcodns​ for sending an ask about this wip and helping give my brain the last kick to finally finish it xx.

Summary: You’re a new agent with the BAU and everyone has warmed up to you except your boss. It’s tearing you apart, but you don’t know why.

Warnings: angsty beginning, fluffy ending, mentions of being stood up on a date

(i feel like i use this gif too much but idc it’s so cute look at HIM)

Something you’ve always been proud of yourself for is your ability to mesh into any existing environment. Starting at a new school almost every year made it normal to you, so when you picked up your life and moved to Quantico, Virginia, for a temporary position at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you weren’t scared.

In fact, on your first day, you made friends with basically everyone on the team. You bonded with the resident genius over your nerdier interests. You found a connection with Penelope Garcia this way, too, that then traveled into your love for all things bright and colorful. She showed you her office and you were practically in heaven.

Derek Morgan wasn’t hard to become friends with at all, but Penelope warned you about him being a huge flirt. Lucky for him, you know how to flirt right back, and that made him grin and say, “I like you.”

Emily Prentiss looked you up and down when you met her, but your love for coffee won her over. When JJ joined the two of you in the kitchen to grab her own coffee, Emily mentioned JJ’s son, Henry, and you wasted no time asking questions about him, letting JJ gush over her baby boy. You used to do a lot of babysitting in your hometown, so you understood entirely when JJ told you about Henry’s recent tantrums with starting school.

You already knew David Rossi, having seen him a few times at visits to the academy, and it was on his recommendation that you even got this position with the BAU.

The only person you struggled to be friends with was the unit chief, Aaron Hotchner.

Granted, he’s your boss, so you don’t exactly need to be friends with him. But being friend-ly wouldn’t hurt, and that seemed harder than anything you’ve ever done.

Now, a month and a half into your time here at the BAU, Aaron -- or Hotch, rather, as everyone calls him -- hasn’t changed or warmed up to you one bit.

At first, you assumed it was just the way he is. He did lose his ex-wife just a year earlier, now raising his son, Jack, on his own. That’s a lot to go through.

But then, you heard him telling jokes with Spencer, smiling at JJ, and telling Penelope how much he appreciates her efforts, and you started to get confused.

It’s not that you want to fish for compliments or praise because that’s something you could care less about. You just want a smile. That’s it.

The most Hotch says to you is “Good morning,” or “Hello,” or “You’re with--” whoever you’re splitting up with on a case. Nothing else.

You’ve tried initiating conversations multiple times. You hate it, but you’ve even gone as far as sitting next to him on the jet, but still nothing. Complete silence, or once, the last time you sat next to him, he moved seats.

It’s pathetic to think about, but it made you tear up a little.

You finally, finally work up the courage to go into his office and ask him the single question that has been bugging you. “Is my work satisfactory?”

Hotch looks up from his paperwork with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Am I doing a good job?” You ask again. “Is there anything I can do better?”

He stares at you for a second, his pen hovering barely a centimeter above the paper. “Nothing is coming to mind. Why?”

You shake your head slowly, realizing you’re not going to get anything from him. “I just wanted to check, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll...let you know if I see anything. But, so far, you’ve been doing great. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to look or sound too bubbly.

Yes, it’s the only praise he’s given you since being here, but it’s not the answer you thought you’d hear. You were certain you must’ve been doing something wrong that he was waiting for you to bring up, that maybe it was something minor that a green agent wouldn’t notice, that by you asking him if you’re doing your job effectively would be a sign of your self-awareness.

Maybe you’re too self-aware. Maybe that’s the problem.

+++

The third hour ticks by and you finally give up. The waiter feels terrible for you obviously being stood up, so he tells you the drink you ordered is on the house. You gather your things and make the walk of shame from your half-empty table for two through the crowded restaurant.

It could just be your shame, but you swear you see the other patrons giving you sympathy glances.

You’ve made this walk more than you’d like to say. You don’t know what it is, why you can’t seem to land a date. You’ve tried. You’ve been trying. But tonight might be your breaking point. This might be it.

When you told your best friend about your troubles at work, she asked you if you had feelings for your boss.

You promptly denied the accusation and to prove your point, said you had a date tonight. Which you didn’t, not at the time, but because you never back down on a point, you found a date.

Only to get stood up. Again.

The angry and hurt tears fall down your face when you reach the sidewalk. It doesn’t help that ever since your best friend accused you of liking your boss, you’ve started noticing things. Things like why have you been so eager for his approval? Is it really only because you want to do your job well, or is it something more? Is it something it shouldn’t be?

Something else that doesn’t help matters is that you took an Uber to this restaurant. Like an optimistic idiot. You should’ve just driven, but you wanted some wine. You didn’t order any, though. Drinking alone only makes the feeling of loneliness worse.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widen and in a split second, you’re wiping your tears and putting on a brave face. “Sir. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Please,” Hotch chuckles lightly, something he has never done around you, and the sound makes your head spin. “We’re not in the office. Feel free to call me Aaron.”

“Okay…”

“Hotch is fine too,” he offers, noticing your skepticism. “Is everything alright?”

“Yep, yeah,” you nod, shifting your weight on your feet. “All good.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, raising his eyebrows in soft sincerity. “I don’t want to pry, but I did just see you crying.”

You sigh, knowing the look in his eyes all too well. The pity. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to care,” you murmur. Oh, God. You sound like a pathetic teenager. You seriously need to get a grip.

Hotch stills. That’s not what he was expecting you to say. “Y/N… I do care about you.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe you,” you laugh weakly, wiping your cheeks again as more tears fall. “Sorry, that was...mean, I’m sorry you have to see me like this I’m-- I’m just having a really bad night.”

“If you say so,” he says quietly, backing down. “At least let me walk you to your car.”

“I didn’t drive here, actually,” you sniffle, more tears falling at the admittance as if it’s anything to cry over, but it feels like just one more stupid decision on top of all your others. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Let me drive you home. I’m parked just across the street.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “It’s late, and I don’t like the idea of you in a stranger’s car. Let me, please.”

He’s been your boss long enough for you to learn not to argue with him, so you say, “Okay.”

You use the little time it takes to walk to his car to get yourself together. It’s bad enough your boss walked up on you crying after being stood up, and you don’t need to make it worse by being a sobbing mess in his car. You just need to get home and then you can cry in the shower and go to work tomorrow like nothing happened.

That plan is thrown out the window when Hotch opens the passenger door for you. Your eyes widen and your best friend’s words echo in your head. “It sounds like you like him. He’s single, right? What if he feels the same?”

Doubtful. You told her that, too. It’s doubtful. He’s a widow, a single father. What would he want with a young agent like you? Why are you attracted to him?

“You can put your address into the GPS,” he says as he slides in the driver’s seat. “Or just point me in the right direction, whatever you want.”

You opt for pointing. “Just go straight for a little, but you’ll make a left.”

He pulls out onto the street and the silence returns. So do your loud thoughts.

“How was dinner?” He asks, and you scream internally.

“It was. Um. Good.”

He chuckles again, and your heart hammers in your chest. You look over at him and notice for the first time that he’s in casual clothes, a t-shirt and jeans, not his usual suit and tie. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, and he shouldn’t look as pretty as he does right now in the low light.

“What?”

“You didn’t sound convincing,” he says. “Was the food bad?”

“I didn’t eat.”

Hotch is silent for a second. “Why?”

You’re sure he knows. You’re sure he’s done every bit of profiling on you to find out all these answers. Still, you humor him. “I uh...I had a date, but he didn’t show up.”

“What?”

“It’s fine,” you exhale, weirdly relieved to have that bit of information out. “Not the first time it’s happened to me.”

He’s quiet for another moment. “Do you...Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, using a tone you’ve never heard him use before. Playful. “Because there’s this really good Chinese place up here that is open late.”

You feel your stomach quietly rumbling just from the mention of food. It’s a bad idea, though, he’s your boss.

But he looks...hopeful. And damn you, you feel hopeful, too.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I could go for some Chinese.”

He grins. He actually grins and it knocks the breath from your lungs.

+++

Hotch wasn’t kidding when he said the Chinese restaurant is open late. The two of you sat down around ten, and the next time you look at your phone, it’s nearing midnight.

Conversation has never been easier with him. He has a hidden sense of humor that leaves you in stitches most of the time, and a habit of being a lot goofier than he lets on. It’s exactly the kind of company you needed tonight.

“Thank you for this,” you blurt, not wanting to forget. “I needed this.”

“Me too,” he says. “So thank you for coming with me.”

“Anytime,” you reply before you can stop yourself. “I mean-- Never mind. You know what I mean.”

He smiles, but he says nothing else, and you think he has let it slide.

See? You tell yourself internally. He’s just being friendly, finally. Nothing more.

As promised, Hotch drives you home, and ever the gentleman, he actually gets out to walk you to your front door.

You try to think nothing of it, given that he opened the car door for you earlier too, and then had dinner with you. You chalk it all up to pity, most likely, for the state you were in when he stumbled across you. That alone will haunt you forever.

Hotch stands idly by you while you fish for your key in your purse. While you’re still looking, he says, “I had a good time tonight.”

You freeze, looking up from your purse. “Me too,” you whisper, barely any noise coming from your lips.

He’s closer than he was a moment ago, but you’re not sure if that’s your overthinking mind. He’s looking at you, though, differently than he has before.

Your heart thumps loudly, your eyes locked on his. How did you never notice your feelings before? They seem so obvious when you’re standing here with him, taking in every inch of his face.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you right now?”

His question stuns you to speechlessness, but you manage to shake your head.

It’s slow. Everything about this has been a slow descent, a losing battle, both of you fighting tooth and nail against your true feelings.

Your purse drops to your feet when your lips finally meet his. Your hands rest on his shoulders, one of his on your waist and the other on your cheek.

His lips are soft, much softer than you’d expect from such a rigid man, but he has shown you his gentle side tonight. You yearn for more of it, for more of him. You don’t know how you never realized.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, keeping you close. Your arms shift to wrap around his neck, and you can’t help the smile that crawls to your lips.

He has one, too, and he doesn’t even realize it at first. “I have wanted to do that for two months.”

“Why didn’t you?” You murmur.

“I was trying to be professional,” he says, chuckling. “Dave told me I was being stupid.”

You lift your head. “Rossi knows?”

“Are you kidding me? He confronted me about it during your second week. He knows me better than I know myself.”

“Sounds like my best friend,” you laugh. “She accused me of having feelings for you and to prove to her that she was wrong, I had that date tonight.”

“And look how it turned out,” he smiles, kissing you again, sweeter this time. “We should have dinner tomorrow at my place. I’ll cook and we can talk.”

“That sounds really nice,” you admit. “But, if you’ll excuse me, I have a best friend to text and pajamas that are calling my name. It’s pretty late and my boss makes me come in super early,” you tease.

Hotch shakes his head at you, but he’s grinning. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you come in a little later tomorrow.”

“Oh really?”

“As long as you bring him a coffee,” he says. “Something tells me he was out pretty late too, hanging out with this dream girl of his.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Goodnight, you goof.”

He kisses you goodnight once more before letting you go, a weightless feeling in your chest. You send a single text to your friend, knowing she’ll want details tomorrow, Fine, you can say you told me so…

+++

The next morning, you show up at the BAU a little over half an hour late, which is enough to make everyone on the team share glances, but then you walk straight to Hotch’s office.

“Hey,” you knock on the doorway, trying not to smile too hard, knowing you have the entire team’s eyes on you. “Sorry I’m late. I brought a coffee to make up for it, though.”

“You’re forgiven,” he says, standing to meet you in front of his desk. “Don’t get used to bribing me, though.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply. “Late night?”

“Mhm,” he says, lifting the coffee to his lips. “You?”

“Somewhat,” you say. “They’re watching us, aren’t they?”

“Like hawks,” Hotch replies, barely moving his lips.

Outside in the bullpen, everyone is crowded around Spencer’s desk, asking him to relay what the two of you are talking about in Hotch’s office.

“They’re smiling a lot,” JJ points out suspiciously.

“She never brings anyone coffee, definitely not Hotch,” Penelope says.

“And he seems to be a little too forgiving of her being late,” Emily says. “When I was that new, he wasn’t smiling like that when I was late.”

“I still think there’s something going on with them two,” Derek says, ever so skeptical.

“What are we doing?” Rossi’s voice is the loudest in the bullpen, making everyone jump from where they’re crouched by Spencer’s desk. “Eavesdropping, much? What are we, children?”

You exit Hotch’s office at this point, quietly making your way to your desk with your coffee. Everyone watches you carefully, and you feel their eyes, so you finally look up.

“Can I help you guys with something?”

“Why were you late?” Spencer blurts.

“Traffic, Spence,” you chuckle. “I left a little later than I should’ve this morning and got caught in it.”

“Long night?” Morgan asks, smirking.

You exhale, nodding. “If you’re really so curious, yes. My date stood me up.”

“Oh, babe,” Penelope frowns. “Are you okay?”

“All good,” you say, accepting her hug. “It’s for the better, he was probably a dick.”

“He is one if he stood you up,” Emily scoffs. “The audacity that men have.”

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes, catching Hotch looking at you from his office. “The audacity,” you repeat, hiding your smile.

[hotch-stufff]

Meet the Parents

Gif is not mine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Warnings!: angsty, mentions of neglect, bad parenting, fighting, arguing, lots of yelling, parents saying degrading things towards reader, but happy ending between reader and hotch obviously

Description: Hotch meets your parents that have never approved of you or anything you do, how will he react when they begin picking apart your life?

A/N: not rlly sure if i love this one, but I hope you guys do. Probably a bunch of spelling errors, just warning you.

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

It was a bad idea.

Of course it was a bad idea.

You really didn't know why you had to go through with this.

You never wanted to have to introduce him to your parents. You had hoped this day wouldn't come. They were... not the best parents in the world, to say the least.

But you were engaged, getting married in only a few months, and your parents had of course heard of your engagement from your older sister. She had accidently let it slip on her last visit.

And now you had to introduce him. And God you were terrified. They had belittled and picked apart each and every aspect of your life.

It wasn't really your father, more so your mother. But he had never stopped her and joined in occasionally.

They had always hated your decisions. You had joined the marines straight out of highschool, and went to the FBI academy after 4 years of service. You had then quickly made your way to the FBI's behavior analysist unit, and that was where you had met your now fiance, Aaron Hotchner.

And of course your mother disapproved. She had always wanted you to go the traditional route. Be a stay at home mom, married with kids by the time you were 20.

You were now 28 and just getting engaged, so of course your mother was going to have some complaints.

But you had never expected how the night actually had turned out.

You had been wringing your hands the entire way there. Aaron had been worried about you for the entirety of the trip. Constantly sending you glances, taking your hand in his own and squeezing reassuringly.

"It will be alright, love." He would tell you. You would simply glance at him shaking your head.

He didn't know how wrong he was.

Soon enough you pulled up into the driveway of your childhood home. Your heart beat widely as you stepped out of the car, meeting Aaron on the other side.

"I'm sorry." He shot you a confused look.

"For what?" he had asked.

"Just apologizing in advance." And with that you rang the doorbell. You heard footsteps and the door was yanked open. Your mothers shrill voice rang through the air.

"Honey! They're here." She sent a smile Aaron's way, and glanced at you dissaprovingly. "Darling. What on earth are you wearing?" You looked down at your simple dress and rolled your eyes.

"Good to see you too mom." She shook her head.

"Of course of course. Good to see you as well. And you must be Aaron? We have heard nothing about you." You scoffed, quickly covering it with a cough, as Aaron responded.

"Yes, Aaron Hotchner ma'am. Its wonderful to meet you."he stuck out his hand for her to shake, but she just turned around and strutted away.

"Do come in, we wouldn't want dinner to get cold. You're already 20 minutes late." She scolded as she walked through the kitchen door.

"Mom, we are 5 minutes early." You stated simply. She laughed like you had said the most absurd thing in the world. You just rolled your eyes.

Aaron shot you a glance and you smiled softly at him.

You gathered around your table, hoping for a somewhat pleasant meal. You father walked in glancing at Aaron before doing a double take.

"Ah you must be Aaron." Your father held out his hand hesitantly. Hotch shook it respectfully introducing himself.

"Yes sir, Aaron Hotchner." He nodded politely.

You all sat around the table and began eating in silence. Small talk here and there but mostly silence, until your mother finally spoke up.

"So, you two met at work?"she asked, disdain present in her voice.

"Uh, yes we did. We work together at the BAU." You replied, catching your mothers eye roll but electing to ignore it.

"Yes, I'm the unit chief, and Y/n is one of our best agents." You couldn't stop him before he made his mistake. And you saw the realization flashed in your father's eyes.

"Unit chief? Like the boss?" He asked.

"Shit." You muttered under your breath. "Yes dad, like the boss." You said a bit louder.

"You're dating your boss!" Your mother exclaimed.

"Mom, its not that big of a deal, he isn't my direct boss, another agent is." You tried explaining.

"Ugh, this government talk us just too much at the dinner table." She sighs dramatically and you shut up, not wanted to start a fight so early in the night.

You all continued eating until your dad spoke again.

"So Aaron you must be significantly older than Y/n." Your father continued. Aaron nearly choked on his drink.

"Um, there is a small age difference yes. But we have never let it bother us." God this was painful.

"No but, why on earth would you bother with a young, disappointment like Y/n? I mean she's obviously gained some weight. She had a dishonorable job for a woman. She doesn't have a family, and jmis just now getting into a serious relationship. I mean seriously Aaron, you could do so much better than, her." You could not believe the audacity of this woman. Your mother effectively silenced the entire table. You felt tears gather in your eyes. As you tried to stop them from falling down your face, Aaron set his wine down calmly and stood up.

"Your daughter is very far from a disapointment." He stated matter of factly. "She is by far one of the Best people that I know. She is the love of my life. She is one of THE most prestigious agents in the FBI, and is apart of one of the best teams in the country. She is the most amazing partner in the world, and had become my favorite person. I dont know how you consider yourselves decent human beings when you can sit here and degrade your own daughter like this. And I feel sorry that you can't see how amazing she truly is." He was nearly breathless when he finished. You stood up beside him.

"Aaron's, right. You guys are the most indecent human bei-"

Anger had flashed in your fathers eyes as he stood angrily, slamming his hands on the table, effectively interrupting you.

"How dare you come into our house and speak such words towards us!?" He yelled at Aaron and you with a furociousness you hadn't seen since you joined the marines.

"Sit down and shut up!" Aaron yelled right back, furious that your father had just interrupted you.

You decided it was time to step in and leave.

"Me and my fiance will be leaving now. I hope you have wonderful lives. And the next time I hear from you it better be an apology otherwise you will never be meeting your grandchildren. And my my wouldn't that just be very indecent." You finished in a mocking tone, spinning around and walking away, Aaron hot on your heals.

You somehow held off your tears till you reached the car and pulled into your driveway and then you completely broke down.

Aaron held you the best he could over the console, trying his best to make you feel better

"Sshhh, sweetheart, its okay." He whispered into your hair. "That was so brave. I'm so proud of you." You smiled slowly pulling away from him.

"Thank you Aaron, for everything you said in there. I never would have had the courage to say anything to them if it wasn't for you. So thank you." He was about to protest, but you shut him up quickly by pressing your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

"I love you." He mumbled against your lips.

You just kissed him harder, getting your message across loud and clear. You pulled away, wiping away your tears.

"I think they liked you." You mumbled a few seconds later, causing him to burst into laughter.

"Especially when I told your dad to shut up." You giggled at his statement.

"Especially then." You continued laughing as you leaned in kissing him again.

Never had you been happier for having a man like Aaron Hotchner.

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[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 26

Hannibal, Will and y/n host a dinner to put an end to everything

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: PTSD, violence

"Hannibal, baby," You called down from the wine cellar. "Which one pairs best with the paella?"

"A Spanish white!" Will interjected.

You rolled your eyes, then looked at his shelf full of Spanish whites. "Thanks, Hannibal."

"You're the sommelier, [F/N]." Will shouted back. "Go with your gut!"

"Verdejo it is." You said to yourself, grabbing the high-shouldered bottle from the shelf.

You returned from the cellar and headed to the dining room, where Will was dutifully setting the table.

"Well aren't you the perfect little homemaker?" You commented, making sure he caught you eyeing his backside.

Will playfully snatched the wine from your hands. "We can't all be the breadwinners, can we, Ms. Restaurant Owner?"

You laughed, looking around at your triple-income house and accepting a kiss from your Will. You put your hands on his shoulders and broke the kiss.

"You know Hannibal isn't going to let you attend one of his famous dinner parties in a flannel, right?" You warned him, lips hovering a few inches from his face.

"Two guests is not a dinner party." Will corrected you. "I figured you'd know this after six months but, baby, Hannibal is always overdressed for everything."

"Better overdressed than the other way around, my treasure." Hannibal said, standing in the threshold. "Why don't you go slip in to that suit I bought you?"

Will threw his hands up. "Do you two just live to gang up on me? You know I can buy my own clothes, right?"

You scoffed. "Babe, you spent your last paycheck almost entirely at Bass Pro Shops-"

"And then we spent the day workshopping new seafood dishes for the restaurant with the fish I caught." Will shrugged. "You don’t get to benefit from it then complain."

You put up your hands in surrender. "Fair enough."

"So I don't make an ordeal out of this in front of guests," Hannibal said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out two small drawstring bags and gave one to each of you. "Happy six months, my darlings."

"Six month anniversary presents?" Will laughed. "What are we, high school students?"

"Do you not want it?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't say that." He mumbled.

You opened the bag and slid the contents into your hand. A beautiful solid white ring with ornate carvings tumbled out.

"It's beautiful." You smiled, sliding it on to your finger. "What is it?"

"A ring, my indulgence." Hannibal chuckled.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure, but what is it made of?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Ivory."

"Should I be concerned that you somehow know both of our ring sizes?" Will asked, admiring how his fit perfectly on his finger. 

“I think you mean ‘thank you, Hannibal’.” You corrected him. “Even if it is a little uncanny.”

The doorbell rang. Hannibal threw a dish towel over his shoulder and pointed to Will.

"Go change." He ordered. "I will not have my guests seeing you in such an unsightly state."

"It's Jack and [F/N]'s friend." Will protested.

"Sure, I'll get the door." You said. "Gee, thanks [F/N], that would be so helpful!"

You opened the door with a smile.

"Agent Crawford!" You greeted, shaking his hand.

"Oh, please." He laughed. "Call me Jack."

"And this must be Bella." You said, offering his wife your hand. "Jack has told me all about you."

"So you're the infamous [F/N] [L/N]?" Bella accepted with a smile. "It's so nice to meet you."

Jack removed his hat and coat, then handed you a bag. "For you."

"You shouldn't have." You said, knowing immediately that it was wine. Then you pulled it out of the bag. Your eyes went wide and your jaw hung open.

"Holy shit you really shouldn't have." You repeated.

Jack shrugged and smiled smugly. "I pulled some strings in evidence. Figured you might want it."

You threw your arms around his neck, keeping a tight grip on the 1907 Heidsieck Monopole.

"Hey, do I get a hug?" Said another voice.

Charissa waved to you from the porch.

"Holy shit, hey!" You opened your arms. Charissa jumped into your embrace and squeezed you. She'd always hugged you tighter after seeing you half-alive in a hospital bed with your seldom-seen lovers at your bedside.

"Jack, this is my friend Charissa Rodriquez." You introduced. "She was the one who sent you the address."

"So you're 'tip', huh?" Jack's face lit up. "The FBI owes you a debt of gratitude, Ms. Rodriquez."

"Tip?" You said, looking at both Jack and Charissa.

"The address we received came from an obvious burner email." Jack explained. "We thought it was from Chase, so we arrived with a ton of backup anticipating an attack. Turns out we needed it."

Charissa shrugged. "I thought you could never be too careful."

"Well, intentional or not," Jack said. "You helped us a lot."

"You're Charissa Rodriquez?" Will said from the staircase. He wore a grey suit with a dark blue dress shirt that fit him scarily well considering he hadn't even tried it on.

"Enchanté, monsieur." Charissa said, eyeing him up with a hungry smile. "You must be Will."

"Down, girl." You crossed your arms. Your tone was playful, but had a slight threatening bite. "He's all mine."

"Not all yours." Hannibal corrected, entering the scene to finally greet his guests. "Agent Crawford, Bella, Ms. Rodriquez, welcome."

"Wow." Charissa said, dumbfounded. "I feel like I'm meeting a celebrity."

"Oh, surely the rumors unraveled after the old place went out of business." Hannibal answered. "There are far more interesting things to talk about than myself."

"Very few, but they do exist." Jack commented.

Charissa folded her arms. "Like the bartender who stood up to a psychotic cult leader and found two wonderful boyfriends to take care of her?"

"I've heard that one!" You added. "I hear she bought the restaurant for next to nothing after it became a stigmatized property."

Carissa narrowed her eyes at you. "I still cannot believe you told him."

You shrugged. "I think it all worked out."

Hannibal gathered everyone around the table and tasked you with pouring the wine.

"Surely you know why I've invited you here tonight." He asked, taking a seat at the head. "The high courts have ruled Chase's death a suicide."

"Cheers to that." Will said, raising his glass.

"Nobody actually believes it was a suicide." Jack clarified, trying not to look at you too obviously. "But the jury didn't want to dignify him with a proper homicide ruling."

Charissa glared at you, not trying to not be obvious. "Only one person at the table knows for sure."

You shook your head. "I hit my head really hard, the details are just not there."

"But [F/N]'s DNA was on the gun." Bella added.

"But not her fingerprints." Jack said. "It was saliva. We think he tried to choke her with his fingers before reaching for the gun."

"Did you ever find that finger?" Charissa said like it was nothing.

Jack, who was more interested in the paella than the conversation, shook his head. "Never."

Your eyes widened. You left the finger with the gun, you were sure of it.

"Must we discuss the gory details over dinner?" Will said, sensing your discomfort.

Charissa rested her chin in her hands. "Would you rather talk about your three-person couple?"

"I distinctly remember spitting the finger out." You insisted.

"We found so many pieces of bone in that room," Jack continued. "It's genuinely of far less concern than the dynamite lining the walls and bunker full of cocaine, stolen medical supplies and baby coffins."

"And the stained glass window made of human skin." You added.

"You know a case is fucked when a lost finger is of the least concern." Charissa commented.

"The important thing is that it's over." Will said. "He's dead and [F/N] is alive."

Bella smiled at you. "God really is looking out for you, [F/N]."

You forced a smile, telling yourself that Bella had the best intentions. But her good intentions revived Chase's voice in your head, which was a voice you'd spent the last six months trying to forget. You tightened your grip on your utensils to relieve some tension, but it didn’t work.

The table went quiet, waiting for Bella to realize her mistake. Will put his hand over yours and looked into your eyes. He mouthed the word 'breathe' and some similar affirmations.

Hannibal raised his head, knowing the light casting shadows on his face intimidated people. "Ms. Bella, we generally don't talk religion here."

She covered her mouth with her fingertips. "I'm so sorry, [F/N], I just meant-"

You put your hand up. "Please, just don't."

"The important thing is that [F/N] recovered forty missing women and reunited them with their families." Will said. "And there was no divine presence involved in that."

You smiled softly. "I'll drink to that."

"And you'll also be happy to know that the woman who assisted him in luring all those girls into the cult," Jack added. "She's looking at twenty-five to life without parole."

"What about the babies?" Bella piped up. "Weren't there, like, at least twelve newborns?"

"That's where the department of family and child services took over." Jack answered. "Whether the biological mothers kept them or put them up for adoption is out of our hands, but I do know each child was thoroughly examined and are all up to date on their shots."

"Seriously, though." Charissa interjected. "How do you misplace an entire finger?"

"It's one of the easier appendages to misplace." Hannibal answered, speaking with experience. "I heard it wasn't just the one that you couldn't find."

Jack looked up from his plate, confused. "Now how did you know about that?"

"The man took a 12 gauge bullet directly to the hand, Jack." Hannibal said with a small chuckle. "It's more likely you find no fingers than any at all."

"The bones will turn up somewhere." Jack said, resignedly. 

He just happened to say the word “bones” as you were glancing at your ring. 

You smiled a little too wide. “They just might.”  

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.” 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[apocalypseornaw]

Always be Yours- 2

Word Count 5,437 *not my gif*

Story Summary: Inspired by the 2 part I did of the same title. Follows Dean and Reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: Adaddon is back and using two hunters to draw the boys into a trap so of course you're right there with them

Warnings: cursing, fights, minor character death

Dean could hear your laughter drifting down the hall the moment he stepped out of his room. You'd only been at the bunker a week or so but you'd always had a habit of making any place feel your presence. Hell even Crowley asked if he could see you when he found out you were there. Kevin was acting more normal than he'd ever seen the kid and it was a bit of a relief to know he wasn't the only one keeping a close eye on Sam should Ezekial decide to not hold up his end of the bargain.

He headed towards the kitchen and could hear music. The closer he got he made out the tune of "You give love a bad name" when he stepped around the corner he was met with the sight of Sam spinning you around while you sang along word for word. Kevin was sitting at the table working on a large stack of pancakes and laughing at the show of you and Sam dancing around the kitchen in your pajamas. The two of you had formed a close friendship back when you were both the youngest kids being pawned off on Bobby during hunts and Dean would be lying if he said he didn't wish you were as comfortable around him as you were Sam.

He could still remember the first case him and Sam worked solo with you. It was the Croatoan virus. You hadn't blinked an eye when you refused to leave Sam's side when he was exposed telling them both that if they were giving in so were you. Over the years you'd been in and out of their lives and the day he'd been dragged out of hell you showed up at Bobby's and had a blade to his neck before him or Bobby could explain. When they proved it was really him that was the first time you'd ever hugged him. You'd pratically squealed when you jumped into his arms "Dean! You're back!"

You always had a habit that no matter how long you went without seeing him or Sam you always treated them as if you'd just seen them the day before. When Sam was soulless you helped him to track down Death to get Sam's soul back. He'd never seen you back down from a fight especially if someone you cared about was fighting.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when you slid to a stop in front of him and held a hand out to him. "C'mon Dean" you pleaded and he shook his head "I haven't even had my coffee yet Y/N" you being the ever persistent woman you were rolled your eyes then looked over your shoulder at Sam "Be a good little brother and fix the man some coffee" Sam grinned as he moved to grab Dean's mug and you turned back around to Dean with a smile "So now what's your excuse?" the song switched to "Have you ever seen the rain" and your eyes lit up when he hummed the first couple bars before hesitantly taking your hand.

You slid your arms up around his neck and he put his hands at your waist careful not to catch the bare skin when your shirt rode up slightly. Normally he'd feel stupid as hell dancing in the kitchen? Especially with an audience but the smile on your face was worth it, most of the time you tried to keep up the front of a fearless hunter but since Bobby's death you'd started to let your guard fall more often and around more people than just Sam. When the song ended you winked at him and said "Who knew Dean Winchester can dance?" then moved to turn the player down. Sam cleared his throat and looked from you to Dean before holding the coffee out "Want your coffee Dean?" when you turned your back Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean shot him a glare "Thanks Sammy" you thankfully didn't see the look passed between them when you turned around to ask Kevin if he wanted orange juice.

-------

The ease of the morning was interrupted by a phone call coming in about a busload of bodies found on a naval base. That mixed with the freaky storms and dead cattle circling that area screamed demon. You grabbed your duffel bag and the bag with your fed suit then stepped out of your room and met up with Kevin in the hallway. He glanced down towards the armory so you shot him a smile "Just stay away from him Kev. He'll try to get into your head and it's not worth it" he gave you a small smile in return "I'll stay away from him Y/N" he turned to head to the library so you headed for the map room where Sam and Dean stood waiting. Dean's eyes skimmed over you and your crossed your arms "Is there a problem Dean?" he met your eyes and smirked slightly "Naw, just you're gonna be a lot more fun to look at all day than Sammy here" you rolled your eyes and chunked your duffel bag to him considering they both already kept go bags in baby's trunk "Easy tiger, we got work to do"

You walked next to Sam up the stairs talking about the case and what could possibly be waiting.

------

When Dean rolled to a stop right outside the area that had been tapped off you slid your ID into your pocket then climbed out the backseat. You had stopped off about ten miles back for all of you to change into your suits. "This place reeks of sulphur" Sam muttered and you nodded "Between the stink and the storms.." "Mixed with the dead cattle I'll take demons for a thousand Alex" Dean finished holding the police tape up for you to walk underneath.

The MP noticed the three of you and headed your way so you pulled your badges out while Dean did the introduction "Agents Stark, Banner and Barnes. FBI. Just need to have a look around" She didn't hesitate to ask "Why? This is a military case, not a federal one" "Well that's not what our supervisor said" you interjected and if anything you speaking seemed to make her attitude that much worse "That so? Then maybe him and I ought to have a chat" Sam cut his eyes at you and Dean said "Ok" then pulled his phone out. You wondered what he was doing and leaned up slightly to see him hit Kevin's number.

"Hey boss, we got a little problem" poor Kevin you just hoped he knew to play along. After a beat Dean continued "Yeah just a local badge needs a little confirmation we're supposed to be here. How the word came down from FBI headquarters in D.C." you were glad you were used to situations like this because if not you probably would've laughed imagining how confused Kevin must be but nonetheless Dean said "Yeah" then held the phone out to the MP.

She looked between the three of you before saying "This is sergeant Miranda Bates. Who am I talking to?" She looked back at Dean who you knew by far wouldn't break before asking Kevin "How old are you?" you were started to get annoyed with her attitude when she said "Listen kid, I don't have to do anything and I don't take orders from the feebs so unless you can give me one good reason you got a couple of pretty boy agents and their handler poking around my crime scene" "Handler?" you scoffed and Sam reached a hand out to pull you back next to him as she kept ranting "I'm gonna put them in cuffs and spank your ass raw"

Her face fell at something Kevin said "What?..How did you find that?" You looked between the boys to see if they had any idea what Kevin was telling her but they both shrugged. She finally said "Yes sir" then handed Dean's phone back and walked away.

Dean was barely holding back a smile when he said "Kevin, what the hell did you just do?" Sam motioned to the bus so Dean waved the two of you ahead.

You stepped on the bus behind Sam and went to the first body while Sam started looking over a different one. "Sam look" you pushed back the guy's shirt with a pen to show the bullet hole in his chest. All the bodies had fatal wounds but they were all also long dead.

Dean then stepped up on the bus and asked "Got anything?" Sam nodded to the body nearest you "This guy was shot in the heart" "That what killed him?" he asked and Sam looked at you so you shrugged "Maybe? but like ten or twenty years ago" Dean glanced at Sam who added "All these bodies have fatal wounds but they're all old" "So meatsuits?" Dean guessed so you nodded "Bodies took a licking but demons kept them ticking"

"And now they're riding the soldiers" Sam added. Dean looked behind Sam "Hey" you looked up to see sergeant Bates walking up onto the bus with a tablet in her hands "Excuse me agents. We pulled this off the security camera. You might want to take a look" Sam reached out for it so you moved to the side so Dean could see the screen as well. It clearly showed the soldiers walking away but Sam froze on one woman in particular. You knew they couldn't tell you why in front of Bates but the moment the three of you stepped off the bus Dean said "Abaddon? Seriously?" and you knew why Sam had frozen the screen. That was the demon that had attacked the men of letters and who killed their grandfather Henry after him and her jumped through a magical portal to recent time.

"I thought you kentucky fried that meatsuit?" Dean asked Sam who shrugged "I did Dean" "Then how did she get it back?" you asked and nodded to the cop that held the tape up for you to pass. "And why's she playing G.I. Joe?" Dean said and Sam responded "No clue. Why don't you ask her when we find her?"

You slid into the backseat and pulled your suit jacket off while Dean pulled out onto the road and said "Oh I will and then I'm gonna chop her freaking head off..again"

------

After stopping off long enough for all of you to change back into normal clothes you got back on the road to the bunker. It was already dark out and you were laid across the backseat when Sam's phone rang and you heard him say "Hold on Kevin..Wait..slow down" Sam cut his eyes back when you sat up then put the phone on speaker while Kevin repeated the coordinates he'd been given then said "And she gave me two names. Irv Franklin and Tracy Bell" "Irv's a friend, don't know Tracy" Dean cut in before Kevin continued "All right, the lady said they were hunters and that if you didn't go save them that she would kill them" "Yeah heard that song before" Dean grumbled but you were looking up the coordinates to see where you were all headed.

"Dean, who was she?" Kevin asked so you answered without looking up "The bad guy" Dean asked Kevin to dig up everything the men of letters had on the knights of hell. Abaddon was one although you didn't know exactly what that entailed. After Sam hung up with Kevin you leaned up between him and Dean "The numbers point to a spot on the outskirts of Eugene, Oregon" then glanced between the two of them "Are we gonna adknowledge this is a trap right?"

"Yup" Dean said matter of factly. You turned your head to look at Sam when he asked "And we're just gonna walk right into it?" "Guns blazing" you answered and saw Dean glance your way in the mirror. "Well Y/N's with me, Sam?" Sam of course said "You know it"

------

You drove through the night and stopped a few miles shy of where Abaddon wanted to meet so all of you could be as well prepared as possible. The place was completely abandoned. Dean gave voice to your thoughts when he asked "What the hell happened here?" "A local chemical plant sprang a leak years ago. They evacuated three square blocks. Guess it's still contaminated"

"Wait? So this whole place is poison?" you asked, a little worried. "Yeah" Sam replied and you laughed when you saw Dean's hand move to cover his crotch "That's not gonna help" Sam told him with a sigh. Dean realized you'd seen him and shrugged "It doesn't hurt"

One thing you'd gotten used to was that when you hunted with them both they had a habit of keeping you between them when they could. You weren't sure if it was on purpose or not. The three of you walked further into the town then heard a slam coming from an old diner that caused you and Sam to pull your guns. Dean nodded so you covered Sam while he kicked the door in.

"Clear" you and Dean went in behind him so you kept an eye on the kitchen to make sure there was no surprises while Dean untied Irv and who had to be Tracy. You glanced back when he said Abaddon had been torturing hunters to get information on Sam and Dean. If you hadn't been with them she might have gotten her claws on you.

Dean gave Irv a shot of holy water while Sam gave one to Tracy who rolled her eyes "Happy?" she was slinging more aggression towards Sam than you would've liked but now wasn't the time. Irv nodded to you when Dean untied him "Y/N, good to see ya" "Yeah" you said then once again Tracy got mouthy with Sam when he introduced himself. You knew the look you had when Irv quickly explained "She's new. We worked a shifter job in Sacramento together. Smart but got a mouth on her" She scoffed so you clicked your tongue "Honey we ain't got time for whatever you got going on. We need to gear up and clear out" Dean tilted his head towards you "What she said"

------

You were helping Dean lay out every weapon you'd grabbed. "We got jesus juice, devil's trap bullets shoot a demon with them and put em on lockdown" He explained and you spun an angel blade in your hand "Angel blades work"

Irv took a gun loaded with Devil's trap bullets about the time Sam said "They're coming" "Good" Dean said handing you a vial of holy water. "They've got assault rifles" Sam added and you cursed under your breath "Ok, less good"

Irv looked at Dean "So, what's the play?" Dean looked at you "Give me your phone" you handed it over without question and watched him record a voice memo of himself saying "COME AND GET IT YOU DICKS" and knew his plan. You grabbed one of the cake trays and drug it over in front of him "Prop it up here" he did as you said then looked between everyone else. "Let's go"

------

All of you made it out behind the cafe so Dean looked around "We got to flank seal team douche in there so uh Irv, you and me will go left. Sam, you Y/N and Tracy go right" "Ok let's move" Sam said and reached for Tracy's arm but she shoved him back "Don't touch me" "What is your problem?" you asked feeling Dean grab you around the waist with one arm to hold you in place while he repeated the question.

Tracy's eyes never moved off of Sam "My family's dead because of him" "What?" Sam asked and in that moment you could've knocked Tracy flat just for the guilt in his eyes. She looked back at you then at Dean before saying "I watched a demon slaughter my parents and the whole time it talked about how it was celebrating how some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage" you looked over your shoulder at Dean and he slid his arm from around you. "Ok we got to move. Y/N you go with Sam and Irv, Tracy with me" you didn't really want to leave her with Dean in case it became a your brother did this to my people so I'm gonna do this to you type of thing but it wasn't like you were in a position to start an argument. You simply nodded and tapped Sam's shoulder "Let's go"

------

You were walking close to Sam gripping your gun and trying to keep an eye out, He had the demon blade in his hand and Irv was behind you. "Sam you copacetic?" Irv asked and Sam nodded "I'm good" Irv glanced at you then said "Good. Give me that toothpick, grab Y/N then you two get Dean and Tracy and get the hell out of here" "What?" you asked in shock and Irv explained "I'm going in there alone. I'll buy you as much time as I can"

"Irv, that's death" Sam glanced at you for help but you didn't know what to say at a friend basically asking for the two of you to be ok with him killing himself. Irv looked ashamed when he finally spoke "Yeah, well it's what I got coming..It's my fault. I was in some dive and I was sloppy and lonely" Sam glanced at you as Irv continued "And I met some girl and the next thing you know, I'm strapped to some bed and she's twisting things that ain't supposed to be twisted" "She who?" Sam questioned but you had a feeling you already knew the answer Irv saying "Abaddon" just confirmed you were right.

Irv's voice broke when he said "I gave em up. Pete,Tracy,even you Y/N. I gave em all up. So Sam you hand me that blade and you let me do what I got to do or so help me" but he had moved to the point his back wasn't blocked by any building and a shot rang out a second before Irv fell. Sam instinctively pushed you back and pulled his gun. You nodded that you were ok then you both leaned out to return fire then make a break for the diner that was across the street.

You fell in behind Sam and looked up to see one of the demon's holding you at gunpoint "Boo"

He snatched you to your feet and Sam dove for him with the demon blade but another demon popped up and knocked Sam sideways then both of you were thrown over the counter. You scrambled to your feet again about the time the third demon walked around the corner and smiled "Cool. I didn't miss the best part"

------

Safe to say you and Sam were getting your asses handed to you. He had his head slammed into a wall and you thought he was unconscious then suddenly his eyes glowed blue and he looked at "GET DOWN" "Bout time you pop up" you muttered diving back behind the counter and tucking yourself into the smallest ball possible as Ezekiel's wings shown on the wall of the diner.

You stayed in that position until the door of the diner opened and Dean called your name. He let out a visible breath when you popped up. "Fuck don't hide again!" "He told me to!" you argued pointing at Ezekiel who was stabbing the last demon in the head with the demon blade. "They were going to kill him and her Dean" "Ezekiel?" Dean asked and you nodded. "What the hell did you do?" Dean pushed and Ezekiel turned to face him "I was protecting your brother and Y/N. I thought that was what you wanted" "Yeah of course, Thank you we're just still getting used to all this" you cut in and Ezekiel looked around "As am I" "Sam's ok?' you asked and Ezekiel explained that he had been knocked unconscious and in a way still was and wouldn't remember what happened. "So what the hell am I supposed to tell him when he comes to?" Dean asked and Ezekiel held the demon blade out "Which was why I used the knife"

"Right, smart" Dean took the blade then looked at you when Ezekiel spoke "You are troubled still" Dean turned back towards him "Yeah it's just that uh. Yeah this is on me. I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up hell so every demon deal, every person they kill you're looking at the person who let it happen" "Dean" you tried but he wouldn't even look at you. "You were protecting your brother" Ezekiel offered then continued "I am in Sam's head. Everything he knows I know. and I know that what you did you did out of love"

Dean scoffed "Look Zeke, I'm gonna call you Zeke. I'm not really with the whole uh love and well love" you were standing there looking between the two of them when Ezekiel said "but it is why I said yes" "Yeah and if that goes sideways that's on me too" you finally snapped at Dean "PLEASE STOP HATING YOURSELF FOR FIVE SECONDS"

They both looked a little startled so you took a breath and said "We're trusting you Ezekiel" Dean finally shook himself out the shock of you hollering at him to say "and I just hope you're one of the good guys" "I am" Ezekiel said then added "But I suppose that's what a bad guy would say...Dean Winchester you are going the right thing" you took a deep breath and look at Ezekiel "How about letting Sam take back control? me and Dean will clean up before he wakes up" Ezekiel nodded then walked over to where Sam had been knocked out and sat back.

------

Once his head drooped over you moved to help Dean load the weapons back into the bag. Neither of you spoke until Sam started to stir.

When he groaned you made it to his side first "Sam?" "Sammy?" Dean asked helping Sam to his feet. Sam looked at you "What the hell happened?" you shrugged "You took a shot to the head, I was about to be the pinata for these asshats before Dean decided to slide in and save our asses"

Sam looked at Dean "You killed three demons, alone?" Dean shrugged "Took them by surprise. Got a little messy, I got a little lucky oh and I'm awesome so there's that" Sam looked around and you smirked when he said "You are pretty damn awesome"

You heard an engine roll up and looked out the window to see Tracy roll up in baby and looked back at Dean "She gets to drive baby and I don't?" Dean tried to explain but you simply grabbed the weapons as the three of you headed outside.

------

Tracy looked at Sam "You good?" "Yeah, more or less" and you smiled when her reply was "Good." She chunked the keys to Dean "I got everything but guess I'm late to the party" "Lucky you" you muttered and walked around to get in behind Sam as Dean said "Let's blow this toxic dump. Burgers and silkwood showers on me"

------

After you dropped Tracy off at one of her friend's houses you and the boys got back on the road. You hadn't really said much to either of them. You were thinking about Ezekiel and if he truly was a good guy. Sam was used to the way you'd get quiet sometimes but Dean had looked in the mirror about a dozen times before you finally said "Speak Dean" he shrugged "You pissed at me?"

You knew you had to look as confused as you felt so he clarified "Tracy driving baby?" you laughed "Naw if you wanted to let me drive her you would" and shrugged he looked a bit hurt so you winked at him to let him know you weren't upset about that. 

------

Twenty miles from Lebanon Dean decided to stop to get Kevin some food. You were sitting in the backseat with your head leaned back while Sam checked his emails.

You glanced up when the door closest to you opened and was surprised to see Dean holding the car keys out to you "I really don't want you killing me in my sleep" you grinned and snatched them from him not risking him changing his mind.

-------

When you pulled up to the bunker and killed the engine you looked back at Dean who was watching you and smiled "Thank you" he took the keys that you were holding out and nodded "Wait, you're still staying around right?" you didn't stop to think Sam hadn't heard that conversation between you and Dean before he said "What?" you shook your head and climbed out the car "Don't worry about it Sam I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

-------

Kevin was nowhere to be found and considering Crowley killed his mom the three of you ran to the armory.

Crowley was beat up but at least not dead and neither was Kevin. "Who worked you over?" Sam asked. Crowley looked at you then said "Martin Hayward and Brandon Favors" "They did this?" you asked but he shook his head "No they're demons. Your boys wanted names, I'm giving names. They're underperformers. Spike them, You're doing me a favor"

Dean smirked "Wow, you break easy" Crowley rolled his eyes "Please,your little plan to have me stir in my own delicious juices? Pathetic. You want intel, I want things too. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement. Quid pro quo gentlemen" "So these names are freebies?" you asked and Crowley smiled at you "Not at all sweets.You can consider them fair trade for the enjoyment Kevin gave me" "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" You and Dean asked in unison and Crowley quirked an eyebrow at that before saying "He's my new favorite toy. Wind him up and watch him go" You glared at him "You red eyed bastard" then spun around to walk out the armory and find Kevin. You heard Dean tell Sam "Check the names, I'll help Y/N find the kid"

------

You found him packed up and trying to leave "Where are you going?" Dean asked but Kevin kept walking so you stepped in his path. "Y/N you can't keep me locked up here. I'm leaving" "Like hell" Dean said and you cut your eyes at him "Kev we told you not to talk to Crowley he messes with your head" "He said my mom was alive, that if I let him go he'd give her back"

"And you believed him?" Dean asked with a scoff. "He's still in there isn't he?" you moved to put yourself between Dean and Kevin before saying "Kev, Crowley's lying" "And if he's not?" he asked and you were glad for once that Dean answered "Than she's dead, in every way that matters anyways. We're sorry Kevin"

"I know you're dying to bolt. I get it but out that door it's angels and demons and they'd all love to get their hands on a prophet so even with Crowley here..It's still the safest place for you" you took a breath hoping you'd gotten through to the kid. "and we need you" Dean added.

It hurt your heart when Kevin assumed "Because I'm useful?" but you couldn't help but smile when Dean answered "No,because you're family. Same as Y/N. If you don't think after all we've been through together we all wouldn't die for each other man I don't know what to tell you. We're all we got but hey if none of that matters to you then I won't stop you and I won't let Y/N"

Kevin looked at you then slowly nodded "Ok" you cut your eyes at Dean "I'm gonna get him to his room then I'll come find you and Sam" 

-------

You walked into the library and heard Dean telling Sam "You have helped a lot more people than you've hurt" and guessed it was due to what Tracy said so you stepped further in and Dean waved you over and sat a glass of whiskey in front of you. 

You took it then sat down next to Sam. Dean looked back at him then said "All of that was then" he held up his glass so you did the same and bumped Sam's shoulder so he'd join in when Dean said "Here's to now"

You clicked your glasses against theirs then took a sip. "You both ready for it?" Sam asked so you looked at Dean who questioned "Ready for what?" "Fallens angels, Abaddon. Cas losing his halo, Crowley living in our basement"

You half laughed "Dean you invited me to move into a freakin sitcom" Dean shrugged "At least you have company?" Then turned his attention to Sam "What about you? How's the engine running?" 

Sam looked between the two of you before saying "Honestly? I feel better than I have in a long time. I know it's crazy out there but I look around here and I see friends and family. I'm happier than I've been in forever. It's just things are good" Dean met your eyes and nodded "Never better" 

------

Sam had already headed to bed and Dean went to check in on Kevin. You knew you wouldn't wind down for a while so you collected the books Kevin had pulled about the knights of hell and laid them out across one of the tables in the library. 

You poured yourself another glass of whiskey then sat down. You were halfway through the first book when Dean cleared his throat and you glanced up to see him leaning against the doorway "I figured you went to bed" you said and held the bottle out. He took it then sat across from you "I figured you did too"

He poured a glass then reached for one of the books so you slid it across to him. The two of you read in silence for a few minutes before he called your name. You glanced up "Yeah?" "What was that about?" You weren't exactly sure what he meant so you asked "What was what about?"

He closed the book and for once there was no humor in his face when he asked "You yelling at me about not hating myself for five minutes?" Oh that was what he meant. You finally answered "You're very self deprecating Dean even worse than Sam. I can't stand it" he nodded but still pushed "Why?"

You sighed and laid the book down pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to get the words right before you spoke them "You're a good man Dean. You damn near raised Sam, you have saved so many people. You have a good heart and even when you fuck up it's due to good intentions and don't start about the road to hell being paved with good intentions you know what I mean. When it comes down to it there's no one else I'd rather have to back me in a fight or as a friend" the corner of his lips ticked up in a small smirk "um thanks?" You shrugged "It's the truth. Now let's finish with these books we're currently on then I think we should head to bed" "Yours or mine?" He teased with a smirk but you knew the best way to handle Dean was to give his own medicine right back to him so you quickly fired back "Oh honey I just don't think you could handle me"  and laughed at the look on his face "Yeah I can definitely see why Sam likes having you around" "oh and you don't like having me around not even in the least?" You asked and and he rolled his eyes then pushed the book you'd been reading back at you "Read your book Y/N" 

You turned your attention back to the book but noticed the way he kept glancing your way for the next half hour. When you finally closed your book to head to bed you stood and stretched "See you in the morning?" He nodded "I'll be the best looking one" you shook your head with a smile then headed to your room.

Tags: @akshi8278 @facadeformyrealblog

[punksarahreese]

“I care about you.” for fbi!au 👀

Care | Crosshairs

FBI!AU; Ava is distracted by something and a secret comes out

Prompt: “I care about you”

Word count: 1528

CW: hospital talk, stitches/needle mention

***

A twelve hour shift on a murder case was never fun, but a twelve hour shift with a pissed off partner was a hundred times worse in Sarah’s mind. She hadn’t expected to show up and immediately receive a cold shoulder and it seemed like everyone else felt the same. Agent Bekker had always been stern and case-focused, yet she also wasn’t one to ignore Penelope’s banter or not say good morning to Sarah.

That day Ava had been a completely different person. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen every chance she got, jumping at every notification sound even though Hotch glared at her for having her ringer on. She was restless too, pacing the bullpen whenever she had a free moment, and she didn’t bother to participate in any conversation. All of Emily’s teasing remarks fell on deaf ears, even earning the other woman an eye roll from the target of her jokes. Usually Ava met each comment with one of her own, which ended in the two women laughing together, yet nothing was ever said.

This is why her partner was worried, though she knew Ava would hate that she was distracted by fussing over her. She would have told her to stay focused on the case or go home if she was so distracted, not wanting to be coddled in the slightest. It didn’t stop Sarah from trailing after her into the locker room, silent in the empty room as she tried to figure out how to approach the situation.

“I know you’re there, Reese,” her words were monotonous and tired, as though the mere act of speaking was exhausting her. Given Ava’s insomniac track record, maybe it was just that. Either way, she waited with crossed arms until Sarah slinked out from behind the set of lockers, looking at her partner sheepishly.

“Out with it, then.”

“What’s wrong, Ava?”

“Nothing.”

Sarah looked at her incredulously, “You’ve been silent and standoffish all day. You’ve checked your phone at least twenty times every hour and you usually have it away during work hours. Also don’t think I didn’t see you and Penelope walk off earlier, she’s the only one you’ve spoken to today. So no, I don’t believe that it's nothing.”

“Don’t profile me,” Ava rolled her eyes, in the process of putting on her well ironed blazer. She didn’t speak again for a moment, instead busying herself with collecting her bag and not making eye contact. That was confirmation enough that something must be very wrong, since her partner was always confrontational as opposed to the quiet type.

“I care about you, Ava,” Sarah said softly, “That’s why I ask.”

“I-”

Sarah watched her silently, afraid she had already pushed too far. The last thing she wanted was to drive a wedge between them, especially since she was still the newbie and she wanted to be friends with her partner above all. Still, Sarah always wanted to help and she hated to see others suffer in silence. Ava wasn’t herself and it was worrying, so no one could blame her for being concerned.

“It’s… my daughter.”

“Daughter?” the confusion was clear on the brunette’s face, “I didn’t… didn’t know you had kids.”

“That was kind of the whole point.”

“Ava, why would you hide that? We’re you’re family here.”

“She’s only four,” the blonde sighed as she sat down on the bench across from her locker, “I’ve seen what having a family does to agents and the last thing I want is for her to get hurt because of me.”

“Still, no one knows?”

Ava chuckled dryly, “Mostly everyone. Penelope figured it out after about 2 months of me being here, she likes to background check us after all. Hotch probably knows because I doubt Strauss knew to keep it a secret. Everyone else is as in the dark as you were, though.”

“That’s a big secret to keep for this long…”

“I know,” she looked at Sarah seriously, “But I want it to say like that for as long as I can.”

The harsh tone made her flinch a little but she understood, Ava was a fierce protector so it was clear she would want her baby to be safe above all. She nodded, sitting down beside her partner, “You’re both safe with me.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“So, what’s wrong?” she added before the subject could drop, “What happened?”

“She fell at the park with her nanny today,” Ava answered, “Apparently she cut up her face pretty badly.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t leave to meet them at the hospital because this case is so important. She’s terrified of hospitals, Reese, and I’ve been trying to keep up with what’s going on.”

Sarah nodded, now understanding the attitude change of the day. She wasn’t a maternal person but she understood how fiercely a mother cared, she had seen it in JJ and other friends in the past. It made sense that Ava had been distracted, especially if she wasn’t sure how the child would handle a doctor’s visit.

“How bad is it?”

“Ten stitches,” Ava was clearly anxious if the way she was fiddling with her ever perfect curls was any indication, “She screamed the second the needle was out.”

“Poor baby.”

“She’s… we’re pretty sure she’s on the spectrum and it’s been hard. Since I started training at Quantico when she was so young I thought she would get used to the long work hours but any change is tough on her I think. I hate missing things, Sarah, and I hate knowing she’s scared or in situations she hates when I can’t be there.”

“I’m sorry, Ava. I can’t imagine how hard that is on you both.”

“She’s so strong but I still worry…”

Sarah hesitated before she asked the burning question that had been on her mind, “Is her father still in the picture?”

Ava laughed a little, “Heavens no. She never knew him, though he does still send child support thankfully. It never would have worked out between us and he wasn’t on board with me moving to the US anyway. I worry she’ll never have the right upbringing now, with a mother so busy and in a whole other continent than the rest of her family.”

“I think she’ll be just fine,” Sarah promised without a beat, “Your daughter has you, Ava, and you are the most loyal person I’ve met here. Besides, with a mother as strong as you? She’ll turn out to be a fierce little thing, I think.”

She was a little shocked when her partner looked at her with watery eyes, exhaustion clear on her face but there was something else. The gratitude that Ava looked at her with was overwhelming, smiling through the anxiety because that was something she had been dying to hear. From the moment she left South Africa all Ava had heard was that she was picking a career over her daughter. Her parents and friends had acted like she was hurting her daughter with such a big move, especially to go work for the FBI. Learning that she might also be autistic had been a deal breaker for her family, since they somehow thought it was all Ava’s fault. No matter how hard she had tried they wouldn’t listen to her when she said this was the best choice for her and her baby. She left so much behind when she left home and she lost almost all of her connections, yet here she had found someone who actually believed in her. Sarah believed in her ability as a mother and as an agent and that was maybe the most healing thing she had ever been told.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “Really. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

“I’m always here, Ava,” she replied and patted her knee gently, “You’re doing your best.”

Ava fumbled for her phone, fishing it out of her pocket and unlocking it. She was silent for a moment until she found what she was looking for. Passing the device to her partner, she smiled as she explained, “I took this picture when we visited home last year.”

It was a picture of a toddler on a beach, her blonde hair unkempt and her rainbow sweater sleeves hanging over her hands. She was half turned away from the camera but Sarah could still see the striking resemblance to her mother, though her eyes were grey she still had that stoic intelligence in her gaze. She couldn’t help but smile at the photo, or maybe she was smiling because of the amount of love on Ava’s face when she looked at it too.

“She’s adorable,” Sarah passed her phone back gently, “What’s her name?”

“Vivienne,” Ava answered fondly, “I call her Vivi.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” the blonde bumped Sarah’s shoulder with her own, “For everything. I’m sorry for being so bitchy today.”

“It happens, you were just worried. I’m always here to talk to you, Ava.”

“I know, that’s what partners are for.”

“Of course,” Sarah laughed as she repeated something she always told her, “I do care about you, dummy.”

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Twelve: We May Have A Problem

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,810

MASTERLIST

~

When you woke up, Spencer was standing, fully dressed and talking on the phone.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. . . . Yes, it had been open but this morning it was closed and so was her bedroom door. . . . A new one? . . . What book? . . . Okay, I understand. . . . Yes, sir. . . . You too.”

He hung up, running a hand through his hair and turning towards you. Startled to see you awake, he came near and sat on the couch.

“Hey,” his voice was much gentler than it had just been on the phone. Presumably, he’d been talking to Hotch, his boss.

“You said ‘A new one’. Is there a new victim?”

“I really don’t think—“

“Spencer.” You didn’t have time to argue with him about whether or not you should know what was going on. “I need to know.”

He must’ve known it was no use putting up a fight. He sighed softly before he spoke, setting the tone for the conversation.

“Yes. There’s a new victim, pushing the total up to six. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, more to himself than you.

“I need to know,” you repeated, urging him to go on. “Please.”

Silent for a moment, he said, “Okay, but first get dressed and eat breakfast. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

Right. You were still missing your pants. And your last shred of dignity.

So you stood, went to your bedroom, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. It would be a decidedly unremarkable outfit if not for the fact you never wore very exposing clothes, such as a tank top. This particular one happened to expose just the right amount of skin. You wondered if Spencer would notice. Not that that was important! Someone had been killed, for christ sakes.

“What time did you get up?”

He’d found a box of cereal and poured two bowls. The living room was much cleaner and you suspected he’d tidied up, ridding the room of evidence of last night.

“Six,” he said with a mouthful of cereal, not sparing you a look. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell y—“

You had stepped into his line of sight and his jaw had dropped. It was like a moment out of a sitcom.

“What is it?”

Suddenly aware of the way he was gaping at you, he adjusted, looking at you in confusion.

“What’s what?”

You would have laughed at his shock if not for the pressing matter at hand.

“You said there’s something you need to tell me?” and you sat next to him, picking up the bowl of cereal and eating.

“Right. Yes, um. . . .” he hesitated for a moment, putting down his bowl and breathing deeply. When he looked at you, you understood that there was something more to what had happened.

“Just tell me,” you took his hand in yours and he let you. Strange how you were the one in danger but you frequently found yourself comforting him. Not that you were complaining! It actually felt nice to take care of someone else. Made you feel less useless.

“Last night . . .” you drew a quick breath in anticipation of the discussion to come. “Last night, someone snuck into the apartment.”

You released the breath you’d been holding. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You waited for him to go on.

“When I woke up, the window and door to your bedroom were closed even though last night they’d been open. Someone must have entered the apartment. Presumably the stalker. I’ve already called the team and they’re sending a unit over.”

He paused, giving you the opportunity to ask, “Why didn’t he . . . kill me?”

“We’re operating under the assumption that he doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to play out a fantasy with you but since he’s too scared to approach you, he has to substitute you with other women. However, we have to assume that he won’t stop killing until he finds some way to play out his fantasy with you.”

“What’s the fantasy?”

Spencer paused. 

“We aren’t quite sure. Each of the victims was killed in a unique manner based on certain books. A copy of each book was found at the crime scene. We’re still unsure as to why he’s choosing these specific books as there’s not a lot that connects them.”

“How did he kill them?” you didn’t want to know but you had to.

He seemed to understand this so he answered without too much protest.

“The first victim was found with a copy of The Handmaid's Tale. She’d had her eye scratched out and was hanged. The second book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, victim found stabbed next to a self-portrait. The Telltale Heart and The Great Gatsby pretty much speak for themselves. The most recent one was 1984. She, uh . . . had a cage strapped to her head and . . . well, you can picture the rest. Are you okay?”

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, breath frozen in your throat, putting a pattern together.

“That’s only five. What book did the new one have? How was she killed?”

“Oh, um. A Clockwork Orange. It looked like he made her jump out of a window. What’s wrong?”

You stood and started to pace slowly, processing all this information. Absentmindedly, biting your nails, you thought hard if it was just a coincidence.

It can’t be. Is it? It must!

“Y/N!” Spencer was in front of you, crouching slightly with his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong? Should I not have told you?”

Rather than answer, you pulled him to your room, flicked on the light, and sat on the floor in front of your nightstand. Underneath it was a little cabinet, both doors closed, a little latch locking them.

You looked at Spencer. He looked so worried like it was his fault all this was happening. You wished you could kiss all worries away so that it was just him and you and nothing else. But you couldn’t. There was something far more pressing now.

With a flick of your wrist, you unlocked the cabinet and opened it. There were two little shelves, each holding an assortment of books.

“I keep my oldest classic books in here,” you said, watching his expression change to understanding as he saw the books.

The first six on the top shelf were the exact ones that had been found at each crime scene.

~

Spencer’s team had arrived two hours later, preceded by an entire Crime Scene Investigation unit. Your entire apartment was cordoned off, the only people in and out being the FBI personnel, so you were standing in the hallway, watching people help themselves to your apartment.

“Y/N?” it was the blonde woman. “I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison. We’ve decided to release this case to the press. It might help push the killer out of hiding, attract more attention.”

You nodded, understanding what that meant. They’d have to give all sorts of details that involved you. What the victims looked like: you. Why he was killing them: you. And who he was really after: . . . you.

“We also need to change your cover, move you to a safer spot.”

You looked at her, confused.

“Why?”

“He clearly knows where you live, who is with you, and how to get in. We’re going to relocate you to a secure location. Doctor Reid will take you as soon as your things are packed.”

“Wait, I don’t want to go somewhere else. I wanna stay here. Can’t you just put more cops nearby?”

You were being stubborn, you knew. But your apartment was the only place you felt comfortable anymore, anywhere else and there was the threat of being attacked. Only now, that threat applied here.

“We need to keep as many people working on catching the unsub as possible. The more people worrying about you, the less trying to catch this guy.”

It was blunt but she was right. They needed to be focusing on taking him down, not keeping you safe. They needed the best people on the case. Then why. . . ?

“Then why is Spence the one protecting me? He’s a literal genius, shouldn’t he be heading up the case?”

She looked at you quizzically, like she was trying to figure you out.

“What?” you spat harshly, having had enough of not getting answers.

Coolly, surely from years of experience dealing with impatient people, she replied, “Doctor Reid has expressed a . . . request to keep his assignment with you.”

You took a moment to process that information. He’d asked to stay with me. He’d requested it.

“Why?”

Jennifer was looking at you analytically; like she was deciding the right thing to say.

“I don’t know.” And you knew she was telling the truth. She honestly had no idea why Spencer would choose to stay with you rather than help catch the killer. 

You smiled politely at her, “Thank you, Jennifer.”

“My friends call me J.J.” she smiled back, lightly placing a hand on your arm comfortingly. Her phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And she left you in the hallway, surrounded by people yet feeling so alone, wondering when Spencer would be back.

~

J.J. had to work late, fixing the stupid paperwork error she’d made earlier. Hotch was the only one still there.

Deciding to check in with him before she left, she knocked on the door to his office, already stepping in.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. You good?”

“Hmm,” he grunted, not looking up from the case file.

Debating whether or not to prod, she sat in the chair across from him. He glanced at her, realizing he’d been dismissive.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his face and sighing. 

J.J. chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s been a rough week.”

“Tell me about it. This guy hasn’t been leaving any indicators of who he is, where he works, and why he’s targeting this girl.” Hotch slapped the file and sat back.

J.J. shuffled in her seat awkwardly.

“Has Reid ever . . .”

But she trailed off, prompting Hotch to look at her seriously.

“Has Reid ever what?”

“Has he ever asked to be assigned as a protector? Rather than be in on the case?”

Hotch looked at her suspiciously, trying to recall previous cases.

“Not that I can remember. Why? Wondering what makes this case different?”

J.J. shook her head. 

“It’s not the case.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“We may have a problem. Earlier, outside her apartment, she was talking about how she didn’t want to move locations. And—”

“—Well, that’s normal. She feels comfortable where she is, wary of pushing her comfort zone.”

“Hotch,” J.J. said seriously, prompting Hotch to look at her again. “She called him ‘Spence’.”

After a moment Hotch sighed, face-palming.

“Shit.”

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @matthewreid @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @the-lovely-emma-swan @andiebeaword @itsmoony

[messy-nonbinary]

It’s Always Been the Pretty Boy

Warnings: mentions of murder; serial killer; swearing

Paring: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader | NCIS x Criminal Minds crossover

Rating: PG 13 for murder

Summary: Morgan and Torres are fighting over Y/N while they have to do a joint investigation and Y/N eventually just goes on a date with Spencer.

This is fairly long sooo... Sorry for that

----

Y/N was spinning in her chair, watching as the orange walls around her spun. “You okay, Y/N?” Ellie asked. Y/N stopped spinning and smiled at her. “Yeah I’m fine. Just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Nick asked as he walked into the bullpen, drinking his coffee and handing Y/N a bag of her favorite chips. “Oh hell yeah! Thanks, Nick.” Y/N said as she opened the bag. “Yep. Last bag in the vending machine.” He said, sitting down. “We’ve got a case, get your bags and let’s go.” Gibbs said as he grabbed his stuff from his desk. Everyone stood up and followed him to the elevator. “But what about McGee, Boss?” Nick asked. “He’s meeting us there.”

----

At the scene, Y/N took pictures, Nick collected evidence, while Tim and Ellie talked to the couple that found the body. “What do we got, Duck?” Gibbs asked. “Well, two GSWs, one two the stomach and one to the head. See the amount of blood here? That says that the shot to the stomach was made before the one to the head. I suppose to weaken the man. But as usual, we won’t know more until the autopsy.” Ducky stated.

----

Everyone finished at the crime scene and once they showed back up to the bullpen, they noticed 3 people standing there. “Uhh Boss? Who are they?” Tim asked. “Leroy!” Vance called from the top of the stairs, next to two people he didn’t recognize. “These Agents are with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You’ll be working on a joint investigation. I’ll leave you to make your own introductions. Play nice.” Vance chuckled as he left for his office.

The two agents upstairs made their way down and in front of the others. The taller outstretched his hand toward Gibbs. “Hello, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is my team. SSA’s David Rossi, Jeniffer Jareau, and Dr. Spencer Reid.” He said, pointing to everyone respectively. “I’m Agent Leroy Gibbs, these are agents Nick Torres, Eleanor Bishop, Tim McGee, and Y/N Y/L/N.” Pointing to each respectively. Once introductions were out of the way, everyone exchanged information.

“Soo what makes you think it’s a serial killer? Nick asked. “Well, so far we’ve had 4 victims, all killed the same way, and all have or are working for either a branch of the military.” Hotch stated. Y/N stood up. “Boss, I’m gonna go check up on Ducky and Palmer.” Gibbs nodded. “Mind if I come with you, Sweetness?” Derek asked and Nick glared at Derek. “Sure. Follow me.” Y/N said.

Gibbs got a phone call. “Yeah, Abbs? On my way.” Gibbs said, putting his flip phone back in his pocket. “Who was that?” Hotch asked. “Our forensic analysis.” Gibbs said. “Mind if I come with?” Gibbs shook his head. “Sure. But we’ve gotta make a stop first.” Hotch nodded and followed behind.

“He still uses a flip phone?” JJ asked. “Yep. Refuses to upgrade.” McGee said.

----

“Alright Ducky, what do you have?” Y/N said cheerfully. “Ah! Y/N! Where’s Jethro?”

“He’s in the lab. Where’s Jimmy?”

“Oh something came up with Breena. Who’s the fine young fellow?” Ducky asked looking at Derek. “Ducky, this is Derek Morgan with the BAU. Derek, this is Dr. Donald Mallard, or Ducky.”

“Oh..FBI, I bet Jethro is not too happy about that.”

“He is not.” Y/N said, chuckling. “So, Ducky, what did you find?” Derek asked. “Apart from the two GSWs, this young man is quite healthy. There is also some adhesive residue on his wrists and ankles.”

“Time of death?” Y/N asks. “I’d say around 18:30-19:00 hours.

But I did find something rather peculiar.” Ducky says as he picks up a small petri dish with a piece of paper in it. “I was just about to take it up to Abby to see if there was any.”

“What is it?” Derek asks. “It’s a piece of paper, it just has the number 6 on it. It was lodged down his throat. Almost like he was forced to swallow it but refused.” Ducky said. “Does this mean anything to you?” Y/N asked. “No, I’ll see if any other bodies had something shoved down their throats.” Derek said as he dialed the number for Garcia.

----

“So what are you doing?” Nick asked, walking up to Reid. “I’m creating a geological profile based on where all the victims were abducted and disposed of.” Reid said without looking away. “Does your friend always flirt with women he’s just met?” Nick said.

“Usually. But I’m sure you're the type too.” Nick looked at Spencer confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you wear tight shirts when you really don’t have to. You just want to show off your physical shape. Whenever Y/N walks by you you subtly flex your muscles and puff out your chest. So either you like her, or she’s smart enough to not give you the attention you so very much desire.” Reid said as he turned around and looked at Nick, mouth agape.

They heard snickers from the others. “Oh shut it McGee.” He said, sitting down at his desk. 

----

“Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! What took you so long?!” Abby yelled. “Abbs..”

“Right!” Abby stopped when she noticed Aaron. “Gibbs, who’s this?”

“Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Gibbs said with a sting in his voice. “With the BAU.” Hotch held out his hand to Abby and reluctantly, she took it. “I’m Abby. So, what I found was some DNA that wasn’t our Petty Officer’s, it was animal fur. Like, dog or cat hair. I can’t tell what just yet. But, was able to see where he was last seen due to a credit card transaction he made about 30 miles away at a coffee shop. I found camera footage that showed him talking to someone, then being led away by that same person.” Abby said, pulling up the video.

“So he must have somewhere else he keeps the victims. But since there was no physical evidence of torture, it must be psychalogical.”Hotch said.

*Beep*

“Oh! It’s Ducky!” Abby said, answering the facetime and showing it on her screen. “Hello Jethro and Abby!” He said. “Hey, we found a piece of paper lodged down our Petty Officer’s throat. It has the number 6 on it.” Y/N said. “There must be two more bodies we don’t know about. I’m having Garcia check on it now.” Derek said.

----

Sure enough they found two more bodies, two parents Kevin and Maria Grant, in the marines. They were both shot in the stomach, forced fed the piece of paper, and then shot in the head. The mom had a number two, and the dad had a number one. Police thought it was their 14 year son, Lyle Grant, but they had no real evidence to support that.

---

“Garcia said that Lyle doesn’t have any addresses under his name. But something has come up. There’s a missing person. Female, brown hair, and physically fit. Fits the female portion of our victimology.” Derek said, putting the phone on speaker. “Okay Garcia, try looking for something in the comfort zone under the parents’ name.” Rossi said. “Nothing.” Garcia said. “Who was Lyle’s legal guardian after the murder?” Ellie asked. “Got it, strange voice I’ve never heard before. After killing his parents, he went on to live with his Aunt Jamie Frank…”

“And where is she now?” Ellie asked. “She died about 4 months ago.”

“That’s our trigger. Garcia look for something under her name.”

“Umm we have an abandoned veterinary office that she used to own but is now owned by the state and set to be demolished.”

“Address Garcia.”

“Already sent.” She said as she hung up. “Morgan, JJ, Rossi, you’re with me.” Hotch said. “Torres, Bishop. Come on.” Gibbs said and all of them left.

“So, since we are here for a bit, let’s get to know each other.” Y/N said, sitting next to Reid and McGee. “Y/N you should’ve seen it. Dr. Reid made Nick turn as red as a strawberry.” Tim said. “Ohh what’d you say?” Y/N asked. “I just pointed out the obvious. He clearly likes you in a romantic sense.”

“Ha! He wishes.” Y/N laughed. “You don’t like him?” McGee asked mockingly. “Ha. Ha. No, I don’t like him like that. I mean yeah, he’s a great guy but he’s not my type.” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Really? I-I mean he’s confident, strong built, and he seems somewhat willing to settle. Statically, that’s what most women go for.” Spencer said.

“What people find attractive can’t be put up to stats, Dr. Reid.” Tim said. “Yeah. And besides, you’re more my type anyway.” Y/N said, looking at Reid. He turned bright red. “You’re-You’re I’m- your what-”

Y/N chuckled at the chaos she created. “I think you broke him.” Tim said. “Yep. You’re my type. Speaking of, wanna catch dinner after this case? I know this amazing restaurant downtown.”

“I- sure.”

---

“Alright listen, Y/N is taken.” Nick said, pulling Derek to the side. “And I don’t think your advances are really gonna work.” They had just arrested the unsub and found the missing girl, all they had to do was finish up searching the building for anything else they may have missed.

“Oh really? Who’s she taken by?” Derek smirked. “Well- she’s not like- taken, taken. But she will be. After I ask her out when we get back.”

“So she’s single. Thanks for the heads up man.” Derek said, patting Nick’s shoulder and laughing. “Wait! What I mean is- She’s going to choose me over you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep. She barely knows you. We’ve known each other for so long now.”

“Riightt. But I can tell she doesn’t like you. I notice behavior, remember?”

“Yeah well you’re behavior noticing skills are not as good as you think.”

“Guys! Are you two seriously fighting over Y/N right now!?” Ellie yelled. “No!” Both Derek and Nick said, going their separate ways.

---

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.” Reid said. “It's just a day. I’m sure they can find something to do until then.” He said as the elevator dinged. Everyone piled out of the elevator and into the bullpen.

Y/N grabbed the rest of her stuff while Reid asked Hotch if they could stay for one more day.

“So, Y/N..” Nick said as he walked up to Y/N. “I was wondering, if you wanted to go get dinner with me tonight?” Y/N looked up and Nick. “Yeahhh no. I’ve got plans.”

“With who? Him?!’ Nick said, pointing to Derek. “Nope.” Y/N turned around and smiled at Reid. “Hey Spencer you ready?”

“Yep. He can hold off for a day.” Spencer said, smirking at Nick and Derek who both had their jaws dropped. “Okay Pretty Boy, I see you.” Derek said as Reid locked arms with Y/N. The two walked towards the elevator.

“This is your fault.” Nick said, glaring at Derek. “She never liked you anyways, Nick.” Ellie said, patting him on the shoulder as she left. “Ellie’s right you know. You didn’t even stand a chance.” McGee laughed as he left. “I wanna beer.” Nick mumbled to himself. “Let’s go then.” Derek said. “We can wallow in our sorrows together.” He said laughing. “Sure, let me get my coat.”

[hotchley]

conversations that would happen if i ( a british gen z-er) was a member of the bau

because this is what i wanted my 200th post to be. :) also i am well aware that i can’t join the fbi, i just thought it would be a bit of fun. and yes, i spend my days thinking about this. they’re all under the keep reading because this got ridiculously long because every time i wrote one i thought of another one. enjoy! trigger warning: there is a conversation relating to gun control and gun violence

whilst working on a geographical profile:

me: i need a rubber. reid: a what? me: a RUBBER. reid: do you- WHAT? me: the thing on the end of the pencil?? you use it to RUB out your mistakes reid: OHHH AN ERASER. maya, rubber means condom here.

when someone was unwell:

me: errr... i think the thermometer is broken? hotch, who doesn’t even want to be here: what do you mean, it’s broken? me: well you see, you’re alive right. hotch: barely. me: damn okay. well basically, it must be broken. apparently you’re 102 degrees. that’s above the boiling point of water. hotch: FARENHEIT. i am 102 degrees FARENHEIT. me: ohh right of course. is that- is that good? does that make you unwell?

when hotch was bad cop, scenario one

hotch: THEN LOOK CLOSELY reid: you know, it’s actually quite interesting that we always send hotch in to be bad cop. as he has an alpha male personality me: i’m so- i’ll be two seconds *runs to the bathroom and exhales, texts friends back in london: OH MY FUCKING GOD, returns*  rossi: *raised eyebrow* me: *reid smile*

when hotch was bad cop, scenario two

hotch: DO THE MATH rossi: wow. i’m not even the unsub and i’ve got chills. me: *already tearing up* i just- give me a minute *runs to the bathroom and cries for a few moments because even though it wasn’t aimed at me, it felt like getting yelled at, then returns* morgan: were you... crying? me: NO!

on the distances between states

hotch: wheels up in thirty. me: yeah, i’ve always wondered about this. so erm, why don’t you guys just... take the train? everyone, internally: how is she an fbi agent? me: no like seriously, surely it would be so much faster to just get the train. it’s like how in london, you don’t drive, you take public transport. reid: on average, the time taken to drive  to *state name* is about five hours and twenty-three minutes me: you drive FIVE HOURS to get to another STATE??? i’d be in scotland! a whole other country

on driving

me: somebody else needs to drive. hotch: why... me: your roads confuse me. everything is the opposite. hotch: jesus christ this kid.

on politics

me: all i’m saying is, i think it’s weird that you only have two parties. everyone, who has heard nothing but this for the past month: yes, we know. emily, who likes to aggravate hotch: no, go on, it’s fascinating. me: HOW DO YOU ONLY HAVE TWO PARTIES??? YOU’RE BASICALLY SAYING: HERE, EITHER HAVE A RACIST OR A COMMUNIST. reid: the democrats really aren’t- me: I KNOW THAT I’M JUST SAYING THAT’S WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE TO THE REST OF US.

on school 

jj: so henry starts the first grade tomorrow! me: sooo how old is he?  jj: seven. me: but he’s going into the first grade? jj, already knowing where this is going: yes. me: can you just- cos in england, that’d be year two. so when you have a spare moment can yothu just, explain how this all works

on college

reid: when i was a sophomore in college me: a what? reid: sophomore. me: so like a what? first-year? second-year? third-year? also the fact that you call it college really throws me.

the classic, gun control

garcia: so he shot these people me: *frowns* garcia: oh no. what is it this time? me: i just don’t understand how this person managed to get their hands on a gun. i just don’t.

american celebrations

me: look, i would be the first person to say that britain has a lot to answer for. the empire was a horrible thing, and the fact that we now have a commonwealth is also stupid. however rossi: is praying on all that is holy me: i just don’t understand thanksgiving. why is it at two different times? if this is thanksgiving, then what’s labour day? why don’t you just all celebrate the same things. and where does the turkey come from? AND WHY DOES EVERYTHING GO ON SALE, like i appreciate it BUT NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE

and lastly for now, on accents

me: no garcia very few people sound like the queen garcia: yeah uut the general accents are soooo niceee me: errr i’m from essex so they’re really not. also you’re thinking of the downton abbey characters. in reality, english accents are all over the place. garcia: but- me: garcia. google manchester and birmingham accents. and then google essex ones, because i’m not from manchester or birmingham and i feel bad for making fun of them when my own isn’t much better.

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter eleven

I’m backkkk <33 Enjoy!

Today’s chapter title comes from “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift and honestly? That song is Hotch and Reader’s song tbh

Chapter Warnings: fluff! Crime scene stuffs, case stuffs, and Hotch is an asshole at the end (what’s new?)

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Eleven: I thought, “Heaven can’t help me now.”

When you wake, you have a strange sense of Deja Vu. Hotch is shaking your shoulder again, only this time, you’re not in your bed.

“We’re landing soon,” he says softly, hand lingering on your shoulder, but you welcome its weight and warmth, forgetting for a moment that the rest of the team is on this jet.

“Mm, okay…” You bring the blanket underneath your chin, only this is when you realize it’s not a blanket.

You tilt your head down to look at the fabric, then lift your eyes back up to see Hotch isn’t wearing his jacket.

His jacket.

Oh my God.

He sees the realization on your face and smiles, but instead of commenting on it, he turns to start waking the others. As expected, Rossi didn’t sleep, but Reid is still quite frankly passed out. Emily, JJ, and Morgan are coming around, though, and upon seeing that, you scramble to get Hotch’s jacket off of you, catching Rossi’s eyes in the process.

“You were cold,” Rossi says with a shrug, and a smirk.

You shouldn’t be mortified, but you are.

After folding Hotch’s jacket over your arm, you wait until your boss is sitting back down to hand it to him with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he says, thinking nothing of it as he shrugs it back over his shoulders. When he sees you’re still looking at him like that, he adds, “You were getting goosebumps. Would you have rather I let you freeze to death?”

Is he making a joke? You wonder, with the corners of his lips tugging upward. You shake your head, saying nothing else.

No wonder you slept so soundly.

+++

Upon arriving at the local police station, you’re all met with the usual: desperate officers who want you to snap your fingers and find the unsub ASAP.

And, they always look pretty displeased when you admit that you need time.

You swear sometimes people think the BAU is made up of sorcerers who can see the future and not regular humans who are just trained to recognize and predict behaviors.

Regardless, they’re happy you’re here.

“I was shocked myself when I made the connection,” Sheriff Ansley says, nodding to the pictures of the other seven victims, with Nathan and Jonathan at the end. “Those others were so spaced out, we just… Oh, it sounds bad, but when you’ve got other problems coming across your desk, they can all blur together.”

“We understand,” you say, trying to be the comforting one here, even though you’re feeling more and more like time doesn’t exist and that you’ve entered a third dimension.

A few hours of sleep and jet lag can really do a person in. Especially with the added stressor of Hotch standing next to you.

“Morgan, L/N, I need you to come to the crime scene with me,” Hotch says, and your eyes widen the moment your name slips from his mouth. Is he trying to mess with you? You figured after covering you up on the jet, he’d make a conscious effort to be as far away from you today as possible. Just because Morgan is also coming along doesn’t mean much. Profilers aren’t dense.

“Prentiss and I will go talk to the victim’s family,” Rossi says, nodding to Emily.

Reid says nothing, too engrossed by the pictures and details tacked up on the board. Though, after a moment, he says, “I need a map of the town. Maybe the region. Yeah...the region.”

A little confused, Sheriff Ansely replies, “We’ll get that for you.”

JJ notices the confusion and says, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

With everyone focused, you pile into a vehicle with Hotch and Morgan up front (you purposefully sit in the back) to head to the crime scene. Sheriff Ansley leads in her car, and about two seconds in, you wish you would’ve thought to ride with her.

“You know I have to ask,” Morgan begins, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks over at Hotch. “What did you get up to last night? Get lucky?”

Hotch looks ready to backhand his fellow agent. “No.”

Morgan keeps going. “Come on, Hotch, it’s about time you get some.”

“For now, I’ll stick to the case.”

Morgan huffs, giving in, which you think is for the better. But when Morgan turns his head to look out the window, Hotch catches your eyes in the rearview mirror.

You sink as far down as you can in your seat, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

+++

You have no clue what you were expecting when you pictured the outside of Jonathan King’s house, but it wasn’t this.

A few police cars are already here, their men having already gone in to look around, but not touch anything. A few cars look tiny next to the monster that is the mansion you’re looking at.

“I thought this was a small town,” you mutter, closing the car door.

“Jonathan’s daddy was the owner of the only car dealership in town,” Sheriff Ansley explains. “They were big money.”

“I can tell,” you shake your head. “Definitely don’t have houses like this where I’m from.”

The sheriff chuckles. “Yeah. Before they built it, this was a wide open field. Tiny house. Space for all kinds of animals. Had a red barn out there,” she points off to where a gigantic pool complete with a rock waterfall is.

You hum. “A lot changes for the worse sometimes when money comes in.”

She looks at you then, almost like she respects you a little more now. Which isn’t unusual. The sheriffs in small towns don’t exactly like having to call the FBI in for help. Some do it rather begrudgingly. It’s more often than not that you find yourself being the bridge between big city and small town.

“Any signs of forced entry?” Hotch asks the first officer he sees and they shake their head.

“Nothing. But this damn mansion is so big…” He trails away, looking around at it all.

“I understand,” Hotch sighs. “If you find anything, let us know.”

“Hotch,” you speak up, nearly tapping his shoulder, but you quickly pull your hand back. “If this unsub is a woman, then it’s likely there won’t be any forced entry.”

The sheriff nods. “She has a point.”

“How?” Morgan asks, eyebrows furrowed over his sunglasses.

“Seriously?” You deadpan. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

He catches on, and drawls, “Go right ahead,” prompting you to shove his shoulder.

“Focus,” Hotch scolds. “I hear you. He probably let her in.”

“Did Jonathan have a reputation of being a player?” Morgan asks. “Take a lot of girls out on dates? Get serious with a lot of them but never marriage-serious?”

Sheriff Ansley nearly snorts. “Oh, yeah. He was the town’s bachelor. New woman every week. Swore every single one was The One.”

You nod slowly. “He must’ve picked up the wrong one, then.”

“Evidently so,” she replies quietly, leading the three of you into the house.

Hotch opts for looking around the house with the sheriff while you and Morgan go to Jonathan’s bedroom.

And he’s still lying there. Wonderful.

You nearly gag, but stop yourself. You’re never going to get used to this shit. At least there isn’t blood literally drenching the walls like that other case.

Moving on.

“Looks like it’s the exact same MO,” Morgan comments, idly checking the body for anything the officers might’ve missed.

You dig around on Jonathan’s dresser, drawers, nightstand, everywhere.

“This guy was seriously rich,” you mutter, picking up a few really expensive watches. Upon opening one drawer, you literally find a wad of cash. At least two thousand dollars, stuffed in between pairs of socks. “The unsub didn’t take this?” You hold up the cash to Morgan.

“She must not’ve spent time here,” he concludes. “Doesn’t look like she took any trophies either.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say, then crack a smile. “So you’re on my side then, huh?”

He turns his head, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s a woman.”

Morgan chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m on your side. This has woman all over it.”

“Kiddo,” you groan, tossing the cash back in the drawer. “Any clothes from the unsub lying around? I’m guessing she’s smarter than that.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing,” Morgan says, going into the bathroom. “The window in here is locked tight.”

“I really doubt she forced her way in,” you say. “He probably took her out on a date, brought her inside willingly, and didn’t realize until it was too late that he should not have messed with her.” You pause. “Does this place have security cameras? It looks expensive enough to have them. We should get Garcia to get the footage.”

You’re too busy rambling to see that Morgan has walked back into the room, only this time he’s eyeing you carefully.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Listen, I know these guys were…” He gestures rather than saying it.

“Rapists?” You say tiredly, placing your hands on your hips. No need to be afraid of saying the word around you. You’ve heard it plenty and said it yourself more times than you want to. “What about it?”

“I just wanted to say I know how good it can feel to see someone like that taken down,” Morgan says slowly. “And then you feel guilty for feeling good.”

You set your jaw, hating he’s right. You’ve yet to admit it to yourself, though. Isn’t it wrong? On multiple levels? You’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not relate to them so much that you understand why they’re doing this.

“And I know it can also bring up some bad memories, but, I’m here for you,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “I mean that.”

“Thanks, Derek,” you whisper. “It does...kinda feel good, but...I know it’s the wrong way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make a difference,” you shrug. “If I killed Trevor, I’d be taking the short route. That’s why I’m here. To make a bigger difference.”

He smiles then, gently. “And you’re doin’ it. Trust me.”

You let yourself smile, too. “Thanks. Now let’s get back to work before boss man comes in here telling us to focus,” you mimic Hotch’s voice and tone at the end, making yourself laugh as you turn back around.

And that’s when you have the absolute shit scared out of you because Hotch is standing there, frowning at you. Oh, he totally heard that.

“Sorry, sir,” you murmur, knowing you should apologize while you’re ahead.

Thankfully, to save yourself from embarrassment, Morgan’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it out and puts it on speaker.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“All of our other victims? Yeah, they were accused of rape, too. Four of them were acquitted or blatantly dismissed, three of them with such short sentences it probably felt like a vacation.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds about right.”

Hotch eyes you, but talks to Garcia. “Get us a list of anyone in this region that fits those same criteria.”

“Already done, and it is heading to JJ as we speak.”

Morgan shakes his head at how good she is. “Oh, and check and see if you can get the footage from Jonathan’s security cameras at his house. Y/N thinks he should have some.”

“She’s correct, I just found them,” Garcia says, no doubt through a smile. “I’ll send the footage over and start looking.”

“We should get back to the station and go over those names, see if we can narrow it down at all,” Hotch says. “Hopefully Garcia can get us something from that video.”

+++

Garcia gathers one thing from the video, but it’s not anything to do with facial recognition.

For now, it’s obvious this woman is a strong suspect because she’s the only one seen entering and leaving the house (she walked out right through the front door with her head down) in the window of time that Jonathan was killed. But...

“There’s not a clear shot at all,” Garcia says. “Because they’re… How do I put this? His lips are basically attacking her face and it’s a miracle they made it inside instead of just going at it against the door.”

Morgan snorts out a laugh, Reid (who is working on connecting the nine victims further) goes impossibly red, and Hotch shakes his head.

“Well, we’ve got a physical description now,” Rossi says, trying to see the bright side before Hotch loses it, you’re sure.

“Yeah, but it’s just a young brunette in a dress and heels,” Emily argues. “That’s nowhere near narrow enough.”

“Brown hair is actually the second most common hair color,” Reid supplies. “The most common is black, but they’re usually lumped together in studies. A recent one found that 84% of the world’s population has dark hair. But, of course, women are more likely to color their hair than men—”

“We got it, kid,” Morgan says gently, tapping Reid’s shoulder to get him to slow down.

“So,” you chuckle, “she has dark hair, which are the two most common hair colors.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a thought occurs to you. “Wait, can I see the video again?”

Garcia plays it again.

“Pause there,” you point to the woman’s hands. “See how she reaches for his wrist?”

“Where are you going with this?” Morgan asks.

It’s then that it occurs to you just where you’re going with this, and you try to hide your embarrassment.

“You can play it again.” After a few seconds, you get Garcia to pause again. “See? She tries to pin his wrists. She’s dominating. She’s the one in control there. See how his back is against the door, too? He didn’t start that way, she turned them around to get the upper hand.”

“So she’s confident,” Emily ponders.

“In sexual situations, at least,” you add. “Some women who are outwardly shy, but like to dominate in bed. It can be different for everyone.”

“So you’re saying we’re looking for a super quiet, shy woman?”

“Not necessarily. Given that she has had enough confidence to kill these nine men without anyone noticing, I’d be willing to bet she’s pretty confident now. It could be a newfound confidence, or she honestly could have always been this way. A lot of Dominatrixes are pretty confident outside of the bedroom, too. Maybe not in the same way, but they are. Just comes with the territory.”

“A territory you seem to know a lot about,” Morgan teases, poking your shoulder.

You scoff. “You wish.”

But your eyes find Hotch’s and you feel another rush go through you, all the way to your toes. You burn every single time you’re underneath his gaze. Averting your eyes quickly back to the screen, you try to shift in your seat in the least noticeable way.

It’s not like he doesn’t already know. If he seriously doesn’t know or at least have some suspicion, then you might suggest he get a new profession.

Redirecting the attention back to the case, Hotch turns to Sheriff Ansley and says, “We’re ready to give a preliminary profile.”

The team stands to head out to the main area. You and Hotch are the last two left, which you’re sure he did deliberately.

“You should take the lead,” he says, and you swear, your heart falls out of your ass.

“What?” You’ve never taken the lead on a profile in your life. Why would he just spring this on you right now? On this case, of all cases? Seriously?

He doesn’t change his mind. “I trust you to get all of the details right. And we’ll jump in when needed, but I want you to take the lead.”

You’re shaking your head. “Hotch, I haven’t—”

“It’s an order,” he says, voice firm. “Understood?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes what?”

Bastard. He did it again. “Yes sir.”

And your jaw nearly ends up on the floor when he smirks, a quiet, “Good girl,” falling from his lips.

Damn him. Now you’re supposed to give the profile? How bad would it be to let Emily take over so you can jump Hotch in the nearest supply closet?

You never find out how bad it would be because Hotch walks out and thanks the officers for being there, and introduces you, giving you zero time to recover.

“Thank you so much for your patience,” you say first. “The unsub we’re looking for is, in fact, a woman, confirmed by some security footage that was recovered from Jonathan King’s home. She’s a brunette, average height, attractive, and she’s confident. She’s killed nine times and hasn’t been caught yet, so she’s likely to be gaining confidence.”

An officer raises his hand, so you nod to him. “No offense...but your description fits practically every girl in this town -- I guess, besides the killing part.”

“That’s what we figured,” you admit. “Unfortunately, this kind of unsub is the hardest to catch. They don’t stand out at all, they blend right in. It’s partly why they go so long without being caught.”

“But they’re not impossible to catch,” Rossi adds, helping you out with the annoyed officers. “This unsub has already killed twice in a week, which could be a sign that she’s beginning to devolve. When they’re in this state, they are easier to catch because they tend to get reckless and forget things, change patterns, which is what we need.”

“So we need to keep a tight lid on this for now,” JJ says. “The media isn’t going to cover this at all tonight because we need our unsub to believe she’s still getting away with it.”

Another officer pipes up. “If the news isn’t gonna report this, how can we keep people safe?”

It’s a valid question. It’s one that you always get when you decide to not have media coverage.

“Keep an eye out. And don’t take any women home,” Morgan offers.

But that doesn’t seem good enough, because the same officer says, “All due respect, sir, but asking a man not to do that is like asking him not to breathe.”

The amount of laughter and you got that right’s that you hear from the other male officers makes your stomach twist. Morgan’s small laugh makes you want to smack him.

“Well, try to refrain for a while,” you state plainly, bringing the focus back around. “If you can help it.”

Another officer says, “I don’t know if I can…” and clicks his tongue mockingly.

“Well, this unsub targets rapists,” you say loudly, placing emphasis on the word. “So if you aren’t a rapist, consider yourself safe and sound.”

That causes an uncomfortable silence to settle over the room, but you could care less. It should make them uncomfortable. It’s unfair that it’s something women have to just live with. It’s bullshit.

Emily and JJ share a look with you, the only kind women can understand. Makes you want a drink. And it’s not even late afternoon yet.

Rossi helps draw things to a close while Hotch practically stares you down. Not subtle at all. You feel it, and for that reason, you don’t look at him. But he’s hard to ignore.

Especially when he walks over and says, “I need to have a word with you,” and walks past you, giving you no choice but to follow.

Well, you could choose not to follow, but you’re not so sure you want to take your chances there. Not that the thrill of the idea doesn’t get you all excited, but now is not the time or place.

So, with your heart racing and your annoyance showing clearly on your face, you follow your boss to an office at the end of the hall. He’s waiting for you, already inside, and he doesn’t look happy.

What’s new?

He shuts the door behind you, his arms crossing over his chest again.

After a few moments of silence, you raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Don’t be a brat,” he says sternly, causing your stomach to twist for different reason. “And don’t say what. You know what.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t, actually. That’s why I asked.”

He looks ready to absolutely devour you in the worst way possible, yet he doesn’t move. “I understand that after the case in your hometown—”

“God, why does everyone keep bringing that up?” You’re two seconds away from throwing your hands in the air like a child, but you stop yourself after the look he gives you.

“Because it just happened three weeks ago,” he replies, voice even. “And because it took a toll on you. That’s not something to be ashamed of, it’s just a fact.”

“You’ve never been up my ass about cases like this, not until you found out.”

“My knowing has not changed anything,” he says, and you think he might mean it. “And last I checked, this is your first case with a female unsub attacking rapists.”

You could punch him. You really want to punch him. “What’s your point?”

“I need to know that you can be objective,” he says. “I know you relate to our unsub. I know how easy it was for you to put yourself in her shoes. You did it almost immediately. I bet you knew it was a female unsub within the first few seconds of the debriefing.”

He’s right. Dammit. “And?”

“I need you to be on our side of this case.”

“I am!”

“Are you?” He counters. “If you knew who this unsub was, would you turn her in?”

“Are you suggesting—”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes! For God’s sake, yes, I would turn her in.”

“Are you being honest with me?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you have something else to say you might as well say it while we’re alone.”

He doesn’t move. Or say a single word.

So much for that.

“Look,” you uncross your arms, tired of fighting already. It’s exhausting on any normal day, but pair it with jet lag and it being between you and the man you obviously care for, and it’s a million times more exhausting. “Yes, I get where this unsub is coming from. Honestly, if it was legal and if there was a market for a job like what she’s doing, I probably would’ve gone into it instead of the FBI. But there isn’t. Because killing people is illegal. So I decided to go to the FBI to make a bigger difference— a real difference. Yes, I relate to the unsub. I get why she’s doing what she’s doing. But just because I get it doesn’t make it right.”

“Good,” he nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have even had to say it.”

The room falls silent.

Hotch sees it then, that look in your eyes. During the profile, it was all determination and confidence. When you entered the office, it was bratty and defiant. 

Now, it’s hurt.

That’s all he sees. And frankly, that’s all you’re feeling.

Since he doesn’t say anything else, you take it upon yourself to say, “Excuse me,” and join the team in the conference room with only one question on your mind.

Does he not trust me at all?

Next chapter

[isa-renee]

Secrets And Lies (And Quite the Surprise)

Alexander Gideon Lightwood, years deep in the closet and months deep into this particular lie, has approximately five minutes to find a fake girlfriend before this all blows up in his face. Enter one Clary Fray, friend to Magnus, stranger to Izzy, and the perfect candidate to fool his family. Really, it’s the perfect plan. So what could go wrong? 

read it on Ao3:

 Alec was in trouble. Major trouble.

 “So, big brother,” Isabelle started, sitting down across from him in the coffee shop. “How long until I can finally meet this mystery girl of yours?” She smirked as she took a sip of her latte.

 And there...well, there was the trouble. Namely that there was no mystery girl, that Alec secretly was gay as hell, and that there might in fact have been a mystery boy (not that his sister knew about Magnus of course).

 “Uhm well…” he started, trying to think of some answer that she might accept but drawing a blank. Oh no. This was not good.

 It had all started the month before when, fed up with his siblings’ constant pestering about his love life, he had caved and told Jace that he had a date one night. With a girl. This of course was a lie. (Well, the girl part. He actually had had plans to see Magnus.) And as lies are bound to do, it soon spiraled far out of his control. Jace had told Izzy, and Izzy, naturally, had not let him off the hook quite as easily as their brother had.

 The solution to his predicament? More lies of course! (What else?)

 So for the past month, he had pretended to have a girlfriend, carefully evading his siblings’ questions about her. And somehow it was working.

 Well, sort of. Partially. Maybe. A little bit. Okay actually the entire situation was getting way out of hand and it was not working at all.

 The good news? He’d had plenty of reason to sneak off and be with Magnus. He just had to tell Jace he was seeing his girlfriend and the blond would smirk and wish him luck. That bad news? Izzy was getting suspicious. And no good ever came from Izzy being suspicious.

 Which led Alec back to the coffee shop, and his now dire situation.

 “Alec?” he heard Izzy’s voice, a slight undercurrent of laughter. “Are you alright there? You spaced out for a second.”

 “Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly. “Just nervous,” he blurted out. Oh no.

 “Oh yeah? What about?” This was not good. “Are you actually going to let me meet Mystery Girl? Or at least tell me her name? Jace and I have started calling her Meg, you know. MG for Mystery Girl but that still took too long to say. But it would be nice to have an actual name.”

 “Uhmm…” Alec knew he had to say something, but his mind was blanking.

 Izzy smirked again. “Unless there's a reason you’re keeping her secret of course. Is she a professor? Are you dating one of your professors? You know I would have expected that from Jace but not you Alec.” She grinned at him, sensing his discomfort and hoping to lighten the mood, and he gave a weak chuckle. “Or hmm is she an undercover FBI agent? Secret service? Maybe she’s—”

 “Actually she’s on her way here right now.” Wait what?

 “Really?” Izzy asked, surprise evident on her face, but with a delighted look in her eyes. Oh God, what was he doing?

 “Yeah of course. I thought it was time you two met.” Crap crap crap crap crap. This had to be his worst idea ever. Why wouldn't the words just stop leaving his mouth?

 “She’ll be here in five minutes.”

 Oh, he was so screwed.

 So there he was, in a coffee shop with his sister, about to be caught in one of the biggest lies he’d ever told. Unless he thought of something in the next—he checked his watch—three minutes. Oh this was not good.

 Isabelle was talking to him still, something about a new friend she’d made, an artist or something? Honestly, he barely caught a word of it, caught in his worry spiral, desperately trying to find a way out of this hole he’d dug himself into.

 Izzy was still saying something to him, and he turned his head and saw a flash of bright red hair out of the corner of his eye. Clary, he remembered her name was, a friend of Magnus’ who he’d met a few times.

 And suddenly, he had an idea.

 He stood up, cutting Izzy off in the middle of her sentence. “Sorry,” he said, “One second and I’ll be right back.” He left the table and moved over to the line where Clary was standing. He tried to walk casually, though inside his head he was screaming, absolutely utterly freaking out at the sheer stupidity of his desperate plan. But, well, this was the only option he could see.

 He approached Clary with a wave, hoping she remembered him from Magnus’. She saw him and smiled as she waved back, so he really hoped she might be willing to help him out. If not, well, this would all be over sooner than he expected.

 “Clary,” he said as he approached her in the line. “Hi. I know we don’t know each other that well, and I’m really sorry to ask you for this, but I kind of need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for the next twenty minutes.”

 And she must have sensed the desperation in his eyes, because she leaned in close to him and grabbed his arm in the way a girlfriend might, obviously confused but trying to play the part. “Okay, explain.”

 And so he did. “So I’m here with my sister and it’s kind of a long story but she thinks I have a girlfriend and I sort of panicked and said she could meet her today. And the problem is that I don’t actually have a girlfriend. Because I'm dating Magnus. Because I’m gay. Which my sister does not know. And I know it’s a lot to ask but please I could really use your help here.”

 “You're dating Magnus?” And she sounded excited at the idea. “Oh I’m so glad, you two are always so cute together, and I had wondered, but he never mentioned it.”

 “Yeah,” he answered, color slightly coming to his face. “I’m not exactly out, which is the whole reason for all of this, and why he hasn’t said anything. But he and I have been together for a few months, just keeping it quiet for now.”

 “I’m so happy for you two! And yes, Alec, of course I'll do this. In the spirit of gay-lesbian solidarity of course!” She laughed as she said the last, and huh, Alec had never realized she was gay too. He had always assumed she was dating that boy she hung around. Simon? Was that his name? But apparently not. Whatever her reasoning, Alec was just glad for her help. “But I was actually here to see my girlfriend, so let me just text her that I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

 “Thank you!” he said, and wow did he mean it. He could have kissed her for gratitude. Well, if it weren’t for the gay thing. He supposes if he could have kissed her, that would have led to a very different afternoon. “This might actually work.”

 And, well, he should have known that it was too good to be true.

 He and Clary arrived at the table where Isabelle was sitting, though she seemed a bit hesitant to sit down there. Izzy, too, looked surprised, probably that he actually did have a girl here to meet his sister. He seriously could not believe how well his plan was working.

 He turned to Isabelle to introduce her. “Izzy,” he started, gesturing towards Clary. “Meet Clary, my girlfriend.”

 He pulled out the chair next to him for Clary to sit, only she didn’t move to sit down, just staring silently at his sister. And this did not bode well. Izzy was also just staring at him now, some expression on her face that he couldn’t quite place. And this was definitely not good.

 Isabelle turned from him to look at Clary, and the two locked eyes for a second, and he seriously could not puzzle out the expression on his sister’s face. Clary made some sort of noise to his left, evidently surprised by the sight of Isabelle for some reason.

 “Um, do you two know each other already?” Alec asked, by that point very confused.

 Izzy stared at Alec, then at Clary, then back at Alec once more. “Something like that,” she responded, and then she turned to Clary and. Winked? At her?

 And suddenly Clary just burst out laughing. She was doubled over in her laughter, and oh no this was so not good. What was going on?

 Izzy seemed close to laughter herself, though she tried to compose herself as she turned to Alec, doing her best to put on a serious face, though her grin managed to slip through nonetheless.

 “Alec,” she began, Clary laughing even harder as she tried and failed to use a serious tone. And oh this was not good, not good at all. Alec didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was, and that his plan somehow seemed to have failed pretty epically. How did they know each other? What was that wink for? Izzy continued, regaining herself after a pause. “Why, exactly, are you pretending to date my girlfriend?”

 And, huh. Well. He really hadn’t seen that one coming.

 Clary was still laughing, and Izzy had joined her too, by the time Alec had realized he should really say something. He opened his mouth to do just that, only he really had no idea what to say. Was there any way for him to fix this? Or would he finally have to admit to the truth, after his months of carefully constructed lies?

 He was so caught up in trying to find a way to fix the situation, that it didn't hit him until a few moments later, by which time Clary and his sister finally seemed to have calmed down.

 “Wait, girlfriend?!”

 Finally, after what felt like years but more likely was only about a minute, Alec found himself sitting at the table once again, with his sister across from him, and her girlfriend next to him, the two finally quieted down after his last comment had set them off laughing again. And it was official. There was absolutely no salvaging this lie. Oh, Jace was going to be unbearable when he found this out.

 “Yes, Alec, my girlfriend. The person I have been telling you about for ten minutes. And who came to this coffee shop to finally meet you, though it turns out you two are dating?” At this she turns to Clary. “You know, I could have sworn you said you were a lesbian. And now you’re dating my brother? Really?”

 Clary giggled at that, though thankfully it seemed the two were finally finished with their uncontrolled fits of laughter. “Oh I don’t know, Izzy,” she started, continuing in the joking mood Izzy had set, definitely no longer trying to actually pretend to date Alec. “He’s just so handsome.” She patted his cheek. “I just had to make an exception. I’m sure you understand.”

 “Well, good looks do run in the family after all.”

 The two started giggling again, and Alec knew he should say something, but found then he was having the opposite problem from earlier. While before, he couldn't stop words leaving his mouth, then, he found that he could not think of a single thing to say.

 Izzy seemed to notice how uncomfortable he looked, though, and she stopped laughing and turned to look at him, actually serious now.

 “Alec…” she prompted gently. “Okay, you obviously weren’t trying to make a joke, or you’d be laughing right now with us. What’s going on?”

 Clary sobered up at that too, realizing abruptly that, as funny as the situation was—and even Alec could tell, objectively, that it was pretty hilarious, though he was having a hard time feeling that to tell the truth—their plan had failed, which meant that Alec now had to find not only a new fake girlfriend, but an explanation for all of this, or else he would be outed to his sister, something he very obviously was not ready for.

 “It’s actually a really funny story,” Clary began, sounding surprisingly sure for someone thinking on the spot. “I’m good friends with Maia, who Alec is actually dating, and she wasn’t able to make it today, at the last minute, but she had realized that you and Alec were siblings and she had this great idea and–”

 “Clary,” Alec cut her off mid-sentence. She was doing a surprisingly convincing job of covering for him, and he was grateful for her in that moment. But he realized, as he was sitting there with his sister and the girl she was dating, that he really had nothing to worry about. And as he heard this new lie starting, he could so easily see himself going on with it, and getting deeper into it once again. He realized then that he didn’t want that. He didn't deserve that. He thought about lying again and realized that, for the first time, he was ready to tell the truth. “Clary, thank you. But I think I’m finally ready to do this.”

 So he turned to his sister. And she looked back at him, and he wondered why he ever worried about telling her. It was Izzy! Izzy had always supported him, in everything. Sure, she had always talked to him about cute girls, but finally he realized that that wasn’t her shoving him back into the closet, that was her coming out of her own. He could do this!

 “I’m not dating Clary. Or Maia. In fact, I’m not dating a girl at all.” He could do this. He could. “I’m dating a guy. I’m dating a wonderful man, and his name is Magnus Bane, and I really like him a lot, and I think you will too.” And it was done. He was out. (To Izzy at least, but he was out!)

 As he finished, the biggest smile came over his sister’s face, and she got up from the table and rushed around to give him a big hug right there in his chair. “I’m so proud of you,” she said softly into his hair, before pulling away to slide away and back into her seat opposite him. He looked up and saw Clary just beaming at the two of them, and was struck by the gratitude that his sister was dating someone so kind and, honestly, perfect for her.

 The plan may have failed epically, he thought, but everything still worked out alright in the end. He couldn’t wait to tell Magnus about it all.